Blood Cries Afar (16 page)

All these men, castles and ships had to be paid for. Medieval government was nothing if not geared to war, and war finance forever drove government bureaucracy. Government records of the time have permitted close scrutiny of the countries’ finances. Here the difficulties with numbers are even more vexing than army sizes. It is extraordinarily difficult to track and categorise all national income for a medieval state, but for our period there is the extra complication of inflationary pressures. There is little consensus among historians as to how marked these pressures were, and the differing degrees to which England and France were affected by them, but much important work has been carried out in this area.
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Some historians place inflation at the heart of John’s political difficulties, one arguing that ‘the rise in prices was probably a purely English phenomenon’ and another, consequently, that ‘no king of England was ever so unlucky as John.’
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Others, however, see inflation in both England and France; Georges Duby writing of revolutionary changes in France, while David Fischer makes the case that before the 1220s prices rise were barely perceptible.
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The most recent study, by James Masschaele in 2010, summarises the economics and inflation debate and argues that the early thirteenth century was a period of very substantial growth. He cautions judiciously that conclusions are not easily drawn, concluding wisely that Magna Carta is ‘first and foremost a political document’.
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Most medievalists would agree, however, that the eleventh and twelfth centuries underwent momentous transformations in society, government and economy, ‘the most profound and most permanent change that overtook Western Europe between the invention of agriculture and the industrial revolution.’
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These changes, and the monetisation that went with them, enabled kings to undertake ever-more protracted wars.

Much scholarly economic debate has also been focused on the comparative wealth of John and Philip.
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Despite the glaring discrepancy in geographical area ruled by the two kings before 1204, to the Angevins’ obvious advantage, many historians argue that such factors as Philip’s higher wages for his troops provide clear evidence for the greater resources of the Capetian king. Thus John faced the dilemma that ‘a wealthier master was outbidding him.’
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John Gillingham, however, in his sensible analysis of these matters, argues convincingly that ‘it must be certain that at the start of his reign John was significantly richer than Philip’; he further emphasises that it is ‘how financial resources were employed rather than the sheer volume of money that is more crucial’.
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Nicholas Barratt’s detailed surveys of the financial situation gives Philip an advantage in dispensable cash, but notes that this was negated by the greater costs of hiring his soldiers.
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So many statistical variables come into play I remind readers of my caution in discerning hard-and-fast financial reasons for cause and effect in military affairs and in the outcome of the wars discussed here. The fiscal exactions of John were clearly instrumental in the production of Magna Carta, but, in the subsequent conflict, John’s ability to wage war and hire mercenaries was never seriously curtailed. Indeed, unplanned-for exigencies such as the Interdict actually helped to fill his war coffers. Figures actually show that John’s revenues could increase considerably at times of crisis, at just the moment when he needed them most. It strikes me that John employed the threat of French invasion to this end, to extract further revenue increases from his subjects. Political and military factors were far more decisive in determining the outcome of the Angevin-Capetian struggle, and to these we now return.

The winter of 1204–05 was a harsh one in England; for John, it must have been especially bitter as he reflected on the calamitous past year. He did not see the loss of Normandy as permanent; but then, no King of England and Duke of Normandy could allow themselves that thought, or be known to be thinking along such lines. The Barnwell chronicler, more favourably disposed towards John than other commentators, might have considered Normandy’s loss inevitable, but that did not make it anything less of a disaster and humiliation for King and country.
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John’s determination to recover his patrimonial lands in France should not be doubted, but his attempts – and inability – to achieve this compounded his problems, leading to the ultimate disaster at the end of his reign with the French occupying London and one-third of his kingdom. As James Holt has observed, ‘John’s most decisive action was not that he lost Normandy, the Touraine, and the old Angevin influence in the Midi, but that for ten furious years he devoted all his attention to regaining what he had lost.’
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Relationships with the church, the barons and the exchequer all contributed to John’s ignominious end, but it was ultimately war that was his undoing.

Anjou was gone; Maine was gone; Normandy was gone. Now, in the summer of 1204, Philip Augustus turned his attentions to Poitou and Aquitaine.
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In August, Philip set out with a large army to subdue the region, defended for John by the Seneschal Robert of Turnham. Philip was aided by the Lusignans, still smarting from John’s treatment in 1202, and by William des Roches. The chronicles have little to say on these events, but it is clear from Rigord that this was a major expedition.
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Philip’s greatest asset was the political momentum won from Normandy, as potential resistance bowed to the incoming tide, and within a few weeks most of Poitou was gone too. A few Angevin outposts held out: Niort; Thouars; the crucial port of La Rochelle, now a frontier town; and the powerful castles of Loches and Chinon, the latter a major centre of administration and a treasury. Philip had Loches and Chinon blockaded over winter before returning to them in spring the following year. Defended respectively – and, it would seem, heroically – by Gerard d’Athée and Hubert de Burgh, these held out until Easter and mid-summer, Chinon witnessing a last-gasp sortie that failed to break the siege. These lengthy sieges appear to have the epic qualities of Château Gaillard, but with no writer such as William the Breton to chronicle them, we cannot say how the sieges were fought. De Burgh and d’Athée joined Turnham and hundreds of others in captivity, but were ransomed by John at great expense; he needed such loyal fighters as these.

Meanwhile, John had held a series of major councils from January, including one with all his tenants-in-chief, to exact a heavy scutage for the defence of the realm, for he feared England was under imminent threat of invasion. How real this perceived threat was is debatable, and it may have been the case that, as suggested earlier, John was using this as an excuse, even if partly genuine, to lay claim to war finances in general. Ralph of Coggeshall reports that soon after John sent 28,000 marks for an army of 30,000 men to defend Gascony.
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There was a threat of invasion but it was as much a political threat as a military one. The wily Philip had been successfully coaxing Renaud Count of Boulogne and Henry Duke of Brabant to pursue their wives’ claims to lands in England. John had to calculate whether, should he lead a major expedition abroad, these powerful soldiers might take advantage of his absence to agitate in England and persuade the barons, of whom John was even more distrustful now that he blamed them for the loss of Normandy, to abandon him. England was therefore placed under invasion alert. All males over twelve years of age were made to swear that they would protect the country from foreigners and the country was organised for war with a muster for defence in April. The south and east coasts were under the watchful eyes of royal officers. These bailiffs had orders to regulate the passage of ships into and out of the harbours, and even passing by; only those with a royal licence were allowed freedom of movement. This was not just a security measure against possible incoming forces and to disrupt possible communications with enemies across the Channel; it was also a way of garnering naval resources for John’s fleet and the imminent expedition to the Continent.

The preparations, completed by June, would suggest that John was planning an attack on two fronts, from a landing north in Normandy and from the south in Poitou. Ralph of Coggeshall conveys the enormous scale of the expeditionary forces, calculated to have cost one-quarter (£5000) of the king’s annual revenue and in which some ‘14,000’ sailors and ‘1500’ ships were said to have been involved.
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Even the prisons were emptied. John claimed that this act of clemency was ‘for the good of his mother’s soul’; in fact, he was ensuring a ready supply of fighting men. It is notable that this amnesty did not extend to those convicted of treason, for treason was ever at the forefront of John’s troubled mind. At this time he was spitting blood on William Marshal’s recent return from France where he had paid homage to King Philip for his lands there; this was a unique arrangement by an English baron and did little to settle John’s already frayed nerves.

This expeditionary force was possibly the largest gathering of military forces yet witnessed in England. But it never embarked upon its campaign. Archbishop Hubert Walter and William Marshal (fresh back from France, remember) persuaded him that it was not worth taking the risk. All manner of reasons were proffered by the two as they clutched at the King’s knees, begging him not to go: it left England open to invasion; Philip was too strong; the Poitevins were not to be trusted; too much was at stake. Weeping and crying, John acquiesced – only to change his mind the following morning and spend the next few days sailing up and down the Channel before finally disembarking having achieved nothing. This almost comical – and hugely expensive – episode has never been fully understood. Perhaps by the final act John was hoping to shame his barons into following him; perhaps he was attempting to save face by giving the impression that he was up for it while his meeker barons were not; perhaps he was stewing in a tremendous sulk. But the cancellation of such a massive campaign was a major incident. Turner says that the cause was ‘in part from a baronial resistance to overseas service in principle and probably in larger measure from their exasperation with John’s money-raising methods’. Warren offers further credence to this when writing what Hubert and William feared, ‘and the King assumed, was that if he attempted to put to sea he would be faced with something like a sit-down strike’.
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William Marshal was clearly influential in proceedings, no doubt his new self-interest adding eloquence to his persuasiveness. Also of possible consideration but overlooked is the fact that the invasion threat, by which the country had been mobilised, was in fact no longer so pressing by this time as Philip’s focus and efforts were evidently directed to the south in Poitou, and so a pre-emptive strike was no longer deemed necessary by many of the barons.

In the end, two much smaller forces were dispatched to the continent under John’s illegitimate son Geoffrey and his illegitimate half-brother, William Longsword, the Earl of Salisbury. La Rochelle was reinforced, but it was a case of too little, too late for the castles of Loches and Chinon, both of which were in ruins from their sustained bombardments. John had done even less for these than he had for Château Gaillard. The message sent out to the baronage in western France was not reassuring for John’s allies, current or potential.

The harnessing of such a massive force was thus a significant waste of effort and resources; however, John made some financial capital out of it: before the troops were dispersed, he exacted a payment – an immense sum according to one chronicler – from them in commutation of military service. The money collected went towards the campaign of 1206. Although not as grandiose as the 1205 force, the fleet and the host it carried that arrived at La Rochelle on 7 June were still very impressive. It is not known why so many barons were present on this expedition, but it has been suggested that John had browbeaten individuals into submission by personal visitations and no doubt, by promises and threats.

John first marched to Niort to give heart to the garrison exposed in what was now Capetian territory. He then moved deep into the south-east of Gascony to besiege some new enemies at Montauban. Alfonso III of Castile had laid claim to the Duchy through his wife Eleanor (John’s sister) and was backing it up with force to the extent that he had besieged, and had failed to take, Bordeaux. It was essential that John countered this threat to avoid being squeezed from north and south. Montauban was an impressive fortress, but John was not daunted. His siege artillery battered its walls and defenders until, just after a fortnight of this, his soldiers, ‘greatly renowned in this type of warfare’, as Roger of Wendover says, ‘scaled the walls and exchanged mortal blows with their enemies’.
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The castle fell on 1 August and with it came great booty and prestigious prisoners. John earns much credit for this action by which he ended the peril to his territories here. However, important as it was, a glance at the map will show just how far the action was from Poitou and Normandy; success at Montauban had merely prevented his predicament from deteriorating.

From now until October, John directed his operations back in Poitou, Touraine and Anjou. Many barons still preferred John over Philip Augustus, the proximity of the latter in Paris many found to be overbearing and intrusive. Aimery de Thouars was one such: although rewarded as Seneschal of Poitou by Philip for coming over to his side previously, the habit-forming turncoat viscount now returned to John’s fold. Our view of feudalism and homage to lords can sometimes blind us to just how superficial allegiances can be. Princes knew this and bidded at baronial auctions to gain support for their various campaigns. The same year Philip Augustus had attempted to win over Raoul d’Exoudun, Count of Eu, by offering him the whole of Poitou for five years and a bundle of money and soldiers besides, because ‘you are one of the most powerful barons of Poitou and there is no one more suitable to conduct his [Philip’s] business in south-west France.’
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It is easy to be cynical about the cupidity of barons (and correct, too), but families could not choose where their masters fought out their wars, and they had to adapt accordingly when war came. John’s campaign had chosen Poitou as the centre of his campaign for four major reasons: it possessed the highly fortified safe port of La Rochelle; it was closer to the developing events in south-east Gascony; it was also central to thrusts northwards into his lost territory; and because John felt that despite their infamous capriciousness, the barons here were more likely to prove loyal than anywhere else (which says something about his expectations). The allegiances of barons were to prove equally crucial to the protagonists during the invasion of England in 1216–17.