The Prince of Darkness

Chapter XX RUNNYMEDE

John did not realise what trouble was awaiting him. While he had been in France those barons who had refused to accompany him had been meeting to ask themselves how much longer they were going to endure the rule of an ineffectual tyrant.

Stephen Langton, who owed his duty to the Pope, understood very well how matters were going and was sure that some compromise would have to be reached. Among the archives of Canterbury he had discovered a copy of a document called the Charter of Henry I. This set out certain liberties which on his coronation Henry I had been forced to grant to the people. There were only a few copies of this in existence because Henry had been at great pains to destroy any he could lay his hands on.

On discovering this document in the month of August the Archbishop called together the barons at St Paul’s where he produced the documents, pointing out that many of the rights expressed therein had been waived by succeeding kings.

The struggle between the King and his barons moved a stage further after that assembly at St Paul’s. They now determined to go into action.

November 20^th was a feast day and under the pretext of celebrating this the barons again met, this time at Bury St Edmunds.

Here they took a solemn oath before the high altar. They would insist that John renew the Charter of Henry I; and if he should refuse they were determined to make war.

The time chosen to present their demand to the King was Christmas, which he would be celebrating at Worcester. They decided, however, that the season of goodwill might not be the best time so they changed the meeting place to London and sent a deputation to the King at Worcester telling him that the barons were assembled in London where they must parley with him without delay.

Aware of the storm which was gathering about him, John left Worcester and travelled to London; and there he found the barons awaiting him.

They were a formidable assembly, for they had armed as though for war, and their spokesman informed the King that they insisted he keep the promises and laws set out in the Charter of Henry I.

John was at first inclined arrogantly to accuse them of insubordination, but when he saw how threatening was their manner he knew he must tread carefully.

‘You are asking me a great deal,’ he said. ‘I cannot give you an immediate answer. You must give me a little time to consider these matters. Wait until Easter time and I will have my answer for you then.’

The barons murmured together but finally agreed to await the appointed time.

John immediately sent envoys to the Pope begging for his help against the recalcitrant barons, giving them instructions to tell His Holiness that he was his humble servant and that he needed his help against his rebellious subjects. As his faithful vassal he appealed to him and trusted that he would instruct the rebels to submit, through John, to His Holiness.

The result of this was a letter from the Pope to the baron leaders and Stephen Langton, forbidding them to persist in their persecution of the King. But Stephen Langton was a man of high principles and he had ranged himself on the side of the barons. The Pope did not understand the true situation in England; accordingly at Easter time the barons met at Stamford in Lincolnshire and the Archbishop was with them. With them came two thousand men, armed for battle, to show the King the measure of their seriousness.

John was at Oxford and with him was William Marshal. All John’s efforts were spent in controlling his fury. That his subjects who had once been terrified and ready to hide themselves at the first sign of his temper, were now actually bringing armed forces to intimidate him, maddened him.

William Marshal was faithful as ever, but very grave, being fully aware of John’s unhappy position and the justice of the barons’ grievances.

‘I will go to them, my lord,’ he said, ‘and discover the nature of these demands. Then it is my opinion that you should examine them very closely.’

‘Was ever a king in such a sad state?’ cried John.

‘Rarely,’ answered the Marshal somewhat curtly. He agreed that John’s actions had brought him to this state and it was only his inherent belief that the monarchy must be upheld at all costs which made him determined to serve John until the end, he being, in his opinion, the true sovereign of the realm.

Marshal returned to John in the company of Stephen Langton with the written demands of the barons.

John flushed with fury as he read them: ‘By God’s hands and feet,’ he cried, ‘why do they not demand my kingdom?’

‘They are very insistent, my lord,’ warned Marshal.

John threw the document to the floor and stamped on it. ‘I would never grant liberties which would make me a slave,’ he declared. He added slyly: ‘We will ask the Pope to intervene in this matter. It is the concern of His Holiness, for I hold this kingdom under him. Go, tell the barons they must appeal to the Pope.’

This the barons refused to do and the Pope sent Pandulph, who happened to be in England at the time, instructions to excommunicate the barons as they were, in rebelling against the King of England, defying the Holy See.

Stephen Langton sent for Pandulph and told him that he could see the situation more clearly than an outsider, being right at the heart of it. The country could not exist any longer under the tyranny of its King and the barons were claiming no more than their rights in demanding adherence to the Charter.

‘Instead of excommunicating the barons,’ he declared, ‘it is the King’s army of mercenaries who should be excommunicated. Without them he would be powerless against the people.’

John, deeply alarmed at this observation, went to the Tower of London that he might take possession of his capital city.

This seemed tantamount to a state of war and the barons decided to elect a marshal.

It was ironical that the man they chose was Robert FitzWalter, the King’s enemy and a man who had a score to settle with the murderer of his daughter.

All those who had suffered from the King’s unjust taxation now rallied together and joined the barons. An army marched on London and there was welcomed by the people. The whole country was rising against the King, and John knew it.

He realised that there was only one course open to him. He must offer to comply with the barons’ wishes. They would meet the King in a conference and this was to take place on the 15^th June at a place called Runnymede.

And so in the meadow between Staines and Windsor the parties met. John had brought only a few attendants but the barons had felt it necessary to muster as many supporters as they could. They had their armed knights and the people, knowing their purpose, had joined their ranks as they marched to Runnymede so that it was a multitude which reached the pleasant field.

For twelve days the conference continued. There were adjustments to the clauses and continuous discussion while John looked on and watched his power diminishing.

The Church was to be free to have her rights and liberties unhurt; so were the King’s subjects; widows should not be forced to marry against their will; goods could not be seized for debt if the debtor could discharge the debt; no scutage (a tax demanded for the purpose of supplying funds for war) was to be imposed by the King unless it was agreed by a common council.

In fact no taxation was to be levied without consent of the council. All ancient liberties and customs of cities were to be preserved. There were several clauses pertaining to law. No person was to be kept in prison for a long term without an inquiry into his guilt or innocence.

These were but a few of the clauses to which John was forced to agree and as he read them he saw what he had always regarded as his kingly privileges being whittled away. There would be a new freedom in the land after the signing of Magna Carta and much of the King’s power would be lost to him.

The barons with their leader Robert FitzWalter were not going to allow John to escape.

So he must pen his name to the great charter of Runnymede.

Isabella, having given birth to another daughter, whom she named Eleanor, heard of the momentous events which were shaking the very foundations of the throne.

It had been certain to happen, she knew. John had brought it on himself. He had made so many enemies. Arthur’s disappearance would never be forgotten; and there were so many influential families whose members he had wronged in some way.

She often thought about Matilda FitzWalter with whom he was supposed to be so enamoured and she wondered why he had not forced the girl if he had been as eager as rumour would have it he was. It was strange that he should have had her poisoned because she would not submit. But there were so many odd twists and turns in his nature that one could never be entirely sure of what he was thinking.

He had given her so many shocks recently. First her lover’s body over her bed and then giving little Joanna to Hugh. Then she fell to wondering why Hugh had not married and whether it had anything to do with his devotion to herself. How would he feel about marrying her daughter? But that was far away. Who could be sure what would happen by then?

John had not visited her lately. She supposed he was too preoccupied with the barons and their demands.

Who would have believed at the beginning of his reign that so much could have been lost? Who but John would have lost it?

He was not in good health. She had been aware of that for some time. The anxieties of the last years would have done nothing to alleviate that, and she had always maintained that those fearful rages would kill him one day.

So as she nursed her baby she asked herself what would happen to her when John was dead, for she had a notion that that day might not be far off.

After the signing of the Charter John gave way to his rage, and those about him thought that he would indeed kill himself. He was like a madman; he gnashed his teeth and tore at his clothes; he lay on the floor kicking at furniture and any who came near him; he picked up handfuls of rushes, stuffed them into his mouth and chewed them, seeming to find some relief in this. He muttered to himself and those within earshot listened to the bloodcurdling threats he uttered about what he would do to his enemies. His bouts of rage would subside and then burst out again. The only relief he could get seemed to be through them.

Chains they had put on him, he cried out. These upstarts! They wanted to kill him. They wanted to take his kingdom from him. They had been against him all his life. They would learn one day what happened to his enemies. There would be no mercy … none …

When he grew calmer he decided that he would appeal once more to the Pope. Was he not the fief of the Pope? Had he not surrendered his crown to the Pope and had not the Pope returned it to him? Momentarily he seemed to hear the sighs of his ancestors. The bitter shame of it! But everyone was against me! he cried. Not the Holy Father, though. He would support him. A quick smile touched John’s lips. It was so ironical to think of the Church’s standing with him. In his message to the Pope he mentioned the fact that he was contemplating going on a crusade for of late since he had turned wholeheartedly to the Church he felt his past sins weigh heavily upon him. A mission to the Holy Land alone could rid him of this burden and if he could bring peace to his kingdom he would make his plans.

It was those barons who had brought him to this state – those wicked barons; the Braoses who were determined to have their revenge because that virago of theirs had met her just deserts; Vesci who had made such a fuss because he had admired his wife; and FitzWalter whose silly daughter had refused to submit to her King.

Vesci had told him when the barons were assembled that he was mistaken if he thought he had dishonoured his wife. ‘You slept with a common whore, my lord. You were too drunk to notice she was not my wife.’

‘Liar!’ he had cried and wanted to shout to someone to take the man away and cut out his tongue.

Vesci was bold with the might of the barons behind him.

‘We often laugh at the way in which you were duped, my lord, my wife and I.’

He must have been certain that John would never regain power to have talked like that.

He had tried to think back to that night but he could not remember very clearly and the pleasure he had had from that episode came after when he thought of the haughty Vesci who, as he had thought, had had to give up his wife.

And they had duped him, for deep in his heart he believed this to be so – substituting a common harlot for the lady of the castle; and they had laughed at him. They had cheated him as all the barons had assembled to do.

And strangest of all – his friend was the Pope.

He knew he was right in thinking that the Pope would give him his support. Was he not a fief of the Pope? he kept telling himself. Therefore, the Holy Father would have no wish to see him defeated.

Innocent read the despatches very gravely and came to the conclusion that the barons were seeking to depose John. Why so? Because he had made England a vassal of Rome? The Pope did not wish the King to lose his crown. What if England were plunged into civil war and a new king set up? What of England’s obligations to Rome then?

The Pope sent orders to Stephen Langton to pronounce the sentence of excommunication on the barons.

Langton’s reply was to inform the Pope that he was not fully acquainted with the true state of affairs in England. The King had behaved as a tyrant and the barons were only asking for justice and determined to get it. The case was very different from the manner in which John had presented it.

The Pope was angered by this reply from the Archbishop whose election had created such a storm. He could not understand what was happening. It seemed to him that John had behaved in a most seemly manner. He had become reconciled to the Church; he had reinstated the clergy; he was planning to go on a crusade. And the barons were behaving in a manner to suggest they planned deposing such a king. They should be helping him prepare for the crusade. Christian leaders were needed in the Holy Land. In creating such disturbances now the barons were displeasing God as much as the Saracens did.

How explain to the Pope that John was indeed a tyrant, that he was a worthless king, that he had lost his possessions overseas and was on the verge of losing England? How explain that he had no intention of going on a crusade?

The Pope ended by saying that unless Stephen Langton carried out orders he would be deprived of his office.

John roused himself from his rage and looked the situation straight in the face. If he did not act quickly he was going to lose his kingdom. He must raise an army to fight these barons. He must show them that he would not lightly pass over his crown.

He rode out at dawn one morning with a very few followers and made his way to Dover. He had already despatched one of his agents, Hubert de Boves, to the Continent to recruit an army of mercenaries. He was going to lie low until that army was ready.

Very few people knew where he was and those who did had been sworn to secrecy. The barons were nonplussed and there was nothing they could do but wait for news of the King’s whereabouts.

John smiled wryly, considering the speculation there would be about him. At first there were rumours that he had gone to France to parley with Philip and ask his help. That would have been a dangerous measure but John was capable of such folly. Others said that he had in fact gone on the crusade which he had said he would do but no one could really believe that either. All those near him knew that he had no intention of going on the crusade and that when he had talked of it it had been jokingly. The idea of John’s crusading was ridiculous. One source said that he was dead, that he had been murdered by one of those who had a grudge against him and there were many to choose as suspects. Others said that he had tired of his life as a king and had become a fisherman in some remote part of the country.

John laughed at the rumours and gradually men began to arrive from the Continent.

He marched on Rochester and laid siege to the castle there which was in the hands of the barons. In due course the castle was taken but not before the inmates had been reduced to such starvation that they had eaten their horses.

John, furious that mercenaries should witness the defiance of his own subjects, ordered that every man in the castle should be hanged, but before this order was carried out the captain of the mercenaries managed to persuade him to rescind it. They did not wish to give the enemy an excuse for reprisals, he said. Let the King show his leniency and remember that these people were his own subjects who had perhaps been led astray or coerced into taking a stand against him.

Elated by the victory John was prepared to waive his anger and the defenders of Rochester Castle did not lose their lives.

When the envoys arrived from Rome for the purpose of excommunicating the barons, the latter realised that powerful forces were being released against them. It was never wise to be at odds with the Church when there were battles to be fought, for soldiers could so easily persuade themselves that God was against them and account the smallest setback to Divine displeasure which would undermine future action.

If John had the Pope as an ally, they too must seek one as powerful – or perhaps more so; and the answer to this was of course Philip of France.

There was no doubt that that shrewd and wily monarch was watching events in England with the greatest interest. He had utterly defeated John on the Continent; he was now waiting for the barons to do so in England. He himself not so long ago had cast covetous eyes on the crown and had been turned from his attempt to take it by intervention from the Pope. The fact that help for John was again coming from that quarter gave him deep cause for thought. Philip was secretly amused that the most unholy of kings should have found a friend in the most holy of Fathers. Popes, Philip said to himself, could be moved to act through expedience quite as often – more so in truth – than through holiness; and since Innocent himself had taken John’s crown from him – and graciously bestowed it on him but as a vassal – he would naturally be very inclined to support his puppet.

Now came messengers from the barons of England. They had a proposition to make. If Philip would help them depose John they would be prepared to bestow the crown on Philip’s son Louis.

Philip’s eyes sparkled. So the crown of England could come to France after all!

He pretended to be dubious.

‘How would the people of England reconcile themselves to a French king?’ he wanted to know.

‘My lord, Louis has a certain claim to the throne through his wife.’

Philip nodded. A claim of sorts, though a flimsy one. Eleanor, daughter of Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitaine, had married Alfonso, King of Castile. They had had a daughter, Blanche, who was Louis’s wife. Therefore it could be said that the children Louis and Blanche would have would be descended from the English Royal House.

A flimsy link, thought Philip, but one worth considering. If it went wrong he could wash his hands of it and imply that it was Louis’s concern. Philip had never greatly cared for the act of war; he preferred to win his battles through strategy; he would greatly enjoy sitting back and watching what Louis made of it. It would be a great achievement if the crown of England came to France.

He could of course see that the barons were not so eager as they would seem to set a French king on their throne, but since the intervention of the Pope their need was urgent. John was amassing a large army of mercenaries from the Continent and this army would be mainly composed of the French – subjects of Philip. It might well be that the barons, as John’s army increased, believed they were being forced into a desperately unfavourable position. It was a clever stroke of strategy to call in the help of Philip’s son Louis.

While the French were debating how they should act, the Pope threatened to excommunicate Stephen Langton who was not obeying the orders sent from Rome and was pleading the just cause of the barons.

Langton realised that his only hope of convincing the Pope was to go in person to Rome and plead his cause with him.

When John heard that Langton had left for Rome he was uneasy. Langton was an eloquent man; he could lay the case before Innocent in a manner which would bring no good to John. Up to this point his chances had seemed good. His army was increasing and although they were mercenaries who would fight any battle providing the rewards were good, they were trained soldiers, experienced and well equipped in every way for battle. The barons were clearly not trained soldiers; they lacked leaders. A man bent on revenge such as Robert FitzWalter might rouse people by the force of his eloquence but that did not make him a good leader.

‘By God’s ears and teeth,’ cried John, ‘I am going to subdue these barons. I am going to make them wish they had thought twice before raising their hands against me.’

Then luck began to turn against him. The first stroke came with the death of Innocent, and although John immediately put his case to his successor, Honorius III was not interested. Support from Rome had crumbled. Then Louis had arrived in England and was given a welcome by the barons.

‘So they have called in the French!’ cried John. ‘I never thought to see the like. No good has come to me since I turned to the Church.’

The faithful Marshal was beside him, urging him not to despair. He had his mercenaries, trained soldiers, and it was well known that those who defended their homes had an advantage over the invaders. Some special fighting spirit was given to them; it was their determination to fight to the end.

‘What of the Conqueror?’ cried John. ‘He came and took the land. Are the French going to do to me what he did to the Saxons?’

‘Not if you are strong.’

‘Strong! Am I not strong? And what of these cursed barons?’

The Marshal shook his head sadly. It was not the time to tell him that his tyrannical acts had made bitter enemies of men who might otherwise have been his friends.

‘Those who are loyal to the crown will fight to the death to keep it where it belongs.’

‘And they have brought in the French, the accursed traitors.’

‘Traitors indeed,’ agreed the Marshal.

‘They have brought foreigners into the land.’

As he had, the Marshal thought sadly, with his mercenaries. Foreign soldiers to fight Englishmen in their own country!

William Marshal had never thought it would come to this. The barons were demanding justice; they had produced their Charter and John had been forced to pen his signature to it. That great wise King Henry I had granted a Charter – not because he wished to reduce his own power but because he wished to strengthen it. But he had been a wise king.

The summer was passing. It was an uneasy situation with an enemy on English soil. Even those who had brought them into the country now felt qualms. Did they want to be a vassal of France? Did they want Louis on their throne?

When Louis had arrived the majority of the barons had welcomed him; now they were not so sure. Many who had first supported him now came back to John. He did not reproach them; he was only too pleased to see them.

He heard that Eustace de Vesci had been killed at the siege of Barnard’s Castle.

He laughed aloud, thinking of the man who had stood before him insolently recounting how he had duped the King. He had been one of the main leaders of the rebels, egged on by thoughts of revenge. And now it was Vesci who lay stiff and cold, not John.

The King of Scotland had come to the aid of the rebels and was harrying the North; but the fact that so many of the barons were now regretting the arrival of the French put heart into John.

He planned to drive his forces between those of the Scots in the North and the barons in the South and this brought him to the town of Lynn – a loyal town, a trading town which, like the Cinque Ports, enjoyed certain privileges.

At Lynn he was well received and he spent the time there feasting, drinking and listening to music while he planned his next move.

Perhaps he had feasted too well in Lynn; perhaps he had drunk too freely of their wine, but he began to feel unwell and suffered from dysentery which made travelling difficult.

But he must move on and from Lynn he travelled to Wisbech. With him he took a great many belongings, everything he would need for sojourn wherever the occasion should arise, and as the King must always be surrounded by objects worthy of his rank – and never more so than when he was in danger of losing it – his baggage was considerable. It contained his jewellery of which he had always been inordinately fond and as he grew older and perhaps more in need of adornments to disguise his mottled complexion and his ravaged face, he liked to astonish with their brilliance all those who beheld him.

In addition to his jewellery he had brought other precious possessions including his ornamental plate, flagons and goblets of gold and silver, the royal regalia – everything which it was necessary to keep with him for fear of its being taken by an enemy.

He wished to get to the north side of the Wash and rode off with his army, leaving the wagons containing his possessions to take a more direct route – as their progress was necessarily slow – across the estuary. This journey had to be taken when the tide was out as it meant crossing sand which would be treacherous, and it was necessary to take guides who by prodding the sands with long poles could detect any sign of quicksand.

John left them to take the longer route, with instructions that he would wait at Swineshead on the north side of the Wash for the baggage to arrive.

The cumbersome cavalcade made its way to the sands. The guide was a little late and it was impossible to start without him. Therefore they would have to make up speed in the crossing. The mist descended and they set out. Before they were halfway across the estuary the wheels of the wagons became stuck in the sand and it was impossible to move them. The tide started to come in and in spite of the frantic efforts of the drivers of the vehicles they remained stuck fast.

The waters washed over the sands and the wagons were sucked down with all their contents.

John waiting at Swineshead realised what had happened and let out a great wail of anger.

He felt ill, exhausted by the rigours of the drive in his condition; and this seemed the last straw.

He soon learned that he had lost his jewels, his precious plate, everything that constituted his wealth.

What was there to do? He felt ill and wretched. He was defeated. The French were on English soil. His barons were rising against him. The new Pope was indifferent to his plight. This must be the end.

His anger was intense, but quieter because he had not the physical strength to give it play.

Was this what he had longed for in the days when Richard was King? Was this what he had murdered Arthur for? There had been good times of course. The first days with Isabella.

Where was Isabella now? What was she thinking? How would she feel when he was dead?

He wanted revenge … revenge!

On the way to the Abbey of Swineshead they passed a convent and stopped for refreshment. It was brought to them by a nun who seemed to him in his fevered state to have a look of Isabella. To think of Isabella in a nun’s robe was amusing. But that, he thought, is how she would have looked years ago had they dressed her thus.

He spoke to the nun, who shrank from him, and he felt the stirrings of anger and a desire to force his will upon her. It was but a shadow of the feelings he had known in the past. He mused as he drank the ale she had brought for them. A few years, no less than that, I would have made some plan to abduct her. I would have had good sport with her.

But he was in no mood for sport. He thought of his beautiful jewels somewhere in the quicksands of the Wash. He thought of the French on his soil and his subjects taking up arms against him. And a nagging anger possessed him, a futile anger because he was too weak to give voice to it.

They left the convent and went on to Swineshead. Here they would rest for the night.

He sat at refectory. He ate and drank and tried to regain his youth and spirits. He tried to forget what was happening; he wanted to be young again. The wine numbed his senses, soothed the pains of his body and loosened his tongue.

He talked of the nun he had seen. ‘By God’s ears,’ he said, ‘we’ll ride back that way. I’ll take her … by force if necessary. She had a look in her eyes … perhaps not so prim, eh?’

One of his men whispered to him: ‘I have heard that the nun is the sister of the Abbot here.’

That made him laugh. ‘So much the better. So much the better. Oh, God’s eyes, what is this country coming to? Disloyal subjects. I’ll starve them to death. Perhaps they won’t be so eager to shout for the Frenchman when I have taught them what starvation means. I’ll make food scarce … I’ll burn the granaries. They shall know hunger … and I shall know the Abbot’s sister.’

‘My lord,’ said one of the monks, ‘I believe you have a fondness for peaches.’

‘’Tis so.’

‘We have some choice peaches. Have I your permission to bring you some?’

‘I give that permission,’ cried John.

A little later the monk came with three peaches on a platter. John ate them hungrily. Almost immediately afterwards he was seized with violent pains.

All through the night he suffered and in the morning he set out on his journey, but when he reached the Bishop of Lincoln’s castle at Newark he could go no farther.

‘I think I am dying,’ he said.

The Bishop brought the Abbot of Croxton to him for he was said to be skilled in the art of healing; but there was nothing the Abbot could do.

John lay on his bed thinking of past events and begging the Abbot of Croxton to hear his confession.

Where to begin? There were so many black sins that he had forgotten half of them. Dominating them all was the night in the castle of Rouen when he had killed Arthur and taken his body out, burdened with a stone, that he might sink in the waters of the Seine.

‘Forgiveness, my lord God …’ he murmured.

But he knew he was asking a great deal.

He said: ‘What is that noise?’

‘’Tis the wind, my lord. It is fierce this night.’

People said that the storm that blew on that October night of the year 1216 was that aroused by the gates of Hell opening wide to receive the Prince of Darkness in his true domain.

He died in the early hours of the eighteenth day of that month and as it was his wish that his body should be buried before the altar of St Wulfstan in Worcester Cathedral, it was taken there in a funeral procession protected by the mercenary army he had brought over to fight for him.