The precise significance of this so-called “coronation” is not easy to determine. Richard, we are told, “when he had called together the prelates of England, asked and received from them counsel that he should renew his kingship[1139] and permit the crown to be placed on his head by the archbishop of Canterbury at the Easter festival. He followed this counsel of the prelates; and as there was not time to prepare for so great a solemnity by Easter Day, it was deferred until the octave. And because the manner of a crowning of this sort had for many years passed away from the minds of men, the directions for it were sought and found in the church of Canterbury, 1194 where Stephen had been thus crowned with his queen.”[1140] These directions clearly apply not to a coronation in the usual sense of the word—a ceremony of which the pattern for all after-time in England had been set less than five years before—but to the old English custom, obsolete since 1157, of “wearing the crown” in public on certain high festivals. The king was arrayed in his full robes, the sceptre and verge were placed in his hands, and the crown set upon his head by the archbishop, not in the church, but in the royal chamber; thence he was conducted in procession to the church, where he was enthroned with special prayers and suffrages; after which the Mass was celebrated and he made his offering and his Communion. When the service was ended the procession returned to the royal apartments, and the king, after changing his heavy crown for a lighter one, sat down with his magnates to a banquet, held on this occasion in the refectory of the cathedral monastery.[1141] “Thus,” says Gervase of Canterbury, “by the counsel of the prelates was King Richard crowned on the octave April 17 of Easter at Winchester, because being set free from captivity he had unexpectedly returned to his kingdom.”[1142] The revival of the old custom which Henry II had abandoned thirty-seven years before seems to be thus sufficiently explained as an expression of the joy and thankfulness of king, Church, and nation at a deliverance of which they had almost despaired, and which promised the beginning of a new era in his reign. There are, however, indications of something behind this. One phrase used by Gervase, and two other phrases used by other writers of the time, suggest that during Richard’s captivity something had taken place, or was supposed or suspected in England to have taken place, derogatory to his regal dignity and making it advisable for that dignity to be publicly re-asserted or “renewed.”[1143] That something, if not altogether imaginary, 1194 could hardly be anything else than his alleged homage to the Emperor; and if that homage were, or were understood to be, merely for the kingdom of Burgundy, it could scarcely be regarded as affecting his position or his dignity as king of England. The evidence is, however, too scanty and too vague to warrant any definite conclusion on the point.
Little was now needed to complete such a re-settlement of affairs in England as would enable Richard safely to leave the government of the kingdom in Archbishop Hubert’s hands and devote himself to the more anxious task which April 19 he knew awaited him across the Channel. Two days after the coronation the old bishop of Durham resigned the sheriffdom of Northumberland, whereupon William of Scotland offered Richard fifteen thousand marks for the county and its appurtenances. Richard, after consulting his ministers, said that for this sum William might have the county, but without its castles; William refused this offer, and “went home grieved and humbled,” after another vain attempt to make his overlord change his mind; Richard was immoveable on the point for the moment, though he held out a hope that he might yield it “on his return from Normandy.” The prisoners taken at Nottingham and Tickhill and in John’s other castles were disposed of by putting the wealthier of them in prison till they should ransom themselves, and letting the rest go free on their giving security that they would come up for judgement whenever summoned.[1144] John himself was in France. On April 25 the king went to Portsmouth, where a fleet of a 1194 hundred ships was assembled to carry him and his fighting men over sea; but their crossing was delayed by bad weather for more than three weeks. Once, on May 2, the king in his impatience to be gone caused the whole fleet to be loaded up ready for departure, and himself, in defiance of the counsel of his sailors, went on board a “long ship” and put to sea; “and though the wind was against him he would not turn back, so while the other ships remained in port, the king and those who accompanied him were tossed about by the waves, for there was a great storm.” Next day he was compelled to land in the Isle of Wight and return to Portsmouth. On May 12 he was at last able to get across with all his fleet to Barfleur.[1145]
CHAPTER II
RICHARD AND FRANCE
1194-1199
The King must guard
That which he rules.
—Sad stories of the deaths of kings.
1194
Richard’s journey through the Cotentin and the Bessin was a triumphal progress. Everywhere the people crowded round him with presents and acclamations, processions, dances, and songs: “God has come to our aid with His might; the king of France will go away now!” they said.[1146] Philip was just then besieging Verneuil, but as usual he withdrew at Richard’s approach.[1147] He had already lost his most valuable ally in the duchy; Richard and John had met, and Richard had accepted John’s submission and sent him to recover Evreux from the French, a charge which John fulfilled promptly and successfully.[1148] Richard himself, after dashing into Maine to besiege and capture Beaumont-le-Roger (whose lord had apparently gone over to Philip), proceeded to secure his lines of communication along the left bank of the Seine by fortifying Pont-de-l’Arche, Elbœuf, and La Roche d’Orival, and then turned upon Philip who was besieging Vaudreuil. A conference between the kings had just been arranged when the mines dug by the French under the keep suddenly resulted in its fall. Richard vowed vengeance, and Philip hastily withdrew.[1149] Before 1194 leaving Verneuil Richard had received intelligence that Montmirail was being besieged by some “Angevins and others”;[1150] an English chronicler says “Angevins and Cenomannians,”[1151] and another simply “Angevins.”[1152] Whether the lord of Montmirail, William of Perche-Gouet, June was a partizan of Philip and the besiegers were acting on their own initiative in Richard’s interest, does not appear; Richard now hastened to the place, but before he reached it the besiegers had levelled it to the ground.[1153] He pushed on into Touraine, where an excellent opportunity of recovering June
1-13 Loches was offered to him by his wife’s brother, Sancho of Navarre, who had collected a band of Navarrese and Brabantines and set out with them to act against Philip. Sancho himself was very soon called home by the death of his father; but his troops went on and laid siege to Loches.[1154] Richard stopped on his way thither to gather some money at Tours, or rather at Châteauneuf, by turning the canons of S. Martin’s out of their abode and seizing their goods,[1155] and also receiving a “voluntary” gift of two thousand marks from the burghers.[1156] Then he went on to Beaulieu[1157] and joined the Navarrese force in assaulting Loches; on June 13 it surrendered.[1158]
Meanwhile a meeting between some of the counsellors of the two kings had been arranged to take place at Pont-de-l’Arche; but the Frenchmen failed to keep tryst, and instead, Philip “with a considerable force” appeared before Fontaines, four miles from Rouen. After four days’ siege he took the castle and destroyed it.[1159] On his way back 1194 into France he captured a valuable English prisoner, the earl of Leicester.[1160] Three days later—on June 17—a conference of Norman and French prelates and magnates met, with the sanction of the two kings, near Vaudreuil, to arrange a truce. They failed because Philip insisted that all his own adherents and all those of Richard should be precluded from molesting one another during the truce between their sovereigns, and to this Richard would not consent, “because he would not violate the laws and customs of Poitou and of his other lands where it was customary from of old that the magnates should fight out their own disputes among themselves.” Philip next made a dash at Evreux and “nearly destroyed it.”[1161] Thence he moved southward through the county of Blois, and was encamped somewhere between Fréteval and Vendôme when Richard, hurrying up from Loches, pitched his tents outside the little unfortified town of Vendôme and there, “as confidently as if he were surrounded by a wall,” waited for further tidings of his enemy. They came in the form of a message, bidding him expect on that very day a hostile visit from the French king; to which he answered that he was ready, and that if the visit were not made as announced, Philip might look for one from him on the morrow. The day passed; July 4 early next morning Richard called up his men and set forth to seek the enemy, who hurriedly retired upon Fréteval. Richard dashed after him through the woods, fell unexpectedly upon his rear, and captured the whole of his baggage-train; many Frenchmen were slain, many made prisoners, and the spoil included not only a large quantity of arms and treasures, but also the whole bundle of the charters given to Philip by the Norman traitors who had transferred their allegiance to him.[1162] Richard himself sought a loftier prize; he pursued the French host in search of its king, resolved 1194 to have him alive or dead. A Flemish soldier told him that Philip was far ahead in the van; in reality, that cautious monarch had turned aside and taken shelter in a church. Richard, mounted as usual on a charger as fiery as himself, spurred on across the frontier of Normandy and France till the animal could go no further, and Mercadier, having somehow contrived to overtake his master, managed also to furnish him with another horse on which he rode back to Vendôme.[1163]