CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Archbishop
of
“You are in some distress....” began Abbot Roger sensing with not a great deal of difficulty that the Archbishop was not in one of his better moods.
“I might as well get rid of all this pomp and ceremony and become one of your monks, Roger. Why did I have to live in this age when so much hassle and bickering destroys all attempt to live a life of solitude and grace?”
“Life without stress is a life untested” suggested Roger.
“Perhaps if you had held high office such I have had to, your views would probably have been different.” snapped Langton with considerable rancour.
“No-one
is happy about
“Indeed,
indeed!” almost stormed Langton “but it was necessary to establish a
rapprochement between the King and his nobles. They considered that John
Lackland was the chief disturber of the peace and not themselves. I sensibly
refused to publish a sentence of Excommunication and because of this, an
alleged weakness in the face of baronial pressure, I am suspended from office
by the papal commissioners. All of
Roger smiled slightly “The Charter was only a temporary measure, both Reasea and myself realised that when we helped to draw it up. A few years from now, who will remember it? Cheer up, my Lord Archbishop you still have your friends.”
“Yes,
but what a mess this great nation of our’s is now in. Fire and sword as
devastating as in King Stephen’s day. Have you heard what went on at
“Indeed,
my Lord, yes. In fact, Reginald of Cornhill held the royal castle at
Langton
flashed an angry glance at the Abbot “Reginald!” snorted the
Archbishop. “He did very well for himself that individual. A pity that when the
Army of God, as the nobles hostile to the King insist on calling themselves,
arrived he offered no resistance whatsoever.”
“Yes, but what an opportunity for our King” grinned Roger. “He took control of a handful of men and set-out to subdue the castle forthwith.”
“Somewhat impetuously I feel” gloated Langton in pompous fashion. “It showed that the King regarded the noble rebels with less than full consideration. Never underestimate your opponents under any circumstances, that’s sound advice.”
“‘I know them well enough’ said John Lackland” replied Roger in response to Langton’s condemnation “‘they are not to be made much of or feared. We could safely fight them with fewer men than we have’.”
“Bold words indeed!” smirked the Archbishop.
“Yes but the King’s confidence was not without reason, was it my Lord?. The castle was not well provisioned was it?. True it was well-manned by ninety-five knights and forty-five men-at-arms under William d’Albini, Lord of Belvoir. I would rank him one of the best of the rebel commanders. A difficult nut to crack I agree. But what energy the King displayed under such difficulties. There’s more of the Lion-Heart in him than people give credit for.”
Abbot
Roger smiled almost as if in a trance, almost as if he had some fellow-feeling
for the King in his military ambitions. He could almost see the Plantagenet
monarch in front of him leading his small but effective army. Indeed if he
could have seen John he would have been impressed. The rebels, the scurvy
knaves ill-befitted to hold baronial rank had already like the false rogues
they were begun negotiations with the French. Just let the defenders hold-out
against the King for a little while and the French invaders would arrive and
rescue them. To hell with patriotism, did it exist, wasn’t
“Sirrah!”
barked John to one of his subalterns “ I want all the smiths in
The King showed up well in the forthcoming activity. Not sparing himself and riding close to the castle ramparts he put some of his own followers in fear for his life.
“My
“In
“Even so my good Lord we have not made too much progress recently. Our determination is faultless but the resistance is at least a hindrance.”
“Yes, yes, sirrah!” snapped the King “we must mine the castle. Pass on my orders to dig a tunnel, we’ll shore-it up with timbers, fill it with materials that will burn and explode. Get on with it, time is now of the essence.”
When the timbers started to burn what a conflagration that was. Low and behold John saw, what was it, one of the corner towers of the keep come smashing, crashing down. No-one, however brave could resist this for much longer, the capitulation must come soon. Wave upon wave of grimy, throat-tearing, eye-watering clouds of smoke rose column upon column almost rising seemingly into the heavens.
Victory,
this was victory, John was confident even before the surrender came. It was one
of those occasions when John knew that events were very much turning his way.
He would show them what a warrior-King he was. A damn good administrator to boot,
not just a thick-headed militarist, he was a balanced, cerebral individual, God
“What is it, about seven weeks since the siege began” mused John “11th October it all started, damned obstinate beggars they deserved more than they got from the barons. If I had been in the same situation as the nobles I would have sent in some supplies, or tried to have relieved the castle. Typical of those gutless swine. Lions led by brainless pack-horses.”
“Any orders about the garrison, sire?” enquired a retainer.
“To be honest” half-grinned the King “I had felt tempted to hang the entire lot of them but then I remembered who had let them down, the filthy barons. The people in there are just ill-advised, the great and glorious lords who are their leaders would not give a fig if I had all their loyal servants and followers butchered.”
The King glanced to his right as he saw a group of enemy soldiers being led away.
“That man there” he snorted “I know him, by Devil I do, bring him before me.”
A sulky, grimacing individual was dragged and pushed before Lackland who stood there surveying him intently. He remembered that face, God could it be true? A stout-hearted fiercely independent villain. But was that the right title to confer upon him. Someone he had considered loyal. “Same name as myself” muttered John “a rugged, reliable supporter, a good servant, blast it can anyone be trusted these days?”
“Sirrah!” voiced the King maintaining direct eye contact with his namesake “you have been in my household since youth, one of my finest crossbowmen.”
“You are too kind, sire” replied the man.
“You may not think so from now on” rasped the King “I may be merciful with the others, they can be ransomed, but as for you, you’ll hang till corruption takes you.”
“My liege is that how you regard loyalty?”
“What? You dare to use that word with me, you turned against me, why?”
“Even a King cannot be right all the time, the people’s rights must be protected.”
“By whom, sirrah? The barons? What have they ever done for the people of this Country? Precious little, other than exploiting them for their own purposes. You are more stupid than wicked. ‘Tis no matter, you have known me as my retainer, have a greater need than those others to have shown obedience to me. When a pet animal, a dog turns and bites his master, the master is more hurt than if a stranger cur had rounded upon him.”
“A
pet dog, a cur, is that how you regard me?” snapped the crossbowman
“God I’m just as much a man as you for all your royal airs and graces.”
“Enough of that!” snarled the King “take the fellow away and hang him. There is a limit to how much bilge I can digest. See that he dies slowly and is aware of what is happening to him. I only wish I had one of the barons at my mercy.”
“Hypocrite!” roared John the crossbowman “they have the best of both Worlds. They carry too much rank and importance. They can commit murder but when a truce is signed they remain unpunished. It’s one rule for the filthy rich and another one for the poor!”
“God, you should have been my Chancellor” sneered John “My Kingdom is full of people who know how to rule better than me. Even so it wont save your neck. Take the fellow away and dispatch him. Enough is enough.”
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