CHAPTER THIRTEEN: ARTHUR OF BRITTANY 1201 - 1203
‘My Liege, I would have colloquy with you.’
William braced himself for the King’s retort, for he knew enough of John’s character to anticipate it.
‘Has my Lord Earl insufficient work in attending to my horses that he must importune me in matters of state, for I presume it is of matters of state that you wish to speak, eh?’
‘Aye, my Liege,’ William replied, his tone of voice level, controlled.
‘Remarkable for a man who can neither read nor write,’ John remarked in a snide aside to his clerks, seeking to belittle William.
‘It never stood in the way of the service I have rendered your brother or your father,’ William responded smoothly. ‘Nor does it do much good to alienate men by such means, my Lord King.’
‘You speak frankly.’ John was looking directly at William now.
‘Would you have me speak otherwise?’ There was an edge to William’s voice now.
John let out a sigh and motioned the clerks to leave them. ‘Well?’ John asked curtly when they were alone. ‘What colloquy would you have of me?’
‘My Liege, I understand that of the many knights taken at Mirebeau none are to be ransomed, but all held in durance.’
John looked at William, moved uneasily in his chair and reached for his wine. ‘That is my intention, and may the bastards all starve for their disloyalty.’
‘But that is contrary to all the usage of war…’
‘All the usage of war hitherto, my Lord of Pembroke,’ John said pointedly, taking a draft of the red Bordeaux. ‘Richard might have ransomed them or he might have castrated them, or perhaps, if he had been in good humour, merely had them killed outright. If I remove them and imprison them, they are beyond either martyrdom or rebellion; being unable to return to their lands; as a consequence, their provinces will remain quiescent and untaxed for the burden of ransom. Why, they should be grateful to me for leaving them in peace for they are all my fiefdoms, Angevin lands whose overlords have proved treacherous. Thereafter their revenues will come to me.’
William had not considered the wisdom of John’s action as a deliberate policy. It surprised him, but he clung to his less elevated argument. ‘It will not be seen thus by others who can yet raise rebellion against you, my Liege,’ William pressed his point, though nursing a growing awareness of the cunning in John’s reasoning.
‘But I hold their lords as hostages.’ John’s logic seemed increasingly impervious to reasoned argument and the King had been watching the dawning comprehension in William’s expression. He smiled. ‘You can find no argument against this policy, I see, my Lord Earl. Perhaps you should attend the horses, after all.’
But William swiftly changed his approach, raising another matter, a matter of dynastic importance. ‘And the Duke of Brittany, what of him?’
‘He is my guest,’ John responded.
‘I do not see him at your table, my Liege.’
‘Did Des Roches put you up to this importunity?’ John had lost the initiative and stirred uneasily, reaching again for his cup of wine.
‘No, my Liege, but I know him to be distressed by the treatment your castellans are meeting out to two of his kin, and this upon your orders, he tells me.’
‘I think you have said enough. Go, before I am provoked…’
My Liege, while your arguments may have some validity, they will not prevent further rebellion and you miscalculate if you think otherwise.’
‘It is not given to Kings to cavil and bend. Get out!’
‘My Liege,’ William shouted back, ‘you have secured all that was lost, and by a brilliant feat of arms! No man could have done better. Not even the Lionheart! I beseech you that you do not fling it away!’
John sat fuming, glaring at William, whose persistence and disobedience at not withdrawing at the King’s command, angered him. John rose and paced up and down the chamber, suddenly stopping in front of William and staring up at him.
‘Why should ransom work this time around, eh?’ He paused and William felt John’s breath hot upon his own face. ‘Did it work for my cunning father, or did he exhaust himself in endless warfare and die like a dog covered in shit and sores for his trouble? Eh, tell me that, for you above all men know the answer to that. Did it work for my lionhearted brother with his ruthless quest for victory anywhere, anyhow? Has my sainted mother, with all the sagacity that her many years are supposed to have conferred upon her, found a method of holding her beloved Aquitaine for longer than a year without the Lusignans or some other upstart house troubling the peace of the people she affects to hold in such esteem?’ John broke off to resume his furious pacing, leaving William a moment to reflect on the King’s meaning. ‘God’s blood, William,’ John went on, his tone now suddenly confidential, intimate and conciliatory, ‘I am neither my brother nor my father but, by the bones of the Christ, I would have peace if I could, as the Lord Jesu is my witness.’ John piously crossed himself and William quickly followed suit. ‘But every which-way I look I find men’s hands turned against me that I must find some other method.’ Again he stopped in front of William. ‘Can you think of any other means by which I can stop this incessant warfare?’
An idea struck William with an almost physical impact. Both he and John could be the losers by it in the short-term, but perhaps, in the long run, they might make something of it. Staring at William John divined something in William’s eyes.
‘Well? What is it?’
‘I may speak freely, my Liege?’
‘Yes, yes,’ replied John testily, quite forgetting that a moment before he had ordered William out of his presence. ‘Is it not obvious that I invite your counsel.’
William brushed aside the irony.
‘Then give up Normandy, my Liege, give up Anjou, Aquitaine and the rest. Rule in England. England untrammelled could make you stronger than expending blood and treasure as half a King north of the Channel Sea and half Philippe’s vassal to the southward of it. Let Arthur do you fealty for Brittany, if you wish, for the Bretons have no love of Philippe of France…’
Listening to William’s proposition, John had been staring open-mouthed and now he interrupted, crashing his fist down on the board. ‘By Christ, Marshal!’ he roared. ‘What kind of fool d’you take me for? Or what kind of a fool should I take you for, for such counsel?’
William raised his hand, ‘My Liege, I beg of you that you will heed this,’ he interjected, quietening John’s out-burst, ‘that your father once charged me, in the name of your brother, to ever hold England for the power of the Crown, your Crown now, My Lord King.’ William paused, for he had John’s attention again. ‘Make Arthur your sworn vassal, invest him with Normandy if you will, but remove yourself from Philippe…’
He got no further. As John imbibed the meaning of William’s words he flushed with renewed and intemperate rage, raising his voice. ‘God damn your soul to Hell, Marshal! Better you had stilled your tongue when first I told you to, for you have truly provoked me now!’ John waved William away with a withering: ‘Go!’ bawling at him to: ‘Tend to the horses and mind the affairs of your office lest I give it to another! My clerks are better company than you!’ John roared. ‘Get out! Get out! For the love of God go lest I...’ John broke off and turned his blazing face away. As he withdrew, William heard John mutter to himself, ‘whoso is afraid let him flee. I myself will not flee…’
When William left the King he felt the onset of an immense depression. In one sense he saw John’s plight, even admired his attempt to devise a method of breaking the endless chain of cause-and-effect. William had long ago given up all hope of comprehending the minds of any of his Angevin masters, but that was when he wielded no influence whatsoever. Now matters had changed; his foray into Ireland, brief though it had been, had taught him that there existed alternative lands to those under the notional suzerainty of the King of France and that John as King of England would in many way be immeasurably more power
ful unencumbered by the turbulent dynastic fiefdoms of Aquitaine, Anjou and the rest.
Impressive though John’s attempt to break the endless circle of feuding, broken oaths and worthless treaties might be, he could not act alone. He would have to cede both power and reputation to Philippe, even if he was, in the end, the winner in France. As for the long-term advantages that might be procured by quietly starving all his captives, it would not answer in the short-term. William feared that it would, by default, more likely lead to the loss of John’s lands south of the Channel in any case. Better to submit with an air of dignified willingness and thereby gain some advantage to the English Crown by way of indemnity, than to lose all by ignominious and inglorious military defeat.
***
And William’s fears proved far from groundless. In the event it was the defection of William Des Roches to Philippe that started the rot, much as William had predicted. After Des Roches, baron after baron went over to Philippe, many the sons of those whose fathers John was holding and of whom no news was forthcoming, though there was rumour a-plenty.
John had crossed into England to hold a miserable Christmas Court at Canterbury, leaving William in Rouen and it was here that Des Roches came to William to announce his intentions.
‘You will not reconsider?’ William had asked.
Des Roches shook his head. ‘He is not to be trusted…’
‘Is Philippe?’ William countered.
‘Philippe has more guile and gains power by the month. He has bought Baldwin of Flanders who will not, I think, return to his old alliance with the House of Anjou, for it has cost his family too much. Philippe’s star is rising, that of the Devil’s brood must be in decline.’ Des Roches crossed himself. ‘Besides he has the Pope’s ear and John has only his heel.’ Des Roches paused and looked shrewdly at William. ‘You have lands in Normandy, William; cleave to John and you will lose them.’
‘Aye, but I have greater lands and greater title in England, the Welsh March and Ireland,’ William responded ruminatively.
Des Roches shrugged, picking up and drawing on his gauntlets. ‘As you will. I must bid you farewell then,’ he said abruptly and was gone into the night.
As the spring of 1203 approached and the warmth of the sun began to lure the green shoots from the ground, further disturbing rumours followed the King’s return to Rouen. Although few, except his own restless and independently-minded tenants, had given much thought to him, people began asking the whereabouts of Arthur, Count of Brittany. No-one, it appeared, knew anything. He had been confined in the castle of Falaise, it was said, but if true he was not there now. There was a story circulating in the water-front taverns of Rouen that a fisherman had hauled a body out of the Seine. It was richly dressed, and clearly of a young man, though the corpse was so bloated as to be unrecognisable. Enquiries as to what had happened to it, yielded nothing convincing: it has been buried somewhere, perhaps at the priory of Notre-Dame-des-Pré, but no-one could say for certain. An interrogation of the Prior yielded nothing of substance. Perhaps a young noble-man had fallen into the Seine, the Prior had said, but none could say who he was.
Some had heard that the King had declared his brother the Lionheart would have had the boy blinded and castrated, thus rendering him harmless and no threat to the existing order. Others averred that the King, being in a furious and drunken rage, had personally stoned the young man, or strangled him with his bare hands, or cut his throat with a dagger, or his eating knife as he sat at meat with Arthur beside him.
Yet another finger of accusation pointed at William de Briouze who pushed aside Hubert de Burgh, the Prince’s official jailer, to kill Arthur and ingratiate himself with John. Few ever knew the truth, for the truth was too shocking, though a distraught De Burgh sought absolution for his marginal part in it, or so William heard. All William knew for certain was that Arthur had ceased to exist some time before Lady Day that year and that John, De Briouze and De Burgh had all hand some part to play in the matter.
Coming so soon after Des Roches’ defection to Philippe and the start of a steady leaching of loyalty away from John towards the French King, the news of Arthur’s non-existence – he was never declared dead – proved the fulcrum of fate. All the gains of Mirebeau lay in the dust and by that summer William was at war again.
***
The King’s Council held at Rouen in the spring of 1203 was as unhappy as John’s Christmas Court at Canterbury. Having secured the Duchy of Normandy by his triumph at Mirebeau, John’s conduct in indefinitely and secretly incarcerating the barons who had thereafter fallen into his hands had swiftly borne a terrible fruit, just as William had predicted. Des Roches was swiftly followed by many others in his defection to the French camp, including the Lord of Alençon, whose lands bordered Maine and offered Philippe a southern gateway into Normandy. Both William and Longsword privately agreed that they were embarking upon a lost cause, such was the alienation of John, but both owed everything to John and in turn the King looked to them for support and for the devising of a strategy to combat the new threat to the House of Anjou.
As the King sat, biting his nails to the quick and quaffing from his goblet, William addressed those loyal lords, barons and senior knights banneret assembled in the King’s presence.
‘My Liege,’ he began deferentially before turning to those who must defend the King’s rights, ‘my Lords and Gentlemen, we face a war on three fronts. In the west the turbulent Bretons must be met with force and it is My Lord the King’s will that William Longsword moves with his chivalry and all his armament to meet them. In the meanwhile His Grace and I shall maintain our power here, relying upon Robert FitzWalter to hold Vaudreuil and Roger de Lacy Chateau Galliard, should Philippe advance along the line of the Seine or come by way of the Vexin. If he does, Wolfscar and I will harry him to destruction. If, on the other hand, he should march west to Maine, join Alençon and seek to come at us from the south, perhaps with some notion of linking up with the Bretons, then we will shall move against him there….’
‘All depends upon the movements of Philippe,’ put in Longsword awkwardly, emphasising, if it needed it, that John’s strategy was, of necessity, defensive.
‘My Lords,’ said the King, rousing himself from his wine-induced torpor and looking about him, ‘I rely upon you to assert my just cause…’ There was an awkward shuffling among the assembly, as John went on, almost plaintively, his voice slurred by wine. ‘And I shall not forget my gratitude to you when we prevail.’ John forced a smile and turned to William. ‘My Lord of Pembroke will stand exemplar of my powers to elevate a worthy man who plies his sword and directs his chivalry in my name.’ John let the words hang in the air for a moment before rising unsteadily, leaving William grinding his teeth in supressed fury at being so used as all present also leapt to their feet. ‘God go with you all,’ the King said piously, crossing himself as the barons and knights followed suit, then fell back and made way for him as he lurched from the chamber.
‘Longspear’s force shall move on the morrow,’ growled a flushed William, wrapping up the Council’s deliberations, ‘after a Mass has been said to our success. Go to it, my Lords and Gentlemen.’
He and Longsword shooed the two clerks from their writings and watched the nobles, barons and senior knights banneret as they left the room to be about their individual preparations. When they were alone, William leaned forward, both fists clenched upon the table and blew out his cheeks. ‘By the Blood of Christ, I mislike this business more and more with every day that passes, Will.’
‘Aye,’ agreed Longsword. ‘Did you ever see such a crowd of dogs with their tails in the mud? God grant De Lacy and FitzWalter hold their posts…’
‘Amen to that,’ William agreed, nodding.
‘And pity his poor little Queen,’ Longsword added in a low voice, ‘that she should receive him into her bed in that condition every night, if indeed it is the Queen’s bed to which he repairs.’
‘Would that she would concei
ve and bring forth a boy,’ William remarked, straightening up, ‘and give us some meaning for our labours.’
‘Aye.’ Longsword lingered as if wanting to say more.
‘Now,’ remarked William, ‘we must not be tardy ourselves…’
‘Hold hard a moment, William, there is something that greatly troubles me.’
William guessed what was coming, but asked, ‘and what is that?’
Longsword looked William in the eyes and asked, ‘Do you know what became of Arthur?’
William shook his head. ‘No, and if you doubt it, I would willingly swear to it upon the bones of Christ himself,’ William said, crossing himself.
Longsword nodded. ‘I need only your word, and I am mightily relieved to hear you say so, for there are those that say you had a hand in it…’
‘Because I stand high in the King’s regard, no doubt,’ William scoffed.
‘Well,’ shrugged Longsword, ‘you know how these matters grow legs in the absence of the truth…’ Longsword’s voice again trailed off, but he made no move to leave the chamber.
‘There is more that troubles you?’ William asked.
Longsword sighed. ‘Are we to take it that he is dead?’
‘I do not know for certain,’ William replied, recalling John’s new policy. ‘But if he is not yet dead he is not, I think, intended to live, and if he is allowed to live, he will do so blind and castrate…’
‘You know this?’ Longsword asked frowning, suddenly wary.
‘No, as I have said,’ William retorted testily, ‘I do not know it; I merely guess it. John has as yet no legitimate issue; he is determined to retain Normandy and the Angevin lands – against my advice – and Arthur is, or was, a threat to him as long as he breathes.’
‘So you comprehend that John is behind Arthur’s disappearance?’
‘I doubt that not at all, but whether he or another, or how, when and where, the destruction of the line of Geoffrey of Anjou is, or has been, actually accomplished, I am as anxious and as ignorant as the next man.’
William Marshal Guardian of England- The Complete Series Page 48
