Blood Cries Afar, page 12
Military organisation in France was not radically different from in England; we have already mentioned Philip Augustus affected in France his own version of Henry II’s Assize of Arms. We know a good deal about Philip’s military establishment from the survival of important documentation from his reign: the royal government registers and the prisia servientum, a war levy.208 Philip oversaw a radical transformation of French administration and, just as historians have credited John’s success in bureaucratic government, many more have acknowledged the efficacy of Philip’s reforms. Jim Bradbury believes these lay at the heart of the French king’s success: ‘It was because Philip had set about reforming and streamlining royal administration, and therefore royal wealth and resources, that all his successes had come about.’209 Certainly, Philip’s ability to translate his resources into military hardware and manpower was a significant element in his conquests, but it was more political momentum, not least when generated by military triumphs, that played a crucial role in determining the outcome of conflicts. These could – and often were – affected by the military organisation, but the actual unfolding of events was far more important.
Given the documentation, it is no surprise that Philip’s war machine has been extensively studied, providing a clearer sense of French military organisation.210 The nerve centre of Philip’s army, like John’s, was the household of the king, from which he took the counsel of such men as Batholomew de Roye, William des Barres and the Clément family (who, in Henry, provided the marshal of France). The army, in its various forms, took its orders from the Constable and the marshal. Knights were expected to be fully kitted, while the equipment of sergeants or footsoldiers was specified in less detail. Many of the latter came from communes within Philip’s domain: for example, Tournai, Laon and Sens were obliged to provide 300 men; Beauvais, 500. Other towns, as with Corbeil, provided a cash equivalent. Monasteries were also expected to do their bit, supplying packhorses and weapons, logistical organisation being no less vital.211 Whereas English – or, more exactly, Welsh – archers were already developing a formidable reputation, so were Philip’s crossbowmen, as we have seen at Château Gaillard. Contemporary illustrations of the Battle of Bouvines depict crossbowmen discharging their weapons on horseback. Absolutely crucial to Philip’s success was his contingent of engineers and miners, whom sources say accompanied him everywhere. Once more it is worth reiterating that medieval warfare was more about sieges than battles, and so Philip’s siege achievements are owed in considerable measure to his engineers. Of course, mercenaries were ubiquitous, and Philip relied heavily on his greatest mercenary, Cadoc. One historian has estimated that Philip could call on in total some 3000 knights, 9000 sergeants, 6000 men from urban militias and as many thousands of footsoldiers as he was ready to hire.212 These are approximate, total figures; no single French army was ever comprised of these numbers as far too many variables came into play. Troops were needed to face various threats, potential and real, from England, the Empire, Flanders and internally; there were also the Albigensian crusade and castle-garrisoning duties to be considered. John, in addition and in conjunction with civil unrest, faced military threats from Wales, Scotland and France. Both kings, however, had their permanent military forces in their households.
Philip’s military structures were physically reinforced by his fortress policy in France. His reign saw Paris fortified with walls and the Louvre Castle. Across his lands, a sustained and massive fortification programme led to town walls and castles being constructed or bolstered throughout his reign from 1190 onwards. He is credited with introducing to France a new, stronger style of architectural defence in the shape of cylindrical towers, demonstrated by the donjon of the Louvre.213 More than this, Philip used his fortress network intelligently, permitting a good deal of autonomy to castellans, unlike John’s approach in England and Normandy which ‘was ruthlessly dirigiste and opportunistic from first to last’.214
This period saw important developments in the navies of England and France.215 For the latter, acquiring the northern seaboard after winning Normandy necessitated considerable expansion of its fleet to project greater maritime power. For a long time John has received credit for establishing the royal navy. Ships were recruited into royal service in a similar way to men. The Cinque ports of the south coast (Hastings, Rye, Sandwich, Hythe and Romney) were traditionally required to provide 57 vessels for fifteen days of service; more merchant ships could be hired or commandeered to augment this for a form of merchant navy. Warren argues that the loss of Normandy compelled John to adopt a coherent maritime policy.216 Clearly, adverse circumstances forced him to devise a new front-line defence on the Channel and he accordingly increased the number of ships available under his command: between 1209 and 1212 he had built 20 new galleys and 34 other ships.217 Turner describes the new situation: ‘The English Channel was no longer an internal waterway for an Anglo-Norman realm but a boundary with the hostile French; a navy was needed to protect the kingdom’s coasts.’218 John Gillingham has challenged the claim that John was founder of the navy, persuasively pointing out instead that it was Richard who deserves credit for this. Richard saw to the construction of Portsmouth as a naval base and he maintained a very active maritime policy, whether in raids against pirates at St Valéry in 1194 or in protecting sea routes to La Rochelle.219 As argued earlier, his absenteeism in no way reduced his concerns for England’s safety. And Richard was, after all, responsible for the huge logistical enterprise of the Third Crusade. A fleet, like castles, was needed as much for offensive purposes as defensive ones.
It will be seen in this narrative how the English were considered to have a distinct advantage over the French in naval matters. Already early in Richard’s reign there were indications of this. During the Third Crusade, Philip had to borrow naval transport from Richard in order to continue his expedition. A pro-Ricardian author delights in recounting how Philip entered Messina harbour in just one ship to be met by a jeering crowd, immediately followed by Richard’s impressive fleet making a spectacular entrance to an ecstatic reception.220 Naval considerations were paramount in Philip’s marriage to Ingeborg of Denmark at a time when his maritime assets were limited. But as he increased his territory and power and won huge stretches of seaboard (extensively in the north with Normandy, less so in the west with Pointhieu), so his mind turned to invading England and thus ship-building. Although Bradbury believes the ‘formation of fleets in 1213 and 1217 was the origin of a French royal navy’, Mollat du Joudin claims that ‘it is impossible to see in the improvised fleets of 1213 and 1217 the origins of the navy … The fleets of Philip Augustus were occasional and ill-assorted.’221 Philip was never to match John in this crucial sphere of warfare.
Finances
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.222 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.’223 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.224 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’.225 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.’226 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.227 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.’228 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’.229 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.230
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.
Campaigns, 1205–06
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.231 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.’232 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.233 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.234 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.235 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.236 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’.237 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.
