"Hugo dei gratia Rothomagensis archiepiscopus senatoribus inclitis civibus honoratis et omnibus commune London concordie gratiam, salutem eternam. Deo et vobis agimus gratias pro vestra fidelitate stabili et certa domino nostro regi Stephano jugiter impensa. Inde per regiones notæ vestra nobilitas virtus et potestas."[361]
It is tempting to see in this charter—unknown, it would seem, to the historians of London—a mention of the famous "communa," the "tumor plebis, timor regni," of 1191. But the term, here, is more probably employed, as in the "communa liberorum hominum" of the Assize of Arms (1181), and the "communa totius terre" of the Great Charter (1215). At the same time, there are two expressions which occur at this very epoch, and which might support the former view. One is conjuratio, which, as we have seen, the Continuator applies to the action of the Londoners in 1141,[362] and which Richard of Devizes similarly applies to the commune of 1191.[363] The other is communio, which William of Malmesbury applies to their government in the previous April, and which the keen eye of Dr. Stubbs noted as "a description of municipal unity which suggests that the communal idea was already in existence as a basis of civil organization."[364] But he failed, it would seem, to observe the passage which follows, and which speaks of "omnes barones, qui in eorum communionem jamdudum recepti fuerant." For in this allusion we recognize a distinctive practice of the "sworn commune," from that of Le Mans (1073),[365] to that of London (1191), "in quam universi regni magnates et ipsi etiam ipsius provinciæ episcopi jurare coguntur."[366]
Meanwhile, what of Geoffrey de Mandeville? A tale is told of him by Dugdale, and accepted without question by Mr. Clark,[367] which, so far as I can find, must be traced to the following passage in Trivet:—
"Igitur in die Nativitatis Precursoris Domini [June 24], obsessâ turri, fugatur imperatrix de Londoniâ. Turrim autem Galfridus de Magnavillâ potenter defendit, et egressu facto, Robertum civitatis episcopum, partis adversæ fautorem, cepit apud manerium de Fulham."[368]
It is quite certain that this tale is untrustworthy as it stands. We have seen above that Trivet's date for the arrival of the Empress at London is similarly, beyond doubt, erroneous.[369] That the citizens, when they suddenly rose against the Empress, may also have blockaded Geoffrey in his tower, not only as her ally, but as their own natural enemy, is possible, nay, even probable. But that he ventured forth, through their ranks, to Fulham, when thus blockaded, is improbable, and that he captured the bishop as an enemy of the Empress is impossible, for the Empress herself had just installed him,[370] and we find him at her court a month later.[371] At the same time Trivet, we must assume, cannot have invented all this. His story must preserve a confused version of the facts as told in some chronicle now lost, or, at least, unknown.[372] On this assumption it may, perhaps, be suggested that Geoffrey was indeed blockaded in the Tower, but that when he accepted the Queen's offers, and thus made, as we shall see, common cause with the citizens, he signalized his defection from the cause of the Empress by seizing her adherent the bishop,[373] and holding him a prisoner till, as Holinshed implies, he purchased his freedom, and so became free to join the Empress at Oxford.[374]
And now let us come to the subject of this chapter, the lost charter of the Queen.
That this charter was granted is an historical fact hitherto absolutely unknown. No chronicler mentions the fact, nor is there a trace of any such document, or even of a transcript of its contents. And yet the existence of this charter, like that of the planet Neptune, can be established, in the words of Sir John Herschel, "with a certainty hardly inferior to ocular demonstration." The discovery, indeed, of that planet was effected (magnis componere parva) by strangely similar means. For as the perturbations of Uranus pointed to the existence of Neptune, so the "perturbations" of Geoffrey de Mandeville point to the existence of this charter.
We know that the departure of the Empress was followed by the arrival of the Queen, with the result that Geoffrey was again in a position to demand his own terms. Had he continued to hold the Tower in the name of the Empress, he would have made it a thorn in the side of the citizens now that they had declared for her rival. We hear, moreover, at this crisis, of offers by the Queen to all those whom bribes or concessions could allure to her side.[375] We have, therefore, the strongest presumption that Geoffrey would be among the first to whom offers were made. But it is not on presumption that we depend. Stephen, we shall find, six months later, refers distinctly to this lost charter ("Carta Reginæ"),[376] and the Empress in turn, in the following year, refers to the charters of the king and of the queen ("quas Rex Stephanus et Matildis regina ei dederunt ... sicut habet inde cartas illorum").[377] Thus its existence is beyond question. And that it passed about this time may be inferred, not only from the circumstances of the case, but also from the most significant fact that, a few weeks later, at the siege of Winchester, we find Geoffrey supporting the Queen in active concert with the citizens.[378]
What were the terms of the charter by which he was thus regained to his allegiance we cannot now tell. To judge, however, from that of Stephen, which was mainly a confirmation of its terms, it probably represented a distinct advance on the concessions he had wrung from the Empress.
It is an interesting fact, and one which probably is known to few, if any, that there is still preserved in the Public Record Office a solitary charter of the Queen, granted, I cannot but think, at this very crisis. As it is not long, I shall here quote it as a unique and instructive record.