The Battle of the Queens Read online

  This group was led by the Earl of Chester, that Randulph de Blundervill, who had married Constance the widow of Geoffrey (brother of King John) and therefore became stepfather to Prince Arthur who had been murdered by his uncle John. Chester had hoped at one time to put Arthur on the throne when he, Chester, would have proceeded to rule through the boy. Constance however had hated him and fled from him taking Arthur with her and, declaring that their marriage had never been consummated and therefore was no marriage at all, had taken as her husband Guy de Thouars. Constance had not lived long after that and when John had murdered Arthur that put an end to Chester’s hopes of ruling through the boy, so he had turned his attention to other ambitious schemes. Now that the power of Hubert de Burgh was ever increasing Chester was determined to bring the object of his enmity from his high place; so he gathered about him those as discontented as himself.

  Chief of these was perhaps Falkes de Breauté, a wild adventurer, a man who was capable of any violent deed to gain his ends. He was a Norman of obscure birth and illegitimate, who had come to the notice of King John, and being of a similiar nature – irreligious, unscrupulous, ready to commit any cruel deed and in fact relishing the undertaking – the King had found him amusing, a good servant, and as he enjoyed his company was ready to reward him. Thus the Norman, who was little more than a peasant, had sprung into prominence.

  When the barons had revolted against the King, Falkes had been at John’s side and as a general in the King’s army he had enjoyed some success. As a reward John promised to find a rich wife for him and had decreed that he should marry Margaret, the widow of Baldwin, Earl of Albemarle. Margaret was horrified to be given this cruel man, merely in order that her fortune might pass into his hands, but the King had said the marriage must take place and Margaret, knowing the kind of man with whom she had to deal, submitted, though with the utmost reluctance. As, in addition to being the widow of a rich man, Margaret was an heiress in her own right, being the only child of rich parents, Falkes was doing well, for John had bestowed on him not only Margaret but the custody of the castles of Windsor, Cambridge, Oxford, Northampton and Bedford.

  With Chester he captured the town of Worcester for the King, but his treatment of the prisoners did little to help the King’s cause for Falkes took a special delight in torture and he considered it a great sport to capture the rich and torture them with all kinds of methods which it was one of his delights to devise until they had given up all they possessed to save themselves from further torment.

  He had a special hatred for religious orders – or it might have been that he greatly coveted their treasures; but it seemed that if he came upon an abbey or a convent he must desecrate it. Sharing similar urges the King made no effort to deter him and in fact enjoyed being given accounts of Falkes’s adventures among the priests.

  But even he could be alarmed by what he had done and the story was often told of his fears after he had sacked St Alban’s Abbey. He had pillaged the town, mutilated and tortured the inhabitants but the Abbey was his real objective. Marching into the sacred building, overturning treasures as he went, he demanded that the Abbot be brought to him.

  The Abbot came, loudly demanding to know whether Falkes de Breauté knew that he was in a house of God. Falkes’s reply had been to laugh aloud and tell the Abbot that he wanted one hundred pounds of silver and if it was not given to him without delay he would help himself to the treasures of the Abbey and burn it down.

  Knowing well the man with whom he had to deal and that he was capable of such an act of sacrilege the Abbot gave him the silver.

  Falkes had then left, taking sly looks about the place, noting the treasures for his future attention. That night he awoke from a terrible nightmare. He sat up in bed shouting that he was dying.

  Margaret, who must have been relieved at the thought of having the monster removed from her life, said: ‘You have had a dream … a nightmare. But nightmares can have meaning. What was the dream?’

  It was not often that de Breauté allowed himself civil conversation but shivering in his bed, with the terrible fear upon him, he was not the same man as the braggart who swaggered through towns terrifying all those who came near him.

  ‘I dreamed,’ he said, ‘that I was standing beneath the top tower of the Abbey at St Alban’s church when it fell upon me and where I had been there was nothing but powder … nothing of me remained.’

  ‘A dream full of portent,’ replied Margaret. ‘You desecrated the holy Abbey. It means God is displeased with you.’

  De Breauté would have laughed her to scorn at any other time, but he was truly shaken at this time.

  ‘You must go back to the Abbey,’ she advised him, ‘and ask pardon of the Abbot and the monks.’

  ‘You mean a penance …’

  ‘The King’s father did penance for the murder of Thomas à Becket.’

  ‘And you would ask me to do likewise?’

  ‘I ask nothing of you,’ she replied. ‘Experience has taught me that would be useless. I merely advise. You have desecrated a holy place … many holy places … but St Albans will have special favour in Heaven. You have been warned by Heaven. The meaning of your dream is clear. Unless you make restitution some fearful fate will overtake you.’

  She was obviously amused to see her husband so frightened that he shivered with fear at the prospect of a fate which he had administered with such delight to others. However, so did she terrify him, while pretending to be fearful for him, telling him stories she had heard of the terrible ends which befell those who ignored warnings from Heaven, that he decided he would go to St Albans with all speed, insisting that the knights who had taken part in the raid on the Abbey should accompany him. There he called for the Abbot who, wondering what fresh outrage was about to occur, came in fear, but when he saw the dreaded Falkes de Breauté baring his back and declaring that he had come to do penance – as King Henry II had done for Becket – he summoned his monks, and it is not difficult to imagine with what relish they belaboured the backs of those men who such a short while ago had threatened them.

  When the chastisement was over, Falkes de Breauté put on his doublet and shouted that he had only done this because his wife had begged him to, and if the monks thought that what he had taken from them would be restored they were greatly mistaken.

  However he left the Abbey and did not practise further sacrilege. He turned his attention to the French who at this time held firm positions in England. The death of John, the accession of young Henry and the defeat of the French had not entirely pleased de Breauté for it had meant the rise to power of Hubert de Burgh, who had demanded the return to the crown of many of the castles which John had bestowed on men such as de Breauté. He was disturbed as were the Earl of Chester and the Bishop of Winchester by the growing power of Hubert. A king who was a minor was a heaven-sent opportunity for ambitious men, and all these men were ambitious, so to see Hubert taking the most powerful position in the kingdom irked them and they decided that something must be done to curb it.

  The three men met in Winchester: Peter des Roches, the Bishop of Winchester, Randulph de Blundervill, Earl of Chester, and Falkes de Breauté; and the subject of their discourse was Hubert de Burgh and how to curb his growing power.

  ‘He thinks there will be nothing to stop him now,’ observed Peter de Roches. ‘Each day he grows more in the King’s favour.’

  ‘The King is a child,’ growled Chester. ‘It is a matter of whose hands he falls into. It is you, my lord Bishop, who should be his governor and controller.’

  ‘De Burgh has ever worked against me,’ murmured the Bishop.

  ‘This cannot be allowed to go on,’ replied Chester.

  ‘Perhaps we could make the King our prisoner,’ suggested Falkes. ‘We could catch him when he was riding … surround him by our men … and then … he would be ours to command.’

  The Bishop shook his head. ‘If that could be, I doubt not it would be an excellent way of dealing with the si
tuation, but to take the King by force would be called treason … rebellion … or some such name. The people would not endure it. They would want our heads on spikes over the bridge. We must work more secretly.’

  Falkes de Breauté looked disappointed. He was fascinated by violence and he saw himself running his sword through the bodies of the guard while he told the young King that all would go well with him if he came quietly.

  ‘It would seem,’ went on the Bishop, ‘that de Burgh is the richest man in the kingdom. He has done well through his marriages.’

  ‘One thing I’ll say for him,’ added de Breauté with a smirk, ‘the women like him.’

  ‘He has an ingratiating manner,’ murmured the Bishop, ‘and this has won him the heart of the King.’

  ‘And those of his wives!’ added Chester. ‘The Scottish Princess is the fourth … his only virgin. The rest were widows.’

  ‘He has a fancy for widows,’ said de Breauté.

  ‘A wise fancy,’ put in Chester, ‘for a widow will often have her husband’s fortune as well as that which may come to her through her own family.’

  ‘So it was,’ said the Bishop. ‘The daughter of the Earl of Devon, and widow of William Brewer, brought him wealth; then there was Beatrice, Lord Bardulf’s widow, and then he had the temerity to marry John’s cast-off wife Hadwisa of Gloucester, who by that time was the widow of the Earl of Essex.’

  ‘John took a considerable bite out of her fortune but she still had much left to help fill the coffers of shrewd Hubert,’ commented Chester.

  ‘I wonder how she liked Hubert after John,’ asked Breauté with a sly smile.

  ‘By all accounts she found the change agreeable,’ said the Bishop. ‘But she died as all his widows did, and my point is that there was not one marriage which did not bring him benefit. Now he has made the best of them all – he is brother to the King of Scotland, being his sister’s husband.’

  ‘You may judge a man by his marriages,’ said Chester. ‘De Burgh’s have shown him to be a wise man with a taste for wealth.’

  ‘It would be well if the people realised this,’ said the Bishop. ‘At this time they are pleased with their young King and the Justiciar’s rule. He has subdued the robbers and if his punishments are severe, he would say – and many would be with him – that this is the only way to keep the law effective. It will not be difficult, though, to rouse the people against him. He has served the country they might say, but it must be made known to them that in doing so, he has made himself very rich. You all know that the best way to arouse the mob against any one man is to tell them that he has so much more than they have. They will accept a man’s lechery, cruelty … his acts of expediency … but arouse their envy and they will be ready to bring him down. The people want justice in the land; they want law and order; they want to rid the country of those they call the foreigners, and methinks, gentlemen, that we should all of us fit into that category. They hate all this but their envy will be greater than their love of their country. So we will rouse the people against de Burgh. We will tell them that he is the richest man in England. He has just brought himself more advantage by marrying the Princess of Scotland. Arouse the people’s envy and in due course they will bring him down.

  The three men looked at each other and nodded.

  They knew there was truth in the Bishop’s words.

  In the taverns the people of London whispered together; they walked along by the river and talked of the influence the Justiciar had over the young King. The Justiciar was the richest man in England. He governed the King and lined his own pockets. The servants of Falkes de Breauté and the Earl of Chester mingled with merchants and apprentices and asked them and each other why the people endured this state of affairs.

  It was always the same when there was a young King on the throne, they pointed out. Ambitious men sought to rule through them; and their rule was to fill their own coffers and the devil take the man or woman in the streets.

  So the resentment grew against Hubert de Burgh and when he rode out with the King there was hostility in the silence which greeted them; there was an occasion when someone threw a stone at the Justiciar. One of Hubert’s servants caught the man and his punishment was severe – the loss of the right hand which had thrown the stone.

  A bitter reward, said many, for that which others would have the inclination to do had they been on the spot.

  One of the principal citizens, Constantine FitzAthulf, called meetings in his house and there he with others plotted the overthrow of the King and planned to send a message to Prince Louis at the French Court asking him to come back to England where he would find the people of London ready to welcome him.

  As a result there was rioting in the streets of London and Constantine marched at the head of a band of men shouting ‘Montjoie. God and our Lord Louis to the rescue.’

  But the majority of the people, while they wished to remove the Justiciar, had no desire to bring the French back to England. This had not been the intention of Falkes de Breauté and his friends. All they wanted was to keep the King where he was but change his advisers so that they could step into the shoes of Hubert de Burgh and in doing so rob him of his power and riches. For this reason there was little support for the rioters of London and in a short time they were routed and Constantine FitzAthulf and other leaders captured and thrown into prison.

  Hubert was deeply disturbed. He must rid himself of Constantine and Hubert believed that he deserved to be condemned to the traitor’s death for if ever a man was a traitor to his King that man was Constantine. Hubert paused though, for he knew how unwise it would be to anger the people of London even more so than they were at this time.

  He kept the men in prison while he wrestled with the problem; and in the end it was Falkes – the very man who had provoked the rebellion – who came to Hubert and offered to hang Constantine, assuring all who would listen to him that the last thing he wanted was to depose the King. He took Constantine and his friends across the river and in a quiet spot hanged them.

  This did not mean that Falkes and his friends had ended their attacks on the Justiciar. They had no intention of doing this until they had rid the country of him.

  They met again and Falkes put forward a plan for seizing the Tower of London. The Bishop of Winchester stressed the difficulties of bringing this about; and suggested that it would be better if they formed a deputation and called on the King, when the Justiciar was absent and pointed out the true nature of Hubert de Burgh and the need for him to rid himself of him.

  The Bishop thought this was an excellent plan. They would come to Westminster and there Henry would receive them. He would be unprepared for what they would say to him and they had no doubt that, since he was little more than a child, they could win him to their point of view and get a promise from him to turn Hubert de Burgh from his office.

  They chose their moment and the Bishop’s presence secured them an immediate audience with the King.

  It was the first time Henry had received a deputation without having had either William Marshal, Stephen Langton or Hubert de Burgh beside him to tell him what he must do.

  It was the Bishop of Winchester who addressed him and presented Falkes de Breauté and the Earl of Chester to him.

  ‘Your humble servants, most gracious lord,’ murmured the Bishop.

  Henry inclined his head and bade them rise for they were kneeling before him which while it gratified him made him feel a little awkward. He told them they might be seated. They were so much taller than he was while they stood, which he found disconcerting.

  ‘You have missed the Justiciar,’ said Henry. ‘He is not in London this day.’

  ‘It was our purpose to miss him, my lord,’ answered the Bishop. ‘It was our King with whom we wished to speak.’

  ‘Say on,’ said Henry, beginning to feel more important with every passing second, which was exactly their intention.

  ‘It has long been apparent to us,’ said the Bishop, ‘tha
t you, our King, have been endowed with wisdom beyond your years, and we feel the time has come for you to take a more active part in affairs. You have no need to be constantly attended by your wet nurse.’

  ‘My … wet nurse … you mean Hubert …’

  ‘We are of the opinion that the Justiciar believes you still to be in swaddling clothes. He guides your tottering baby steps, does he not, my lord?’

  Henry flushed. ‘You are mistaken,’ he said angrily.

  ‘Do not imagine that we think you to be in need of such support, my lord. It is for that reason that we have come here.’

  ‘I think you should state your business,’ said Henry with dignity.

  ‘You know, my lord, that we have trouble in London.’

  ‘I know,’ said Henry, ‘that traitors were hanged for declaring themselves supporters of the French.’

  ‘It is the Justiciar whom the people dislike,’ said the Earl Chester. ‘It is their hatred of him which makes them revolt.’

  ‘I think not,’ retorted Henry. ‘They were shouting for the French.’

  ‘There has been much murmuring against Hubert de Burgh,’ the Bishop tried to explain. ‘If he were removed, you would find the country in a very different mood.’

  ‘Remove Hubert? He is my very good friend.’

  ‘He is his own very good friend, my lord. Did you know how rich he has become?’

  ‘I know full well that he has been rewarded and rightly so. I myself have given him castles.’

  ‘And he has done very well with his wives,’ added de Breauté slyly.

  Henry conveyed by a certain regal manner that the man’s coarseness offended him; and the Bishop signed to de Breauté to allow him to do the talking.

  ‘My lord,’ said des Roches ingratiatingly, ‘out of respect for you and the crown we have come to you in this way. We have seen with admiration how you have grown in stature since the crown was put on your head. You do not need such counsel. You are well able to manage your own affairs.’

  ‘I am not forced to obey the Justiciar, you should know,’ retorted Henry. ‘I use my own judgment … frequently.’