The basic idea of stretching Capetian resources by attacking on two fronts was sound, but it required careful coordination. Unfortunately for John and his allies, the slow muster and advance of Otto IV’s German forces undermined the entire plan. The English king enjoyed some initial success in the south, after landing at La Rochelle in mid-February 1214, with gains made in Aquitaine and parts of Anjou. By early summer, John was able to enter the city of Angers, but his advance was arrested by the need to capture the neighbouring castle of La Roche-aux-Moine, recently constructed by William des Roches. A siege began on 19 June, but the French garrison refused to buckle, and when a Capetian relief force approached under the command of Prince Louis, John wrongly assumed that he was facing the full force of the French army and thus ordered a hasty retreat on 2 July.
With the English king stymied in the south, Philip Augustus was able to focus his attention upon Normandy, where the northern coalition’s tardy incursion was not launched for another four weeks. On Sunday 27 July, the two sides clashed in a rare pitched battle at Bouvines, just south of Lille (in north-eastern France). Both armies were relatively evenly matched in numerical terms, but the Capetian troops seem to have been more disciplined and effective, benefiting from the presence in their ranks of both William des Barres – a storied champion, whose skills and reputation equalled those of Marshal himself – and the renowned William des Roches.
A vicious and bloody confrontation played out over the course of some three hours, with the French gradually gaining the upper hand. Longsword was taken captive, as were the counts of Boulogne and Flanders, while Emperor Otto was driven from the field by a contingent of knights led by William des Barres. Philip Augustus was left in control of the field, having scored a resounding victory. This was the crowning glory of his reign – one that confirmed Capetian ascendancy in Europe. The battle of Bouvines heralded an end to Otto IV’s reign in Germany and proved an utter catastrophe for King John in England. Having been forced to agree to the punitive terms of a five-year peace (including a payment of damages to the French, rumoured to total 60,000 marks), John returned to England in October a broken king. His war chest had been squandered. There was no famous victory with which to quell dissent at home, only humiliation. After Bouvines, a historic reckoning in England was unavoidable, and its course and outcome would reshape William Marshal’s career.
13
A ROYAL RECKONING
In the aftermath of the battle of Bouvines, a tide of rebellious unrest swept across the kingdom of England. An increasingly vocal and cohesive party of discontented barons began to call for concessions from the crown and, through the autumn of 1214, their demands became more coherent, even as their ranks swelled beyond the core of northern magnates to include many major landholders from the south of England. The movement was spearheaded by the likes of Robert FitzWalter – who began, in 1215, to style himself as the ‘Marshal of the Army of God’ – and Eustace of Vesci, and enjoyed some veiled support from the archbishop of Canterbury, Stephen Langton.
With his coffers all but empty and his reputation in tatters, King John was too weak to simply ignore or overthrow the emerging baronial faction. The ranks of his steadfast supporters diminished with each passing month, as the nascent rebellion gathered momentum. William Marshal remained loyal, as did John’s half-brother William Longsword (after he had been ransomed from the French) and Ranulf, earl of Chester, but the balance of power was tilting away from the crown. As both sides readied themselves for civil war, attempts to broker a settlement began in January 1215. William Marshal found himself at the heart of these convoluted negotiations between the king and his nobles and, after five months, this process culminated in the sealing of a peace treaty containing sixty-three clauses – a document that became known as the Great Charter or Magna Carta.
THE GREAT CHARTER
Magna Carta has come to be regarded as one of the most significant documents in world history, achieving a near-mythical status. It is often described as a cornerstone of Western democracy: characterised as the ‘first written constitution in European history’, a ‘charter of liberties’ or ‘bill of rights’ that curbed royal power, paving the way for the English Parliamentary system of government and the template for the Constitution of the United States of America. Magna Carta changed the balance of power, and the nature of kingship, in England. It also impacted upon the expectations and experiences of knights and nobles for decades, even centuries, to come. At first glance, then, it would seem that William Marshal’s close involvement in the forging of the Great Charter of 1215 merits an especially honoured place in the catalogue of his many storied achievements.
The accord was perhaps the ultimate expression of a transformation that reshaped medieval England – a tectonic shift away from the age of conquest towards that of settlement. This gradual process of evolution had been percolating, almost unseen, in the background of William Marshal’s life and would continue after his death. It was marked by the increasing emphasis placed upon the rule of law within society, and the determined dissection of the reciprocal bonds of service and obligation that linked lords, knights and their subjects. But can Earl William really be regarded as one of the architects of Magna Carta, and does this document actually deserve its vaunted reputation?
Marshal’s role in the forging of Magna Carta
William Marshal served as King John’s leading lay negotiator throughout the first half of 1215, as the settlement enshrined in Magna Carta was deliberated. William was now perhaps sixty-seven years old – one of the great, established figures of the English aristocracy – trusted by his king and respected by the barons. While the latter group might have detested many of John’s other supporters, such as Peter des Roches and Faulkes of Bréauté, they knew only too well that Marshal had endured his own difficulties with the king, and as such might harbour some sympathy for the baronial cause. All of this made Earl William an ideal intermediary. His connection with the Templars may also have proven useful, given that the Order played a supporting role in these events.
For much of the time, Marshal worked in tandem with Stephen Langton. The archbishop may have offered some early inspiration to the baronial party, perhaps encouraging them to consult archived documents such as the ‘Coronation Charter’ of King Henry I dating from 1100 – a text which seemed to offer a historic framework of precedents around which they could shape their otherwise nebulous demands for royal reform. For much of 1215, however, Langton sought to present himself as a neutral mediator and servant of the realm.
The first significant meeting between John and the barons took place in January 1215, in London’s New Temple (the Templars’ centre of operations in the city). It proved to be an ill-tempered encounter, with the magnates arriving clad in armour and determined to demand that the terms of governance established in Henry I’s ‘Coronation Charter’ be reinstituted. King John equivocated, requesting a pause in discussions until April so that he could consider this request, but assured them that he would satisfy their demands in due course. William Marshal and Archbishop Stephen both made pledges confirming that the king would hold to his word and meet the barons on the agreed date. As a result, a truce was settled until after Easter (which fell on 19 April).
In reality, John was simply looking for time to seek the support of Rome and hopefully raise a military force with which to defeat the barons. By the end of April, the patience of Robert FitzWalter, Eustace of Vesci and their allies was running thin. They assembled at Brackley in Northamptonshire, with an eye to launching armed rebellion. The baronial party had grown considerably. Two notable converts to the cause were Saer of Quincy, earl of Winchester (FitzWalter’s close friend and associate), and the new earl of Essex, Geoffrey FitzPeter’s son and heir, Geoffrey of Mandeville – who turned against the crown after John demanded the vast sum of 20,000 marks in return for a marriage licence.
Marshal and Langton were sent by the king to placate the barons at Brackley. At a meeting on 27 April, Fi
tzWalter’s party issued a further list of demands. These were relayed back to John and declined out of hand. As a result, the barons laid siege to Northampton Castle, and the king’s position then deteriorated rapidly. On 17 May, the rebels seized control of London – now widely recognised as ‘the capital of the crown and realm’ – and the city became a centre of dissent. This setback to John’s fortunes promoted a fresh wave of defections to the baronial party, forcing the king to re-engage with the process of arbitration, if only as a stalling tactic, so that he could use money borrowed from the Templars to hire mercenaries.
A period of intense negotiation followed. According to one version of events, William Marshal was sent to London to inform the barons that John was ready to agree terms, though in reality the process appears to have been more convoluted (involving numerous meetings, exchanges and emissaries). As the king was now residing in Windsor, some eighteen miles west of London, a halfway meeting point was chosen; an obscure spot in the countryside known as Runnymede. It was here – on 15 June 1215 – that the provisions of peace were finally settled and laid out in a long and detailed document. The sheer scale and scope of this agreement meant that it was later described as ‘the Great Charter’. No signatures were appended to this original version of Magna Carta. Constructed as a royal charter, it was validated by the king’s seal, with at least thirteen copies subsequently produced by the chancery. William Marshal was afforded a prominent position in the text, appearing as the first named English magnate, said to have given ‘advice’ to the king on the terms agreed and to be one of those who remained a ‘loyal subject’. The names of a further fifteen barons followed, including William Longsword, William of Warenne, earl of Surrey, Hubert of Burgh and John Marshal.
In the past, historians have suggested that William Marshal may have been one of the main authors of the 1215 Magna Carta. In 1933, the American academic Sidney Painter claimed that Marshal ‘was probably perfectly capable of inspiring the Great Charter’ – possessing ‘the necessary administrative experience . . . wisdom and statesmanship’ – and thus, ‘should share the honour’ due for having ‘procured for England her beloved charter’. In fact, at best, we can suggest that Earl William may have encouraged continued discussion and moderation on both sides in the months that led up to Runnymede, but beyond this it is impossible to gauge the exact degree of Marshal’s input. Elsewhere, it has been argued that the learned Stephen Langton must have been the Great Charter’s primary originator, but although he does seem to have inserted a number of key clauses relating to the Church, in other respects the archbishop’s impact appears to have been quite limited. In fact, no one knows precisely who drafted the terms set out on 15 June and, given that the final document was the product of forceful debate and argument, its contents could not truly be said to have been conceived by a single mind.
A number of northern barons were dissatisfied with the agreement from the start, believing that it had not gone far enough, but most of the rebels laid down their arms on 19 June. With a limited peace in place, William Marshal was sent to hold the Welsh March. Yet even though this treaty had been the subject of prolonged negotiation, its terms were soon disregarded, and the truce it engendered proved to be desperately short-lived. This may explain why William Marshal’s seemingly historic involvement in the sealing of Magna Carta was completely ignored in the History. The swift pace of events meant that the 1215 version of Magna Carta was quickly superseded and largely forgotten in the 1220s, when the biographer was writing his account. It is also possible that the History’s silence was more studied, being a deliberate attempt to skirt over potential embarrassment. Other sources make it clear that Earl William’s eldest son and heir, Young William Marshal, had joined the baronial party in May 1215. Given that it was Young William who later commissioned the History of William Marshal, it would not be surprising if its author deemed it politic to ignore his patron’s complicity in the rebellion – an uprising that was later viewed, at best, with ambivalence.
The significance of Magna Carta in 1215
The Great Charter sealed at Runnymede is one of the most famous, treasured and widely misrepresented documents of the Middle Ages. Four copies of this version of Magna Carta are known to have survived into the modern era: two reside in the British Library in London, one is held in the archives of Salisbury Cathedral, another in Lincoln Cathedral. They are regarded as priceless heirlooms of the English nation. Yet for all its renown, the charter actually had a surprisingly limited impact upon the course of events in 1215. As a political tool it was defunct within three months, and by the end of the year its terms were regarded as null and void by all parties. This does not mean that the text should now be dismissed or discounted, merely that it must be assessed in its proper context.
The 1215 Magna Carta was not intended to serve as a universal bill of rights. In the first instance, it was expressly designed as a peace treaty and thus contained a series of conditions, conceded by the crown in response to intense baronial pressure, that were supposed to lead, in the words of the charter, to the ‘better ordering’ of the kingdom. Robert FitzWalter and his allies did not view their demands as either revolutionary or even innovative. Over successive generations, their families had endured the predatory exploitation of the Angevin dynasty, and these abuses – and the blatant profiteering from feudal law – had now become intolerable under King John’s failing regime. The barons thus wished to restore the ‘ancient liberties’ they had enjoyed before the advent of the Angevins; to return to the supposed golden age of justice evoked in King Henry I’s Coronation Charter, when established customs were upheld.
In fact, they were trying to recreate a fantasy. This Coronation Charter, listing fulsome promises of fair governance, had been issued when Henry I came to power in 1100 and he was desperate to secure support against his brother and rival for the crown, Duke Robert of Normandy. Once his position was assured, King Henry chose to ignore most of his pledges, so the notional period in which barons and landholders received fair treatment from the crown never actually existed. They did not know it at the time, but in 1215 the barons were asking for more than any English monarch since the Norman Conquest had ever been willing to grant.
The barons’ primary concerns were decidedly self-serving. They wished to safeguard their own welfare and ensure better treatment from the king. As a result, many of Magna Carta’s clauses dealt with issues of inheritance, landholding and military service, and sought to limit the fees and fines exacted by the crown, and to reduce the rate of scutage (the money owed, per knight, in lieu of military service). Clause forty-nine addressed John’s habitual seizure of hostages from his nobles and demanded the immediate release of persons currently held in this manner. At a fundamental level, the aristocrats who negotiated the terms of Magna Carta were not driven by egalitarian impulses; nor did they set out, in the first instance, to secure basic human liberty and equality for all.
Nonetheless, the rebel barons and King John were contending for supporters in 1215, both hoping to secure popular backing for their respective causes. To that end, the baronial party introduced some provisions to Magna Carta that appealed to the interests of the knightly class and the wider population. Clause twenty-nine, for example, guaranteed knights fair terms of service and treatment, while clause eight specified that widows could not be compelled to marry against their will. Aspects of the document related more broadly to ‘the community of the whole land’. The charter’s most famous clauses, thirty-nine and forty, stated that ‘no free man shall be seized or imprisoned’ or suffer other forms of persecution, losing ‘rights’ or ‘standing’ in society, ‘except by the lawful judgement of his peers, or by the law of the land’. They went on to enshrine a far-reaching royal proclamation: ‘To no one will we sell, to no one will we deny or delay right or justice.’ It was these passages, tucked away in the middle of the document, which gave rise to the idea that Magna Carta affirmed the basic and universal human rights to justice and liberty, la
ter inspiring such phenomena as trial by jury.
Unfortunately, the document’s precise terms and stipulations also made it all but inevitable that the king would soon disown and disregard the accord finalised at Runnymede. Clause one seemed to render the treaty inviolate, with John stating clearly: ‘To all free men of our kingdom we have also granted, for us and our heirs forever, all the liberties written out below.’ But the barons overstepped the mark towards the end of Magna Carta, in clause sixty-one, by imposing excessively punitive conditions and controls upon the crown. A self-elected group of twenty-five barons were to supervise the enactment of the charter’s terms and to judge the king’s actions. Crucially, should John or any of his supporters ‘offend in any respect against any man, or transgress any articles of the peace’, the twenty-five were empowered to ‘assail [the king] in every way possible, with the support of the whole community of the land, by seizing [his] castles, lands [and] possessions’. This represented a massive infringement on royal power. John was prepared to concede clause sixty-one on 15 June, but only to secure a temporary cessation of hostilities, during which he could retrench his position. Such a grievous derogation of crown authority could never have been endured by a medieval monarch of the early thirteenth century. This provision alone ensured that John would seek to overturn Magna Carta at the first possible opportunity. Indeed, by the middle of July he had already secretly contacted the pope, requesting that Rome condemn the document.
The treaty agreed on 15 June would form the essential blueprint for far more enduring and significant settlements in the future, and William Marshal would play a leading role in this process. But the direct force of the 1215 Magna Carta was undermined in early September, when a damning papal pronouncement arrived in England. Pope Innocent III offered his unflinching support for King John – Rome’s new vassal – and condemned the Runnymede accord as ‘shameful and base, but also illegal and unjust’. Innocent stated that the charter ‘dishonours the Apostolic See (Rome), injures the king’s rights and shames the English nation’, and as a result, declared it ‘null and void’. John now had a formal mandate to ignore the terms of Magna Carta, but elsewhere, few in the baronial party heeded the pope’s scorching rhetoric. Indeed, even the Latin Church’s leading representative in England, Stephen Langton, archbishop of Canterbury, staunchly refused to renounce the charter. He was formally suspended from his office by Rome as a result. With both sides assuming such entrenched positions, a full-scale civil war was inevitable.
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