‘But I know too, that you have been but recently humbled by the French and I am told to your shame, that some among your company did abandon their ships, affrighted by the enemy. I cannot think that any mariner of England sleeps comfortably with that infamy despoiling his honour, honour and valour having been previously shown by you against the enemy. What I lay before you is the prospect of restoring that honour and of adding to its glories in the service you are enjoined by ancient statute and charter to render unto the King’s Grace.
‘Moreover, such dutiful obedience unto the task I shall set before you will earn you all the blessings of the church, that we may take back this Kingdom which is rightfully that of our Sovereign Prince, King Henry, third of that name, and, under his good government, ours to prosper in.
‘What good do you think shall come out of rule by Louis and vassalage to the King of France? Where then your ancient privileges, your pride, your independence? You have triumphed before and shall triumph again. What occurred off Calais was a chastening by God, a humbling and the time is now upon you to embrace your true task, to keep the Channel for England. Think on these things and give me your answer in one hour…’
With that William and his two companions withdrew. It took a mere twenty minutes for the short hubbub of argument that followed William’s departure to die-down. He learned afterwards that it had been suggested that whether or not the Marshal’s proposition was to be accepted, the restoration of their privileges carried the day; the matter was not even put to any vote, as was customary among them. A request came for William, John Marshal and D’Aubigny to return to the Moot Hall in which the meeting had been convened.
‘We will willingly and right gladly hear what you require of us, my Lord Marshal, a spokesman said, and for a second time William stepped forward.
‘Good-fellows all, I would have you place yourselves under the command of these Lords who accompany me, My Lord D’Aubigny and John Marshal, of mine own kin. I would have you also prepare and muster as many men of good heart and spirit that you may and bring them to the place of rendezvous which I leave unto you…’
‘Sandwich, my Lord,’ someone shouted. The assertion was followed by cries of ‘Aye, Sandwich,’ and it was as if they all divined what William now set before them.
‘Very well. Sandwich it is, and from there you shall, at a moment favourable to you as regards the wind and tide and of your own choosing, carry forces under the King’s standard, against the French. Whatever you desire in your hearts regarding reward, ransoms and advantages, hear this: it is my desire that you utterly rout the enemy and to that end my Lord D’Aubigny, with other men of rank and following, will embark with you. I therefore charge that you shall, with all your might and main, press upon the enemy even unto the gates of Calais, until you have achieved the saving of England.
‘Will you do it? What say you..?’
The second question was drowned in cheering and William left the Moot Hall with the remark that ‘if enthusiasm could be harnessed and sprung like a mangonel, Louis was already lying in the dust.’
*
William returned to Canterbury to find the new Justiciar of England, Richard de Chilham, disputing the command of the forces then mustering at Sandwich and making a case for his own candidacy before the King. De Chilham, a bastard son of King John by Earl Warenne’s sister, was backed up by De Warenne, who, having given up the rebel side, had thrown his lot in with the King and now wished for his family to cover itself in glory. Henry looked to William for advice.
‘My Liege,’ William said wearily, ‘if my Lord Justiciar wishes to venture his life afloat he is most welcome. The outcome of a sea-battle is unlikely to rely so heavily upon a single command as one on land and I am sure that Lord D’Aubigny’s sensibilities may be flattered into submission. Besides, mayhap an edge of rivalry between two divisions of a fleet would work to advantage…’ He was too tired to say more, and felt his sickness stirring within him.
Early next morning, shortly before sunrise, William led a cavalcade out of Canterbury to follow the road that ran along the line of the River Stour which debouched into the sea through the thriving port of Sandwich. Among the company rode D’Aubigny, De Chilham, De Warenne, John and Will Marshal. D’Aubigny had not demurred at the suggestion of divided command. Unfamiliar with naval warfare he saw in the pushy presence of the Justiciar a scapegoat if things went awry. As for William’s nephew, John Marshal, his appointment was to the land forces which would garrison Sandwich as its menfolk almost to a man – and boy – went aboard the twenty or so hurriedly prepared vessels, along with a great number of knights, sergeants-at-arms and archers.
William bore the ride badly, reminded of Henry Curtmantle’s failure to remain in the saddle during the last weeks of his fatal illness. From time-to-time he felt a pain like a dagger thrust into his bowel, but he stayed on horseback after they had arrived in the sea-port, where news had arrived from the cliffs of the Isle of Thanet to the north, that a French fleet was at sea.
Walking his horse up and down the quay as he watched the men go aboard he watched the ship-men at their unfamiliar work.
‘What is in those?’ he asked some men as they rolled barrels towards the gang-plank of a large vessel. William feared it was strong beer and while he was not insensible of the advantages of men fighting whilst drunk, he was not keen to encourage it.
‘’Tis slaked-lime, my Lord,’ came the answer. ‘We throw it in the vizzards of the French,’ he added with a broad grin.
‘Happen they be to looard,’ his companion added.
‘Oh, aye, happen they be well to looard!’
Nodding his satisfaction William stood in his stirrups and roared out encouragement: ‘Go with God, good-fellows all, your cause is just and you should have the better hand in the game than your enemy, for know you that God has delivered him into your hands and he awaits you even now in the middle of the sea…’
In the middle of this exhortation Hubert de Burgh arrived from Dover, begging a command, citing his long and determined defence of Dover and his position as Justiciar of England under John.
‘We might as well have one Justiciar more or less,’ remarked William, knowing that none of the nobles embarked would achieve any glory that day without the co-operation and skill of the mariners. Once the fleets were in action it mattered little what a man’s station in life was. The only difference was that, if captured, the nobles would be ransomed, the commoners tossed overboard, or worse.
Once the fleet had sailed, driving their ships downstream with any amount of noise, warping and poling, for they were grossly over-crowded and needed some offing before setting sail properly, William sought a place to rest, to await the outcome and – above all – to pray.
All that day a preternatural peace lay over the Kentish port. It was the Feast of St Bartholomew, the 24th August, a warm enervating day on shore. The wind came and went, fitful and fickle. William lay in an upper chamber of an inn near the waterfront, his body-servant and Thomas idling outside, swatting flies and chaffing the serving women in an attempt to pass the hours congenially.
The first news they had boded ill. It had been no coincidence that the French had appeared that morning. Fishermen arrived at the town quay to land their catch and told of a great fleet that had left Calais to disembark reinforcements sent to Louis by Blanche of Castile. It was purely circumstantial that the English war-fleet had been preparing for battle and the French arrival was merely convenient. What was less so, was the news that military reinforcements meant the enemy was well equipped to contest their passage.
John Marshal stood his men to arms, in case the enemy appeared in the Wensum Channel and entered the Stour, but the hours passed and no enemy appeared. Only the clear weather of the morning vanished. Instead a haze and then a mist limited the visibility, so that no watcher on the cliffs of Thanet could see anything beyond a mile or so to seaward.
The day drew on and towards sunset another fishing boat arrived. Ab
oard were two French knights from whom little could be learned beyond the fact that a great fight had taken place that day and, by all accounts, Eustace the Monk had been slain. Preoccupied by pain, William retired early with orders to be woken if any further intelligence came in.
It was not until the following day that anything positive was known. An English nef sailed up the Stour with news of a complete victory. Thereafter the returning English vessels came upstream in ones and twos bearing hostages and a rich plunder. All William truly understood of the sea-fight was that after some preliminary manoeuvring, during which it appeared the French formed the impression that they had, once again, bettered their opponents, Hugh de Burgh had turned his vessel about and led the attack from the rear. As the English fleet bore-up, the action fast became the general mêlée William had predicted. Eustace’s flagship, which was overloaded with destriers and arms and bore treasure for the Dauphin, had been taken, Eustace had been cornered cowering in the hold and killed by a Cinque Ports master-mariner even as his flagship sank under him. As the action had become general the French vessels had, one-by-one, been overwhelmed, sinking or surrendering and yielding up a considerable booty. The enemy had been thrown into the sea, seamen and common soldiery alike, or put to death, so that of the puissant fleet that had sailed from Calais, only three dozen noblemen were landed at Sandwich.
When, that evening D’Aubigny came to William to formally report the outcome, William fell on his knees. ‘Deo Gratias,’ he murmured, crossing himself. ‘England is saved.’
CHAPTER TEN - CAVERSHAM - 1217 - 1219
William had been constantly active since the spring of that year and even after the Battle of Sandwich his labours were far from over. Louis received news of the disaster to his fleet on Saturday 26th August and agreed to meet William and De Burgh on Blackheath under flags of truce. Louis manoeuvred for time, arguing that he had agreed to meet Henry’s envoys under duress. Further talks were necessary. London remained loyal to the Dauphin and, in his own opinion, Louis blustered that he was not yet beaten.
On De Burgh’s advice, William had ordered the Cinque Ports ships round the North Foreland to blockade the Thames and cut off London from any supply by sea.
The action angered many of the Loyalist Barons who considered that, upon its fall, London should be subjected to the rapine and looting accorded to all cities that had supported an enemy. But, given the parlous state of the King’s Exchequer and Treasury, William opposed this folly, declaring the needs of the Crown and the Kingdom came before any rewards to individuals, notwithstanding the honour gained by the claimants. It was clear from these dissensions that the French must be ejected from the Kingdom without further delay.
Among the French barons in London a creeping realisation that the game was up led them to plan a grand sortie, intended to permit their escape. They had for months been launching chevauchée after chevauchée into the country around London. But William, in a letter written by the faithful Thomas, proposed a meeting on an ait in the Thames, west of London. William, Longsword, Warenne and Arundel would guarantee Louis’ safety.
It was two days before the Treaty of Kingston was agreed; William’s terms were nevertheless generous. Louis was to leave England with all his power and chivalry, promising never to return. All castles in his hands were to be given up, as were those held in his name by the Welsh and Scots. By agreement with Guala di Bicchieri, all those rebels English hitherto excommunicated were restored to the love and charity of Holy Church and they would also enjoy all the privileges and liberties, the rights and advantages granted in the second Magna Carta issued under the great seal of Henry, the unequivocal King of England and third of that name. Most conciliatory of all was the provision that the surviving rebel Barons would have all lands they possessed ante bellum restored to them. It amounted to a general amnesty.
Many considered the conditions to which William – in Henry’s name – put his seal, far too lenient, especially his grant to Louis of an indemnity of fifteen thousand marks, but for English Barons like himself holding lands in Normandy, the inducement was essential and the raids of the French knights out of London had to be stopped before the damage they caused became excessive.
‘It buries enmity,’ William growled at his critics, chief among them Peter des Roches, who refused to pay the tax necessary to raise the money to indemnify Louis. In the end, only a fraction of it was ever handed over. Apart from the restoration of their domains to the rebellious Barons, the most unpleasant impact of the treaty on English soil was Louis’ abandonment of the clergy who had clung to his cause. The Papal Legate insisted he be allowed to deal with them.
Guala di Bicchieri was kinder to the French enemy. He absolved the departing French troops, though they were to do penance, marching to Dover in bare feet and their breech-clouts, though Louis was allowed his surtout. Here the French took ship for France and on 29 October, a year almost to the day, the young King Henry rode into his capital to the acclamation of its fickle citizens.
Far to the north Ranulph, Earl of Chester, with the Earl of Derby alongside him, having ravaged Mountsorrel, raided deep into the countryside, taking castles and ejecting their castellans as the rebel cause foundered. On 19 December an accord was reached with King Alexander of Scotland who had held onto Carlisle but was also hereditary Earl of Huntingdon. Under an escort Alexander met the young Henry at Northampton and swore fealty for his English earldom.
As Christmas approached an uneasy peace settled over England and William and King Henry celebrated the Holy Festival of the Nativity at Gloucester.
*
Hardly had he laid aside the sword but William must take up the administration of the Kingdom. Its condition was parlous. There was no money in the Treasury, the disbanded soldiery were short of pay, the now unemployed knights demanded to resurrect the tourney to support themselves, the Court of King’s Bench had not sat for nine years and the economy was stagnant. Worst of all, from William’s perspective, was the clash of personalities consequent upon the terms of the Treaty of Kingston and the minority government of the King. Despite ravaging the northern Baronies, seat of the civil war just ended, the Earls of Chester and Derby, joined by the unreliable Aumale, refused to ratify it with their seals. Ranulph of Chester, so narrowly missing the role of Guardian, now laid joint claim to it, reforming a loose and dissenting confederation of the northern Barons, while Hubert de Burgh, the castellan of Dover, and Peter des Roches, Bishop of Winchester, formed an opposition to William nearer to home.
In failing health, William struggled on. He summoned a Great Council at Westminster that October, chiefly to raise money to pay Louis’ indemnity by a scutage of two marks per knight, but also to ban the tournament. Falkes de Bréauté joined Des Roches in refusing to pay and William pledged revenues from his own lands to go some way to meet some of the obligation undertaken at Kingston. Orders went out to the judiciary to re-establish the Exchequer and, in January, William himself attracted an insolent disdain from Des Roches for sitting at the chequered cloth. His illiteracy was held by the Bishop to mark him both innumerate and a fool.
But William was far from either; he possessed the shrewdness of many an ill-educated man, sharpened by the knowledge of his own approaching death. Amid the turmoil of land-grabs, he acquired what he conceived to be his due and would be necessary to support his family, but unlike others he sought to rebuild a Kingdom which could sustain these ambitions as much for the Marshal inheritance as for the House of Anjou. And when, shortly after Christmas 1217, the two coincided, he went again to war.
Under the terms of the Treaty of Kingston those Welsh Princes who had acted in loose alliance with the Dauphin were obliged to swear fealty to Henry III. Llewelyn bowed the knee, but Morgan ap Howell refused. Nursing an old grievance, Morgan captured the castle of Caerleon-upon-Usk taken from his family years earlier by the Lady Isabelle’s father, Richard Strongbow, declaring that as long as William Marshal held an inch of Welsh soil in the name of Henry of A
njou, he would fight.
William despatched John D’Earley at the head of a substantial force which included the younger Marshal to recover the castle, but Morgan met D’Earley, and in the savage fighting that ensued, D’Earley’s men were mauled, reducing matters to a stalemate. In March 1218 William called a grand parley at Worcester. In the King’s presence, Prince Llewelyn laid down a plea that Caerleon be returned to Morgan ap Howell and he was supported by Peter des Roches and Ranulph of Chester.
‘Men are never satisfied, but that they must endlessly carp and criticise,’ grumbled William on the evening that Des Roches and Ranulph had spoken out. He was in pain and, in the absence of Isabelle, from whom he had concealed his chronic disability, he sought consolation in the company of the most faithful of his men.
‘Both Chester and my Lord Bishop are in open opposition to you, my Lord,’ said D’Earley, stung by his defeat at the hands of Morgan ap Howell and angry on William’s behalf at the effrontery of the two men.
‘They are not the only ones,’ William remarked. ‘The question is, what is to be done about it, for I must return a reply on the morrow?’
‘What is in your Lordship’s mind?’ D’Earley asked.
‘My mind is inclined to conciliation…’
‘No father!’ snapped his son, ‘Morgan defiled and burnt a score of churches and laid waste the land, we lost ten of your best knights and he has been excommunicated. You cannot yield Caerleon to such a barbarian!’
William smiled ruefully. ‘Morgan ap Hywell is no barbarian, Will,’ he admonished gently. ‘Do not forget you spring from your mother’s womb as much as my loins and she is commonly regarded as a barbarian by the savages from the Brabant and France whom we so lately vanquished.’
Stung, Will flushed and responded with a grave formality. ‘Very well, my Lord, then my advice is put it to the test of combat and I shall stand champion in your name. I have heard you offered such a solution to matters touching your own honour.’
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