John "the Marshal" FITZGILBERT

                   Marshal of England
Protector of the Realm
Regent of the Kingdom

The office of Marshal to the king was a hereditary perquisite of amiddling Wiltshire family. The duties were various, but mainly theyconsisted of acting as second-in-command to the constable of the royalhousehold, maintaining order in the palace and guarding it, looking afterthe stables, keeping the rolls of those who performed their militaryservice, and checking the accounts of various household and statedepartments.

From this family came William Marshal, whose biography was written by hissquire John of Earley so providing us with one of the deepest and mostfascinating insights into the life of a great baron of the late twelfthand early thirteenth centuries.

His father, John Marshal, whom the Gesta Stephani rather unkindlydescribes as 'a limb of hell and the root of all evil' was a man wholoved warfare, and played the game of politics with great success. Atfirst he supported Stephen but, when he began to realise the failings ofthe King and the potentialities of Matilda's party, he changed sides.Almost immediately he proved by a consummate act of bravery andhardihood, that he was worth having: escorting Matilda to safety in hiscastle at Ledgershall, John found that the party was going dangerouslyslowly because Matilda was riding side-saddle, so he persuaded her toride astride, and stopped behind to delay the pursuers at Wherwell. Hisforce was soon overpowered by the numbers of the enemy, and John tookrefuge with one of his knights in the Abbey. The opposing party promptlyset fire to the church, and John and his knight had to take cover in thetower, John threatening to kill his knight if he made any move tosurrender. As the lead of the roof began to melt and drop on the twosoldiers, putting out one of John's eyes, the enemy moved off, convincedthat they were dead. They escaped, in a terrible state, but triumphant,to John's castle.

He plainly expected his children to be as tough as himself, as anincident of the year 1152, when William was about six, will show. KingStephen went to besiege Newbury Castle, which Matilda had given John todefend; the castellan, realising that provisions and the garrison wereboth too low to stand a long siege, asked for a truce to inform hismaster. This was normal practice, for if the castellan were not at oncerelieved, he could then surrender without being held to have let hismaster down. Now John had not sufficient troops to relieve the castle, sohe asked Stephen to extend the truce whilst he, in turn, informed hismistress, and agreed to give William as a hostage, promising not toprovision and garrison the castle during the truce. This he promptly did,and when he received word from Stephen that the child would be hung if hedid not at once surrender the castle, he cheerfully replied that he hadhammer and anvils to forge a better child than William.

The child was taken out for execution, but at the last moment Stephenrelented with that soft heart that was his undoing, and though hisofficers presented such enticing plans as catapulting William over thecastle walls with a siege engine, he would not give in. Later on he grewattached to the child, and one day when William was playing an elementaryform of conkers with the King, using plantains, the child saw a servantof his mother, the lady Sibile (sister of the Earl of Salisbury), peepingin to check up on his safety. William cried out a greeting and theservant had to run for his life. The child did not know what dangers hewas running, but it was good and early training for his future career.

When he was thirteen William was sent to serve in the retinue of hisfather's cousin, the chamberlain of Normandy. This was his apprenticeshipin knighthood, and was to last eight years. As a squire he would learn byexperience all the skills of a knight, and the elaborate code of honourthat went with it. After he had been knighted in 1167, he began to goround the tournaments to make his name, and earn a living by the spoils.He was eager for the fray, so eager in fact that in his earliesttournaments he concentrated too much on the fighting, and forgot to takethe plunder. He had to be warned by elder and wiser knights of thedangerous folly of such quixotic behaviour---a good war-horse capturedfrom an unseated opponent could fetch 40. Even so, his heart was reallyset upon fame, and he recalled in old age the pride he had experienced asa youngster when, having retired to the refuge (a hut regarded as neutralterritory in a tournament) to fix his helmet, he overheard two knightsoutside commenting on how well he was fighting.

He was, however, only the second son of a middling baron, and he couldnot live off honour; so it must have been wonderful news for him when in1170 he heard of his appointment as captain of the guard and militarytutor to King Henry II's heir, the fifteen-year-old Henry, alreadycrowned in his father's lifetime in, as it turned out, a fruitlessattempt to ensure the succession. In 1173 it fell to his lot to make theyoung King a knight.

Henry seems to have had a good sense of humour, for in 1176 when the twowere cantering back into town after a tournament, William managed to baganother knight, and led him reined behind, with the King following. Alow-hanging water sprout swept the knight off his horse, but Henry keptwhat he had seen to himself, and the laugh was definitely on William whenthey got home to find he was leading a horse, but no knight to ransom.

Tournaments were so frequent at that time that a real enthusiast couldattend one a fortnight, and William and the King must have attained arecord number of attendances. This was the equivalent of hunting to anineteenth century country gentleman, though much more rugged. In tenmonths William and a colleague captured one hundred and three knights,and risked death on each occasion: one memory William kept of those dayswas having to receive the prize of hero of the day kneeling with his headon an anvil whilst a smith tried to prize off his battered helm. Anothermemory he retained was arriving too early for a fight, and dancing withthe ladies who had come to watch---in full armour

Then came trouble---William's enemies began to spread rumours that he wasthe lover of Henry's wife, and seeing that the suspicion could not failto mar their relationship, William cut out on his own. He was immediatelyinundated with tempting offers from great lords who wanted to engage hisservices---three times he was offered 500 a year or more, but he turnedthem down and went instead on pilgrimage to Cologne.

He was soon recalled to service with the young King in 1183, but it wasonly to see him die of a fever. At the last William promised that hewould carry out Henry's vow to go on crusade, and having buried hismaster, he carried out his promise.

He came home in 1187 to take his place as an esteemed servant of theKing, and to marry the second richest heiress in England who brought himthe Earldom of Pembroke and extensive lands in England, Wales andIreland. He served Henry II in his final bitter years and once, when hewas covering the king's retreat, he put the fear of God into PrinceRichard who was leading the pursuit. The Lionheart cried out, 'By thelegs of God, Marshal, do not kill me,' and William killed his horseinstead.

Such conduct was dangerous, but when Richard came to the throne he showedthe Marshal that he respected him for it, and when he went on crusade hemade William one of the four associate justiciars appointed to helpWilliam de Longchamp, who had the care of the kingdom. This was excellenttraining in administration and justice, which was to stand William ingood stead later when he had to bear responsibilities far greater thanthose with which a simple soldier can deal.

It also gave him lessons in how to deal with the immensely difficultPrince John, who, fearing, with some justice, that Richard intended toleave the kingdom to his nephew Arthur of Brittany, had to consolidatehis position whilst his brother was away. When he heard that Richard hadbeen captured on his way home and was being held to an incredibly stiffransom, John's ambitions became boundless, and the Marshal had, added tohis normal duties, the double problem of keeping the prince in check andraising a vast sum of money.

Richard returned to find William a wise counsellor now as well as anincomparable soldier, and he used him well; but in 1199 he died, andWilliam worked with skill and energy for the smooth accession of John.This King was to bring him worse problems than he had ever known.

For the next seven years William had to watch John losing Normandy to theMarshal's old friend Philip Augustus, knowing there was nothing to bedone about it. Instead of knightly virtues, treachery was now the orderof the day, and when he taxed the French King with using traitors, he hadonly this for reply: '. . . it is now a matter of business. They are liketorches that one throws into the latrine when one is done with them.'

Attempting to rescue something out of the chaos of the loss of Normandy,William undertook the negotiations with France to make peace, and find aformula by which the English barons might retain their lands in France.What he found instead was the implacable suspicion of John who, fearingthat William was going over to the French side, confiscated all hiscastles and official positions, and took his two eldest sons as hostages.

So William spent the next five years in Ireland, looking after his vastestates and interests there far away from John, but unfortunately, in anarea in which John took an especial interest. Every move William made wascountered by the royal officials, and active hostilities soon commenced.However, William had the better and more faithful knights and, despitethe royal offensives, he tended to win, so in 1208 a truce was made.

Soon afterwards William received on his lands William de Briouse, whomJohn regarded as a bitter enemy, and so the quarrel flared up again.Finally the sixty-six-year-old knight had to come to court and offer tofight an ordeal by battle to prove his faith. No one dared to take up thechallenge, though a winning contestant would have rocketed into favourwith the King.

But by the year 1212 John was in serious trouble, and was to learn wherehis true friends lay. William swung the baronage of Ireland into supportfor the crown, helped to organize the vital rapprochement with the Pope,and prepared to gather the King's friends together and put his castles inorder in readiness for the inevitable struggle. A great moderating forcewas Stephen Langton, the Archbishop of Canterbury, who was to beassociated with William throughout the struggle, persuading John toaccede to those demands of the barons which he had helped to formulate.

In 1216 William was back in the saddle as commander-in-chief of the royalforces opposing the barons and their ally the Dauphin and his Frenchtroops. All was well between the Marshal and the King who had so badlymisjudged him, and now John tried to make amends. But the years ofsuspicion and discord still told: when he gave William the castle ofDunamase, he was upset that his justiciar failed to hand it over---he hadforgotten an arrangement he had made secretly with the justiciar thatWilliam was to have nothing, whatever documents he produced, without asecret handshake (holding each other's thumbs) being given.

Now as John lay dying in Newark Castle, with half his kingdom in enemyhands, and a nine-year old child as his successor, he realised the worthof the man he had hounded so long, and urged all present to commit thekingdom into the care of the Marshal after his death.

William was an old man, the treasury was empty, discord reigned, and theposition seemed hopeless---he wept and begged to be excused; but John ofEarley, his squire, pointed out what honour there was to be won, andchanged his mind for him in a flash. 'It goes straight to my heart thatif all should abandon the King except me do you know what I would do? Iwould carry him on my shoulders, now here, now there, from isle to isle,from land to land, and I would never fail him, even if I were forced tobeg my bread.'

Filled with a sense of the glory of his task, the regent now raided therich stores of jewels and clothing accumulated by the royal house'against a rainy day' to pay the soldiers he so desperately needed. Hesent out showers of letters of protection to the enemy barons, temptingthem to change sides. Gradually he built up his powers for the decisiveblow, at Lincoln in May 1217.

There William led the charge, with the wily Bishop of Winchester whofound a way in, and fought up and down the streets of Lincoln with many ashout of 'Ca Dieu aide au Maréchal' Finally they reached the open spacein front of the cathedral where William personally captured the Frenchcommander and received three massive blows which left dents in hishelmet. The worthy Dame Nicola, who had kept the castle for so long forthe King against enormous odds, was at last relieved, and the war wasalmost won.

The Marshal sped down to Dover to intercept the convoy of reinforcementscoming from France, and then set about making peace. He wasgenerous---perhaps over-generous---to French and English alike, there wasno victimisation, and little recrimination. The speediest route back topeace was chosen, for England had suffered enormous damage from the civilwar.

This was perhaps the worst time for William---the period ofreconstruction. He knew well how to fight, but the sheer boredom andworry of administration of this kind must have borne heavily on the oldman. Disputes and claims had to be settled so that both sides weresatisfied, and no one would have a pretext for re-starting rebellion.Above all money was needed to oil the wheels and restore the losses ofwar, and the best way to make rebels is to overtax them. He even had toban tournaments, which would obviously lead to dangerous positions beingtaken up once more. He must have wondered what he had come to---thegreatest fighter in Europe, and the one who loved a fight better thananything. Instead he spent his time setting up judicial commissions andtrying desperately to balance the budget.

He continued hard at work until the end of February, 1219, when he wastaken ill and confined to his bed in the Tower. Doctors came and went butcould do nothing, and quickly all his family and his knights andretainers gathered round him for the end. He asked to be taken up riverto his manor of Caversham near Reading to die, and there, he and hishousehold went, in mid-March, followed by the young King Henry III, thepapal legate, and the the highest officers of state.

He urged the king 'to be a gentleman,' and told him that if he shouldfollow the example of some evil ancestor, he hoped he would die young. Heworried long and hard over who should be his successor, and found no-onewho could unite all under his rule, so wisely chose the papal legate. Hemade his will, and worried for a moment at the lack of provision for hisyoung son Anselm, but, remembering his own career, felt that he couldmake his own way. 'May God give him prowess and skill.' He remembered anunmarried daughter and made provision for her 'until God takes care ofher.' He had always been a religious man, founder of monasteries,crusader, and honest knight. He called for silken cloths he hadthoughtfully brought back from the Holy Land thirty years before, andgave instruction that he should be covered with them at his funeral.

He wanted to be buried as a Knight Templar, and when the master of theorder came to clothe him, he said to his wife 'Belle amie, you are goingto kiss me, but it will be for the last time.' Happy now that all thearrangements had been made, William could rest a little, and waitcomfortably for death. He talked gently with his knights---one of themwas worried that the clerks said no one could be saved who did not giveback everything he had taken. William set his mind at rest---he had taken500 knights in his lifetime, and could never restore the booty, so if hewere damned there was nothing he could do about it. 'The clerks are toohard on us. They shave us too closely.' When his clerk suggested that allthe rich ro