Foundation (History of England Vol 1) (27 page)

The severance of England from Normandy, after 150 years of union, was at a later date deemed to be a natural and inevitable development by which France steadily became aware of its national identity. It heralded the rise of a national consciousness exploited by the Capetian kings. At the time, however, it was considered to be nothing less than a calamity for the king of England. He lost much of his income, from the taxation of Normandy and Anjou and Maine, and of course he forfeited a great deal of his prestige. Yet other consequences followed. The Anglo-Norman lords lost half of their identity. Once they had lost their lands in Normandy, it became clear that they would have to concentrate on those closer to what was now ‘home’. They steadily became more English. The Channel had become the border, as it had been in the tenth century, and King John began the construction of a proper navy to defend the English shores. The king no longer possessed Normandy, and as a result he paid more considered attention to England.

He kept the administrators from the last reign, knowing very well that the machinery of government depended upon them. It is from the beginning of the thirteenth century, for example, that we can trace the widespread use of written records as an instrument of state. Licences for imports and exports had to be drawn up; the regulations of trade had to be furnished in writing; a system of taxation had to be standardized; currency and credit had to be maintained in strict order. All this relied upon ink rather than upon custom or oral tradition. The various departments of the king’s court began the habit of creating archives. Letters began to be sent over the country, where before written communication had been confined to writs. Diaries of daily expenditure were kept and preserved. New and faster forms of handwriting developed, as monastic calligraphy gave way to what is known as ‘cursive’ script; the word comes from
cursivus
, the Latin for ‘flowing’. The world was going faster.

Wars, and preparations for wars, took their toll upon the nation’s wealth in the same period. King John still entertained hopes of winning back his Angevin Empire, but for that he needed money. He was perhaps no more exacting than his brother and his father, but he was more ingenious. He discovered new ways of
extracting revenue, and in 1207 levied a thirteenth part on incomes and moveable property to be paid by all classes of people; it was the first move towards general taxation. The clamour of complaint, however, was so loud that he never repeated the exercise.

For ten years he travelled throughout his kingdom in search of money; he was restless; he was always in a hurry, generally staying in any one place for no more than two or three days. In 1205 he spent only twenty-four days in London and in Westminster. For the rest of the time he was on the road. He penetrated the far north at the end of a bitter winter; he fined York and Newcastle for not affording him an appropriately grand reception. He was looking for money everywhere. He was told, during a visit to Hexham in Northumberland, that Roman treasure was buried at Corbridge nearby; he ordered his men to dig for it, but nothing was unearthed.

During the course of his rapid journeys, sometimes covering 30 miles (48 kilometres) a day, he evinced a particular interest in imposing justice upon his subjects. This again was largely because of his desire for revenue, but as a boy his tutor had been Ranulph de Glanville whose legal treatise has already been mentioned. There may be some connection. John declared once that ‘our peace should be inviolably preserved, even if it were only granted to a dog’.

So John paid much attention to the details of administration and of justice, with a diligence quite different from the insouciance of his elder brother. If he was suspicious, he was also vigilant and curious. Most of the people had never seen their king before. Yet here he was, in the robes of state, questioning and charging and judging. His own voice was the voice of law. He loved fine gems and he glittered with jewellery. He bathed regularly and often, a practice almost without precedent in the thirteenth century. The body of the king – the flesh and blood – was sacred. Here is the essence of medieval governance.

This was also a time of rising prices; a rapidly increasing population meant that the common resources of life became scarcer and more expensive. Financial, as well as demographic, explanations can be found. The importation of silver from the mines of eastern Germany increased the amount of money in circulation; as a result, prices rose between 100 and 200 per cent in the last two decades
of the twelfth century. This is the proper context in which to see baronial rebellion and the sealing of the Magna Carta. The consequent ‘inflation’, to use a contemporary term, affected the king as much as the lords and the commons. War, in particular, had become much more expensive. The problem was then compounded by recession as the king took more and more money out of circulation in order to pay for his military ambitions. So the king was constrained at every hand; it might seem that the forces of nature were against him.

After the collapse of the Angevin Empire in 1204 King John began to assert himself on the island of Britain. He waged campaigns in Wales, Scotland and Ireland. In Ireland he managed to impose royal government upon the feuding Anglo-Norman barons who had divided the rule of southern and eastern Ireland among themselves; John also gained the fealty of the native Gaelic kings who recognized his power. In 1209 he launched an expedition against Scotland, and forced its king to recognize him as overlord. He subdued, temporarily, the Welsh principalities; he cowed them by violence, in other words, and before the start of hostilities he hanged at Nottingham some twenty-eight Welsh boys, the sons of chieftains who had been surrendered as hostages. It was not the least, or the last, of his acts of cruelty. But the cruelty of kings worked. At the end of these campaigns a contemporary chronicler stated that ‘there is now no one in Ireland, Scotland and Wales who does not obey the command of the King of England; that, as is well known, is more than any of his ancestors had achieved’.

Yet he struggled to control his magnates. They were not eager to fight for the restoration of the Angevin Empire, and they resented the manifold exactions he imposed upon them. He demanded huge fees for the granting of inheritances, or for the selling of wealthy heiresses in marriage. On occasions he raised his own claims to estates that had long been the property of wealthy families. A tax called ‘scutage’ was paid to avoid military service; John levied it eleven times in sixteen years. Payments in kind were also exacted. One magnate, William de Braose, paid the sum of 300 cows, 30 bulls and 10 horses for the approval of a plea. A further twist can be added to what seems to have been the king’s unremitting hatred of the Braose family. William’s failure to pay
further debts led to his being driven into exile. But another fate remained for his wife and son. Matilda de Braose was one of the few people who knew what had happened to Prince Arthur nine years before, and it seems that she was talking too much; John ordered her to be arrested with her son. Mother and son were starved to death in prison.

It was said that the king was as rapacious of wives and daughters as he was of money. They were not safe in their castles when John paid a visit. Yet, on a larger scale, the whole force of Angevin monarchy was opposed to the feudal privileges of the mighty lords. The growth of a bureaucracy, and of a central administration, curtailed their own powers to make money out of the resident population. Business was being diverted from the local honorial courts, for example, to the royal courts. They were losing money as a result. Historians look back in admiration at the increasing growth and complexity of ‘royal government’; all it meant at the time was royal exploitation. The emergence of an army of mercenaries also restricted the role of the magnates as the martial leaders of the country. Many of them still had an image of their role derived from chivalric romance. They were the knights of the Round Table gathered beside their king who acted as
primus inter pares
. King John was not King Arthur, however, and the only Holy Grail for which he cared was gold.

To sacred affairs, in general, he was indifferent. When the archbishopric of Canterbury became vacant in 1205, the king refused to fill it. He wanted the money from the wealthy see to be diverted to his own treasury. This was a device he had used in the past with other bishoprics. Pope Innocent III prevaricated, understanding royal sensibilities, but his patience was not inexhaustible. In 1207 he appointed Stephen Langton to the vacant archbishopric. Langton could not have been a better choice; he was an Englishman, out of Lincolnshire, but had been a superb professor of theology at the University of Paris. He was also cardinal priest of the basilica church of St Chrysogonus in Rome, and a canon of York Minster.

John characteristically fell into a carefully staged fury. What had the pope to do with the affairs of his kingdom? He would, like his predecessors, appoint the bishops and archbishops whom
he believed to be loyal. He refused to allow the pope any right to appoint an archbishop of Canterbury without royal assent. He banished from England the monks of Canterbury who had acceded to the pope’s request. He seized all the English offices held by Italian bishops. He refused to allow any papal legates to enter the country. In the spring of 1208 the pope placed the country under an interdict, forbidding any church services to be held; no sacraments, except those of baptism for the newborn and absolution for the dying, were to be performed. Matthew Paris, in his account of the interdict, illustrated the scene with a drawing of bell-ropes tied up. Sacred time was suspended.

The king retaliated by confiscating all churches and church lands, on the principle that a non-functioning Church does not need property. John was then formally excommunicated, in 1209, which in theory meant that his clerical administrators could no longer serve or obey him. Some clerics fled the king’s court and travelled overseas, but there were more than enough ecclesiastical lawyers and administrators to make sure that the machinery of Church and government remained stable; it has been estimated that the majority of the bishops stayed in England during the interdict. The country itself remained relatively unmoved by papal displeasure. It had never paid much attention to the decrees of the see of Peter. The deep continuity of the country, and the secular customs of the nation, remained unbroken. Long negotiations, between the English court and the see of Peter, of course ensued. The king eventually seemed willing to accept Stephen Langton into his kingdom, on the clear and stated agreement that this was not to be seen as a precedent. No future pope would be allowed to appoint the archbishop of Canterbury without royal approval. The pope held out for better terms. This was war.

It is said that the cares of kings come in flocks, and that the sight of dark skies brings further storms. The first signs of internal rebellion emerged in 1209, when some of the northern barons were in communication with the king of France over the possibility of an invasion. It is no coincidence that in this year John went on military expedition to the north in order to cow King William of Scotland. He also took care to assert his authority over his own northern lands. The conspiracy faded away. Three years later the
king felt obliged to refortify his castles, particularly in the border regions, where the magnates had always been more independent. Rumour spread that the barons were planning to depose the king. In turn John demanded hostages from the more recalcitrant of them. In 1213 he razed the castles of one who was believed to be planning to lead the revolt, Robert Fitzwalter, until a fragile peace was restored between them.

The king was surrounded by too many enemies, and it became necessary to placate the most important of them. It was widely rumoured, in the early months of 1213, that Pope Innocent III had sent an open letter deposing John and urging King Philip of France to invade England. Yet in spring John surrendered. On 15 May he agreed to accept all of the pope’s claims and demands. He went further. He agreed to yield his country to the pope and receive it back as a fief; he was, in effect, about to become the pope’s feudal vassal. Several sound reasons could be advanced for what seems on the face of it abject surrender. King Philip, even as he was organizing a force to sail across the Channel, was forced to cancel his invasion. He could not attack the pope’s new realm. The king’s status as the pope’s vassal might also deter his rebellious barons. Pope Innocent III himself, as subsequent events would testify, became a formidable ally and defender of royal power against insurgent subjects. King John was also a newly blessed representative of God. As the papal legate in England put it, ‘the lord king is another man by God’s grace’.

So the lord king decided to press home his advantage and make one more attempt to recover his Angevin Empire from the French king. In the following year he created a coalition of princes – among them the Holy Roman Emperor, Otto IV, and the count of Flanders – who were intent upon acquiring French land. The count and the emperor would proceed against the French army from the north-east, while King John would advance from Poitou in the west. The strategy was excellent, but its execution was misjudged. Many confused skirmishes and sieges took place, and on 27 July 1214 the forces of John and Otto were decisively defeated by King Philip outside the village of Bouvines. It was the final battle for the Angevin Empire. John had lost everything for which he most cared.

The failure at the battle of Bouvines was in effect the harbinger of baronial rebellion. The magnates may not have been greatly exercised by the loss of empire, but they were enraged at the amount of money wasted on a failed cause. It was the crowning point of their belief in the king’s misjudgment and military ineptitude. In the aftermath of the defeat there emerged what has since become known as a ‘baronial party’, brought together by the manifold causes and complaints that have already been outlined. The imposition of fines and taxes, the predominant advice of ‘evil counsellors’, the decay in their social and military pre-eminence, were all part of baronial rebellion against authoritarian and ruthless Angevin rule.