The Minority of Henry the Third

by Kate Norgate

1216

On the 19th of October, 1216, King John lay dead in Newark castle. Nearly half of his realm, including the capital, was in the hands of a foreign invader who was supported by a numerous and powerful section of the English baronage as well as by the citizens of London; and the sole surviving male representatives of the royal house of England were two boys, the elder of whom was but nine years old. The King had been cut off suddenly, at a moment when not one of his English counsellors was at his side; and the small body of troops which he had brought with him from the west consisted almost entirely of foreign mercenaries. It might well have been expected that these men would, as soon as the “landless king” was dead, transfer their services to his rival. But John had possessed that mysterious gift which seems to have been common to the whole Angevin house, the gift of inspiring a personal attachment out of all proportion to the merits of its object. These men, seemingly without any leader to direct their action, took upon themselves and faithfully and successfully fulfilled the duty of carrying into effect John’s last wishes, so far as lay in their power, by conveying his corpse across England from Newark to Worcester, and calling on the loyal barons to meet them there for the double purpose of burying the dead King and concerting offensive and defensive measures to secure the rights of his heir.[1]

John’s last act had been to commend his eldest son to the care of the Earl of Pembroke, William the Marshal. “Sirs”—thus he is said to have addressed the few friends who stood around his death-bed—“I must die. For God’s sake, pray the Marshal to forgive me the wrongs that I have done him. He has always served me loyally, and never requited me an ill turn for any evil that I have done to him or said to him. Sirs, for God’s sake Who made the world, pray him that he will forgive me; and because I trust in his loyalty more than in that of any other man, I beg you that he may have my son in his charge, and always keep him and guard him; for the child will never be able to hold his land through any one, unless it be through the Marshal.”[2] When the Marshal, who was at Gloucester, “heard say that the King his lord was dead, he was grieved thereat.” He set out at once to meet the funeral train at Worcester; Gualo the Legate, who no doubt also was somewhere in the west of England, did the like; and a goodly company of clerks and knights were present with them at the burial. As soon as it was over, “the great men”—that is, probably, the Legate and the Marshal—hurried back to Gloucester, and sent out a summons to all those barons who held with the King to join them there without delay. The appeal met with a quick response; a council was held, and all present unanimously agreed that they should send for little Henry “and do with him what God should teach them to be reasonable and right.” The child had been placed for safety in the castle of Devizes; Sir Thomas de Sandford was despatched to fetch him thence, and the Marshal went as far as Malmesbury to meet him.[3]

The heir of England was gifted with more than the ordinary attractiveness inherent in youth and innocence; he had a beautiful face, with golden hair, and he was already noted for a gravity and dignity of speech beyond his years.[4] A faithful retainer, Ralf of Saint-Samson,[5] was “carrying him in his arms”—that is, probably, holding him on the horse’s neck before him—when, in the plain outside Malmesbury, William the Marshal met the little company coming from Devizes. The Marshal saluted the future King; “and the well-trained child said to him, ‘Welcome, Sir! Truly, I commit myself to God and to you, that for God’s sake you may take care of me; and may the true God Who takes care of all good things grant that you may so manage our business that your wardship of me may be prosperous.’ ‘Fair Sir,’ answered the Marshal, ‘I tell you loyally, as I trust my soul to God, I will be in good fealty to you, and never forget you, so long as I have power to do anything.’” The boy burst into tears, and the bystanders and the Marshal did the like “for pity.”[6]

Most of the barons of the King’s party were now at Gloucester, and anxious that the coronation should take place without delay. One, however, who ranked next to the Marshal in importance—Ranulf, Earl of Chester—had not yet arrived, and it was not without some hesitation that the others ventured to take so important a step in his absence. The urgency of the case however overcame their scruples and their fears of Ranulf’s displeasure;[7] and on the eve of S. Simon and S. Jude {27 Oct.}—ten days after John’s death—a council over which the Legate presided made the final arrangements for crowning the King the next morning.[8] At the last moment a question arose: who was to knight the boy? “Who should do it,” one of the assembly answered, “save he who, if we were a thousand here, would still be the highest and worthiest and bravest of all—he who has already knighted one young king[9]—William the Marshal? God has given him such grace as none of us can attain. Let him gird the sword on this child; so shall he have worthily knighted two kings.” It was done; and next morning {28 Oct.} the “pretty little knight, clad in his little royal robes,”[10] was led in solemn procession to the abbey church. Standing before the high altar, he recited, under the dictation of the Bishop of Bath,[11] the old traditional coronation oath: that he would, all the days of his life, maintain the honour, peace, and reverence due to God, His Church, and His ordained ministers; that he would render right and justice to the people committed to him; that he would abolish bad laws and evil customs, if any such were in the realm, and would observe good laws and customs and cause them to be observed by all men. He then did homage to the Holy Roman Church and the Pope for the realms of England and Ireland, and swore that so long as he held them, he would faithfully pay the thousand marks promised by his father to the Roman see. This homage must have been done to Gualo as the Pope’s representative. It was followed by the crowning and anointing which made Henry king. This most solemn rite was carried out with as much of the customary ceremonial as circumstances permitted.[12] The Archbishop of Canterbury, who according to immemorial precedent should have performed it, was beyond the sea. Gualo alone had, as Legate, a right to take the Primate’s place on such an occasion; but it seems that he tactfully declined to do so, and commissioned a member of the English episcopate to act in his stead, while he himself undertook the more ordinary duty of singing the Mass. The very crown was a makeshift, “a sort of chaplet”[13]—probably an ornament for a woman’s hair, belonging to the Queen-mother. Under the sanction of the legatine authority Bishop Peter of Winchester, assisted by the Bishops of Worcester and Exeter, anointed the child and placed this improvised crown on his head.[14]

When the service was over Philip d’Aubigné caught up the tired child in his arms, carried him back to his apartments, and caused him to be relieved of his heavy robes before proceeding to the hall where the coronation banquet was spread.[15] The company at the high table must have been a small one; besides the Legate, the Queen-mother,[16] and six bishops,[17] there seem to have been present at the coronation only six persons of sufficiently high rank to be mentioned by name in the chronicles of the time; the Earls of Pembroke and Ferrers, Philip d’Aubigné, John Marshal,[18] William Brewer, and Savaric de Mauléon.[19] There was however a considerable gathering of abbots and priors, and “a very great crowd” of lesser folk.[20] In the midst of the banquet a messenger made his way into the hall and delivered to the Earl Marshal aloud, in the hearing of all, an urgent appeal for succour from the constable of Goodrich castle, besieged on the preceding afternoon by some partisans of Louis. Goodrich was only twelve miles distant, and the incident was naturally felt to be a bad omen.[21] Guided by a common instinct, all the little company around the King turned, as John had turned many a time, to William the Marshal as their one hope, and before they separated for the night they went to him with the same request which had already been made to him by John and by little Henry himself: “You have made our young lord a knight; he owes his crown to you; we all of us together pray you to take him into your keeping.” “I cannot,” answered William, “I am old; the task is too heavy for me. Leave the matter till the Earl of Chester comes.” With this answer he dismissed them for the night.[22]

Next morning {29 Oct.} Ranulf of Chester arrived, just as they were all about to do homage, as was usual on the morrow of a coronation, to the new King. Ranulf did his homage like the rest, and expressed his approval of all that had been done in his absence. A meeting was then held “in the King’s hall,” for the purpose of choosing “a valiant man to guard King and kingdom.” The Bishop of Winchester—no doubt according to arrangement made on the preceding night after the Marshal had withdrawn—called on Alan Basset to speak first. “By my faith!” spoke Alan, “fair sir, though I look up hill and down dale, I see no one fitted for this, save the Marshal or the Earl of Chester.” Again the Marshal protested that the matter was too hard for him: “I am too feeble and broken, I have passed fourscore years. Take it upon you, Sir Earl of Chester, for God’s sake! for it is your due; and I will be your aid so long as I have strength in life, and will be under your command loyally to the uttermost of my power; never shall you command me aught, by word or by writing, that I will not do as well as I may by God’s helping grace.” “Out upon it!” cried Chester, “Marshal, this cannot be. You, who in every way are one of the best knights in the world—valiant, experienced, wise, and as much loved as you are feared—you must take it; and I will serve you and do your behests, without contradiction, in every way that I can.” Hereupon Gualo called the Earl, the Marshal, the Bishop of Winchester, and one or two others into an inner room, where the matter was discussed among them privately. No conclusion, however, was reached, till at last the Legate “besought the Marshal for God’s sake, and required of him that he should undertake the charge for the remission and pardon of his sins, that he might be fully absolved of them before God at the Day of Judgement.” “In God’s Name!” said the Marshal, “if I am saved from my sins, this charge befits me well; I will take it, however burdensome it may be.” “Then,” adds his biographer, “the Legate gave it to him, as was right; and the good Marshal received the King and the guardianship both together.”[23]

The Marshal’s forethought went beyond that of the others. Having accepted the charge of the regency, he at once made a suggestion which shewed that he intended to do the work of that office thoroughly. “My lords, you see the King is young and tender; I should not like to lead him about the country with me. So please you, I would seek out, by your counsel, a wise man who should keep him somewhere at ease. This is necessary; I will not drag him about with me. I shall not be able to stay in one place, but must travel about and look to the safety of the Marches. Wherefore, I would have some master provided and chosen for him in your presence, to whom I can intrust him with security.” “Let the choice be yours, Sir,” said the Legate, “for we have no fear but you will choose rightly.” “Then,” answered William, “since you leave the whole matter to me, I will give him in charge to a very good master, the Bishop of Winchester, who has already had the charge of him and has brought him up carefully and well.” To this all agreed,[24] and it seems to have been in this way that “by common consent, the care of King and kingdom was committed to the Legate, the Bishop of Winchester, and William Marshal, Earl of Pembroke.”[25]

There was no fear of these arrangements being unacceptable to the rest of the King’s party. Throughout all England there was but one opinion of William the Marshal; and when “the folk outside” heard that he had undertaken the governorship of the King and the realm, “they rejoiced greatly.” But within the castle, when darkness fell, the old Earl once more called around him “his sure council”—three faithful friends; his nephew John Marshal, his squire John of Earley, and Ralph Musard[26]—with whom he had already had an anxious consultation on the preceding night, after the first informal offer of the regency.[27] Now, setting his back against a wall, he began: “Give me your counsel! for, by my faith, I have embarked on a wide sea where, cast about as one may, neither bottom nor shore can be found, and it is a marvel if a man come safely into port. But may it please God to bear me up! They have given me this charge, which is like to miscarry,[28] as you may see and know; and the child has no possessions, worse luck! and I am an aged man.” He paused, choked by tears; “and they, who loved him with all their hearts, wept too for pity.” Recovering himself, he asked them: “Have you nothing to say to me?” “Yes,” answered John of Earley. “You have undertaken a business from which there is no drawing back. But so long as you hold to it, I tell you that the worst that may come can only bring you honour. Suppose that all your adherents should join Louis, and surrender all the castles to him, so that you could find no shelter anywhere in England;—that you had to quit the country, and that Louis pursued you till you fled to Ireland;—still that would be great honour! And if a losing game could thus turn to your praise, how much greater will be your joy when you get the better of the adversary, as, please God, you may! Then all men will say that never man of any race won such honour upon earth. Is it not worth the winning?” “By God’s sword!” swore the aged hero, “your counsel is true and good, and goes so straight to my heart that if all the world should forsake the King, save myself, know you what I would do? I would carry him on my shoulders from one land to another, and never fail him, though I had to beg my bread.” His friends applauded his resolution, and he, having now cast aside all misgivings, closed the conference with characteristic simplicity. “Now let us go to bed; and may God Who rules over all things give us His counsel and aid, as He surely does aid those who wish to do right and cleave unto loyalty.”[29]

He took up his new duties without further hesitation. Under his direction letters were immediately despatched to all the sheriffs and wardens of castles throughout England, bidding them render obedience to the new King;[30] and Gualo called upon the prelates and the loyal barons to meet the King and his guardians in a council at Bristol on November 1111 Nov.. When the council met, it comprised the whole strength of the loyal party. Only eleven bishops indeed were present; but the statement made in a royal letter that “all the prelates”[31] of England were there was practically true nevertheless; for the two metropolitans were both out of the country, the Bishops of London, Lincoln, and Salisbury were ill, and the sees of Durham, Norwich, and Hereford were vacant. The laymen who attended were the Earls of Pembroke, Chester, Derby (or Ferrers), and Aumale, the Justiciar Hubert de Burgh, Savaric de Mauléon, the two William Brewers (father and son), Robert de Courtenay, Falkes de Bréauté, Reginald de Valtort, Walter de Lacy, Hugh and Robert de Mortimer, John of Monmouth, Walter de Beauchamp, Walter and Roger de Clifford, William Cantelupe, Matthew FitzHerbert, John Marshal, Alan Basset, Philip d’Aubigné, and John L’Estrange, besides others whose names are not recorded; and there were also some “other prelates,”—that is, abbots and priors—and knights.[32] Gualo, who as representing the overlord of King and kingdom necessarily acted as president of the council, began by causing every man present to swear fealty to the King; he then laid an interdict upon the whole of Wales “because it held with the barons,” and repeated his excommunication of the rebels and their allies, with Louis of France at their head.[33]