Before this letter could have reached its destination, John sent to England a confidential clerk, Adam of S. Edmund’s, with secret letters, ordering that all the castles which he held there should be made ready for defence against the king. This man, having reached London without hindrance, foolishly presented himself on February 9 at the house of the new archbishop of Canterbury, Hubert Walter. The archbishop invited him to dinner, an unexpected honour by which Adam’s head was so completely turned that he boasted openly at table of his master’s hopes of political advancement. Hubert listened without remark, and thinking that to arrest the babbler on the spot would be a breach of hospitality, suffered him to depart after dinner; but the mayor of London—warned no doubt by the archbishop himself or by one of the other guests—seized Adam on his way back to his lodging, took possession of his papers, and sent them to Hubert, who on the following day laid them before a council of bishops and barons. The council unanimously decreed that John should be disseised of all his lands in England, and that his castles should be reduced by force; the bishops excommunicated him and all his adherents. Then the old bishop of Durham set off to renew the siege of Tickhill; the earls of Chester, Huntingdon and Ferrars laid siege to the castle of Nottingham; Archbishop Hubert himself undertook that of Marlborough, which he won in a few days; and Lancaster was given up to him by his brother Theobald. On March 13 Richard arrived in England. His arrival was speedily followed by the surrender of Tickhill. On the 25th he appeared before Nottingham; on the 28th he was once again master of its castle, and of all England.[209]
At Nottingham Richard held a council, on the second day of which (March 31) he “prayed that justice should be done him”[210] on John and on John’s chief abettor, Bishop Hugh of Chester. The council cited both delinquents to appear for trial within forty days, and decreed that if they failed to do so, or to “stand to right,” Hugh should be liable to a double sentence—from the bishops as a bishop, and from the laity as a sheriff,[211]—and John should be accounted to have “forfeited all claims to the kingdom,”[212] or, as a later annalist explains, should be “deprived and disinherited not only of all the lands which he held in the realm, but also of all honours which he hoped or expected to have from the Crown of England.”[213] Neither in person nor by proxy did John answer the citation. At the end of the forty days three earls set out for the court of France “to convict him of treason there”; but of their proceedings, too, he took no notice. The forty days had expired on May 10; on the 12th Richard sailed for Normandy.[214] Landing at Barfleur, he went to Caen and thence turned southward to relieve Verneuil, which Philip was besieging. On the way he halted at Lisieux, where he took up his quarters with the archdeacon, John of Alençon, who had been his vice-chancellor.[215] He soon noticed that his host was uneasy and agitated, and at once guessed the cause. “Why do you look so troubled? You have seen my brother John; deny it not! Let him fear nought, but come to me straightway. He is my brother, and should have no fears of me; if he has played the fool, I will never reproach him with his folly. Those who contrived this mischief shall reap their due reward; but of that no more at present.” Joyfully John of Alençon carried the tidings to his namesake of Mortain: “Come forward boldly! You are in luck’s way. The king is simple and pitiful, and kinder to you than you would have been to him. Your masters have advised you ill; it is meet they should be punished according to their deserts. Come! the king awaits you.” In spite of these assurances, it was “with much fear” that Count John approached his brother and threw himself at his feet. Richard raised him with a brotherly kiss, saying: “Think no more of it, John! You are but a child, and were left to ill guardians. Evil were their thoughts who counselled you amiss. Rise, go and eat. John,” he added, turning to their host, “what can he have for dinner?” At that moment a salmon was brought in, as a present for the king. As the chronicler remarks, “it did not come amiss”; Richard immediately ordered it to be cooked for his brother.[216]
For any other man of six-and-twenty, to be thus forgiven—even though it were by a brother who was ten years older, and a king—expressly on the ground that he was a child, not responsible for his actions, would surely have been a humiliation almost more bitter than any punishment. Nor did John escape altogether unpunished. Richard’s forgiveness was strictly personal; the decree of the council of Nottingham was carried into effect with regard to all John’s English and Norman lands;[217] and for the next eighteen months he was, save for his lordship of Ireland, once more in fact as well as in name “John Lackland.” He was thus wholly dependent on Richard’s goodwill, and it was obviously politic for him to throw himself into Richard’s service with the utmost energy and zeal. Philip withdrew from Verneuil at the tidings of Richard’s approach, May 28.[218] After securing the place the English king divided his forces; with part of them he himself went to besiege Beaumont-le-Roger; the other part he entrusted to John for the recovery of Evreux,[219] which had been taken by Philip in February.[220] Of the manner in which John accomplished this mission there are at least two versions. One writer states that John “laid siege to Evreux, and it was taken next day.”[221] Another says that its garrison were surprised and slain by a body of Normans;[222] while a third explains the surprise as having been effected by means which are perhaps only too characteristic of John. The city of Evreux, says William the Breton, had been made over to John by Philip. John contrived that his reconciliation with his brother should remain unknown to the French troops who had been left there. He now returned to the city and invited these Frenchmen to a banquet, at which he suddenly brought in a troop of “armed Englishmen” who massacred the unsuspecting guests. His success, however, was only partial and shortlived; for he was still unable to gain possession of the castle;[223] and he had no sooner quitted the place than Philip returned, drove out the Norman troops, and destroyed the town.[224] Shortly afterwards Richard set off on a campaign in the south, leaving John in Normandy. About the middle of June Philip again threatened Rouen, taking and razing Fontaines, a castle only four miles from the city. On this John, the earl of Leicester, and “many other barons” held a meeting at Rouen to consider what should be done; “but because they had no one to whom they could adhere as to the king himself,” and their forces were no match for Philip’s, they decided upon a policy of inaction.[225] This decision was probably dictated by their experience of Philip’s ways. He, in fact, made no further attempt upon the Norman capital, but soon afterwards proceeded southward against Richard, only to meet with an ignominious defeat at Fréteval. On hearing of this, John and the earl of Arundel laid siege to Vaudreuil; Philip, however, marched up from Bourges and relieved it.[226] John’s next military undertaking, the siege of Brezolles, met with no better success.[227] Still he had done the best he could for his brother’s interest, and thereby also for his own. Accordingly, next year Richard “laid aside all his anger and ill-will towards his brother John,” and restored to him a portion of his forfeited possessions. It was indeed only a small portion, consisting of the county of Mortain and the honours of Gloucester and Eye “in their entirety, but without their castles.” To this was added, as some compensation for the other lands which he had lost, a yearly pension of £8000 Angevin.[228]
1196–1198
This arrangement seems to have taken effect from Michaelmas 1195.[229] It gave John once more an honourable and independent maintenance, but left him without territorial power. His only chance of regaining this in Richard’s lifetime was to earn it by loyalty to Richard. For the next three years, therefore, he kept quiet; nothing is heard of him save an occasional notice of his presence in Normandy, either in his brother’s company or acting for his brother’s interest. When Philip seized Nonancourt in 1196, John retaliated by seizing Gamaches.[230] On May 19 in the same year he and Mercadier, the leader of Richard’s foreign mercenaries, made a plundering expedition into the French king’s territories as far as Beauvais, where they captured the bishop, who had long been one of Richard’s most determined enemies; they then went on to the bishop’s castle of Milli, took it by assault, razed it, and returned to Normandy in triumph to present their captive to Richard.[231] On October 16, 1197, when the king and the archbishop of Rouen made their agreement for the building of a castle at Andely—the famous Château-Gaillard—it was ratified in a separate charter by John; an unusual proceeding, which has been thought to imply that he was now again acknowledged as his brother’s destined heir.[232] In 1198 Philip made another attack upon Normandy and burned Evreux and seven other towns. John fired a ninth, Neubourg; Philip, seeing the flames and supposing them to have been kindled by his own men, sent a body of troops to bid them go no farther, on which John fell upon the troops and captured eighteen knights and a crowd of men-at-arms.[233]
1199
The alliance of Richard and John had now lasted too long for Philip’s satisfaction, and early in 1199 he set himself to break it. He began by making a truce with Richard. Then, when the Lion-heart, thinking himself safe for the moment in Normandy, was on his way to Poitou, “that sower of discord, the king of France, sent him word that his brother John, the count of Mortain, had given himself to him (Philip); and he offered to show him John’s own letter proving the fact. O marvel! The king of England believed the king of France, and took to hating his brother John, insomuch that he caused him to be disseised of his lands on both sides of the sea. And when John asked the reason of this wrath and hatred, he was told what the king of France had sent word to his brother about him. Thereupon the count of Mortain sent two knights to represent him at the French king’s court, and they offered to prove him innocent of this charge, or to defend him as the court should direct. But there was found no one in that court, neither the king nor any other man, who would receive the offered proof or defence. And thenceforth the king of England was on more familiar terms with his brother John, and less ready to believe what was told him by the king of France.”[234] This story does not necessarily show either that Philip’s accusation of John was false, or that it was true. Philip may have invented it with the hope of driving John to throw himself again into his arms; but it is perhaps more likely that the two were in collusion, and that the scene in the French Curia Regis was a piece of acting on both sides. However this might be, by about the middle of March John had again left his brother “because he kept him so short of money, and on account of some disputes which had arisen between them.”[235] Suddenly, at the end of the month, the question of the Angevin succession was brought to a crisis by a cross-bowman who, at the siege of Châlus, on March 26, gave Richard his death-wound. That question had haunted Richard throughout his reign; his wishes respecting its solution had wavered more than once; now that it had to be faced, however, he faced it in what was, after all, the wisest as well as the most generous way. In the presence of as many of his subjects as could be gathered hastily round him, he devised all his realms to John, gave orders that on his own death John should be put in possession of all the royal castles and three-fourths of the royal treasure, and made the assembly swear fealty to John as his successor.[236]
Richard died on April 6.[237] On the 3rd there had been delivered at Rouen a letter from him appointing William the Marshal commandant of the castle and keeper of the treasure which it contained. On the 10th—the eve of Palm Sunday—the news of the king’s death came, late at night, just as the Marshal was going to bed. He dressed again in haste and went to the palace of the archbishop, who marvelled what could have brought him at such an hour, and when told, was, like William himself, overwhelmed with grief and consternation. What troubled them both was the thought of the future. William went straight to the point. “My lord, we must hasten to choose some one whom we may make king.” “I think and believe,” answered Archbishop Walter, “that according to right, we ought to make Arthur king.” “To my thinking,” said the Marshal, “that would be bad. Arthur is counselled by traitors; he is haughty and proud; and if we set him over us he will seek evil against us, for he loves not the people of this land. He shall not come here yet, by my advice. Look rather at Count John; my conscience and my knowledge point him out to me as the nearest heir to the land which was his father’s and his brother’s.” “Marshal, is this really your desire?” “Yea, my lord; for it is reason. Unquestionably, a son has a nearer claim to his father’s land than a grandson; it is right that he should have it.” “So be it, then,” said the archbishop; “but mark my words, Marshal; of nothing that ever you did in your life have you so much cause to repent as you will have of what you are now doing.” “I thank you,” answered William; “nevertheless, I deem that thus it should be.”[238]
In the conversation thus reported by the Marshal’s confidential squire there are several noticeable points. The divergent views enunciated by the two speakers as to the respective legal claims of Arthur and of John illustrate the still uncertain condition of the rules of hereditary succession. It is, however, plain that the legal aspect of the case was but a minor matter in the eyes of both primate and Marshal. For them the important question was not which of Richard’s two possible heirs had the best legal right to his heritage, but which of the two was likely to make the least unsatisfactory sovereign. The outlook was in any case a gloomy one; the only choice was a choice of evils. Of the two evils, it was natural that Walter should regard John as the worst, if he thought of personal character alone. Every one knew by this time what John was; the most impartial of contemporary historians had already summed up his character in two words—“Nature’s enemy,” a monster.[239] What Arthur might become was as yet uncertain; the duke of Britanny was but twelve years old. Yet even at that age, the “haughtiness and pride” ascribed to him by the Marshal are by no means unlikely to have shown themselves in a child whose father, Geoffrey, had been the evil genius of John’s early life, and whose mother had for years set her second husband Earl Ralf of Chester, her brother-in-law King Richard, and her supreme overlord King Philip, all alike at defiance. Not so much in Arthur’s character, however, as in his circumstances, lay the main ground of the Marshal’s objection to him as a sovereign. From his cradle Arthur had been trained in hostility to the political system at the head of which the Norman primate now proposed to place him. His very name had been given him by his mother and her people in defiance of his grandfather King Henry, as a badge of Breton independence and insubordination to the rule of the Angevin and Norman house. From the hour of Henry’s death in 1189, if not even from that of her son’s birth in 1187, Constance of Britanny had governed her duchy and trained its infant heir as seemed good to herself and her people, till in 1196 she was at last entrapped and imprisoned in Normandy; and then the result of her capture was that her boy fell into the keeping of another guardian not a whit less “traitorous,” from the Norman or Angevin point of view, than the patriotic Bretons who had surrounded him hitherto—the king of the French, at whose court he was kept for some time, sharing the education of Philip’s own son. To confer the sovereignty of the Angevin dominions upon the boy Arthur would thus have been practically to lay it at the feet of Philip Augustus. The only chance of preserving the integrity of the Angevin empire was to put a man at its head, and a man to whom the maintenance of that integrity would be a matter of personal interest as well as of family pride. It was the consciousness of this that had made Richard abandon his momentary scheme of designating Arthur as his heir, and revert finally to John; and it was the same consciousness which made William the Marshal, with his eyes fully open to John’s character, hold fast, in the teeth of the primate’s warning, to his conviction that “thus it should be.”
John, after his last parting from his brother, had made a characteristic political venture; he had sought to make friends with his boy-rival. It was in Britanny, at Arthur’s court, that he received the news of Richard’s death. He set off at once for Chinon; money was his first need, and the Angevin treasury was there. When he reached the place, on the Wednesday before Easter,[240] April 14—three days after Richard’s burial at Fontevraud—the castle and the treasure which it contained were at once given up to him by the commandant, Robert of Turnham, the seneschal of Anjou.[241] The officers of the late king’s household had hurried to meet his chosen heir, and now came to John demanding of him a solemn oath that he would carry into effect Richard’s last wishes, and maintain the customs of the Angevin lands. He took the oath, and they then acknowledged him as their lord in Richard’s stead.[242]