Cameos from English History, from Rollo to Edward II

C >> Charlotte Mary Yonge >> Cameos from English History, from Rollo to Edward II

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King Henry intended Ireland as the inheritance of his son John, and
in 1185 wrote to request the Pope to grant him the investiture. Urban
returned a favorable answer, and with it a crown of peacock's feathers
set in gold--a more appropriate present than he intended for the
feather-pated prince, who was then sixteen years of age, and who, having
been knighted by his father, set off for Dublin, accompanied by a train
of youths of his own age, whom the steadier heads of the good knight
Philip Barry, and his clerkly relative Gerald, were unable to keep in
order. This Gerald Barry was the historian commonly known as Giraldus
Cambrensis, to whom we are chiefly indebted for the account of the
conquest of Ireland. The Irish chiefs of Leinster flocked to pay their
respects, but were most improperly received by John and his friends, who
could not restrain their mirth at their homely garb, and soon proceeded
to gibes and practical jokes; pricking them with pins, and rapping them
on the head with a stick as they bent to pay homage, tweaking their
ample mantles, and pulling their long beards and moustaches, all as if
they had studied to enrage this proud and sensitive people. These were
the Irish of the friendly country; and when those of more distant and
unsubdued regions heard what treatment they had met, they turned back,
and soon broke out in insurrection. John and his gay companions did not
stay to meet the storm they had raised, but hastily fled to England, and
the King wrote to Sir John de Courcy to take the government, and do his
best to restore obedience.

It is round this De Courcy that the interest of the Irish wars chiefly
centres. [Footnote: This history of De Courcy is derived from an old
life of him by an Irish priest, which is disputed by many historical
authorities] In his youth, while serving the King in Normandy, he had
made friends with Sir Almeric Tristrem, and, in true chivalrous style,
the two knights plighted their faith in the Church of our Lady at Rouen,
to be sworn brethren-in-arms, to live and die for each other, and to
divide equally whatever they might gain in war. Their friendship was
never broken till death, and their whole career was one of perfect
chivalry. Almeric became the husband of his friend's sister, and in
honor of this closer alliance changed his surname to De St.
Laurence, their wedding-day being the feast of that Saint. The two
brethren-in-arms came into Ireland with Henry in 1172, and De Courcy
received a grant of Ulster, when he could conquer it. Sir Almeric at
once landed at Howth, and fought a bloody battle, in which he gained the
victory, but with the loss of seven of his kindred, and for that reason
Howth was made his portion, and long remained in his family. At the
battle of Daud, fought with Roderick O'Connor, the two friends, with
seven hundred men, were again victorious, owing to a timely charge of
Almeric's with his reserve of forty horse. The next midsummer another
battle took place, with the same result, though Sir Almeric was so
sorely wounded that he was found lying, faint and bleeding, under a
hedge, eating honeysuckles by way of cure, and his son Nicholas received
nine wounds, and was left for dead. These successes made the Irish
submit, and De Courcy was acknowledged as their feudal chief. He
proceeded to build castles, and granted two of them to one MacMahon, who
had made every promise of fidelity. Within a month, De Courcy heard that
the castles were pulled down, and, on his calling his refractory vassal
to account, received a truly Irish answer: MacMahon said he had not
promised to hold stones, but land, and it was contrary to his nature to
couch within cold stones, when the warm woods were so nigh.

De Courcy proceeded to foray his land, and was driving off a great herd
of cattle, when a host of Irish set on him, and by their shouts so
frightened the cows, that they ran on the English, and more were killed
by being trodden down by them than were slain by the Irish; and De
Courcy and De St. Laurence with difficulty collected the remnant in a
little fort. At night Almeric went out to survey the enemy, and reported
that there were five thousand feasting and drinking at no great distance.
If they should fall on the wearied, hungry, and wounded English the next
day, they would make them an easy prey, and he therefore advised a
night-attack, to take them by surprise. The English sat silent, looking
at each other, til Sir John de Courcy spoke: "I looked all this while
for some of these young gallants to deliver their courage; but, Sir
Almeric, where are their horses bestowed?"

"Your white horse and my black," said Sir Almeric, "I have cunningly
conveyed away, and the rest I can point out to you with my finger."

"Then," said Sir John, "let two men ride these two horses, gather their
horses together, and drive them in on the enemy; then, all who can bear
arms shall follow, and we will serve them with their horses as they did
us with our kine."

The stratagem was completely successful; the Irish were entirely routed
with great slaughter, while the English lost only two--though the
preceding day had lost them four hundred men.

By six battles, altogether, Sir John established his power, and he then
received from Henry the rank of Earl of Ulster. He governed Ireland from
the time of Prince John's flight till the accession of Richard Coeur de
Lion, with great prosperity; and during this time Roderick O'Connor was
dethroned by his sons, and forced to retire to a convent, where he died.

King Richard left the management of Irish affairs to his brother, who
took the government from De Courcy, and gave it to Hugo de Lacy, the
nephew. He, comporting himself as a favorite, of John was likely to
do, of course occasioned another war, and Cathal O'Connor, the
Bloody-handed, of Connaught, began to threaten Ulster. De Courcy
summoned Almeric to his aid, and the good knight set out with two
hundred foot and thirty horse; but, while passing through the enemy's
country, he suddenly found himself beset by Cathal, at the head of an
enormous host. The horsemen might easily have saved themselves by their
speed; but though death was certain if he remained, this true knight
would not forsake the foot in their extremity.

In Hanmer's affecting words, "Sir Almeric turned him to the foot
company, and hardly gathering breath with the sorrow of his heart,
resolved himself thus: 'I have no power to fly, and leave my friends, my
flesh and blood, in this extreme distress. I will live with them who for
my sake came hither, if it so please God; or I will die with them, if
it be His pleasure, that, ending here, we shall meet again, bodies and
souls, at the last day. God and the world bear witness that we do as
Christian knights ought to do. I yield my soul into God's hands; my body
to return whence it came; my service to my natural prince; my heart to
my wife, and brother Sir John de Courcy; my might, my force, my bloody
sweat, to the aid of you all that are in the field.' He alighted,
kneeled on his knees, kissed the cross of his sword, ran his horse
through, saying, 'Thou shalt never serve against me, that so worthily
hast served with me.' All the horses were then killed but two, on which
he mounted two of the youngest of his followers, bidding them watch the
fight from the next hill, then make all speed to bear his greetings to
his brother De Courcy, and report that day's service."

When the Irish saw the devoted band so firmly awaiting their attack,
they fancied that succor must be near, and did not venture their onset
till the whole country had been reconnoitred. Every Englishman was
slain, but one thousand Irish also fell, and the death of these brave
men was not in vain. Cathal was so impressed by their courage, that he
sued for peace, and never ventured another pitched battle. He afterward
told Sir Hugo de Lacy that he thought verily there never was the like
seen on earth; for, when the Englishmen could not stand, they set
themselves back to back, and fought on till the last man was slain.

De Courcy long survived his faithful brother-in-arms, and stood so high
in all men's estimation, that De Lacy in jealousy sent information to
King John, soon after the death of Arthur, that the Earl of Ulster was
sowing disaffection by accusing him of his nephew's murder. This was the
very thing for which John had lately starved to death the Lady de Braose
and her children, and he sent orders to De Lacy to attack the person of
De Courcy. Every means of open force failed, and De Lacy was reduced to
tamper with his servants, two of whom at length informed him that it was
vain to think of seizing their master when he had his armor on, as
he was of immense strength and skill, nor did he ever lay aside his
weapons, except on Good Friday, when he was wont to walk up and down the
churchyard of Downe, alone and unarmed.

Accordingly, De Lacy sent a band of horsemen, who fell upon the betrayed
knight. He caught up a wooden cross, and made brave resistance, and so
did his two nephews, sons of Sir Almeric, who were with him; but they
had no weapon, and were both slain, while De Courcy was overpowered, and
carried a prisoner to London. The two traitors begged De Lacy to give
them passports to go to England; on which he gave them a sealed paper,
on condition of their not opening it themselves, nor returning on pain
of death. Now, the paper set forth that they were traitors no better
than Judas, and exhorted every true man to spit in their faces, and
drive them away. However, these letters were never delivered; for the
wretched men were driven, by stress of weather, back on the coast of
Ireland, and De Lacy had them hanged.

De Courcy continued in captivity till one of the many disputes between
John and Philippe Auguste was to be decided by the ordeal of battle.
The most stalwart of all John's subjects was his prisoner, and he
immediately sent to release him from the Tower, offering him immense
rewards if he would become his champion. The old knight answered that
King John himself was not worthy to have one drop of blood shed for him;
and as to rewards, he could never requite the wrongs he had done him,
nor restore the heart's ease he had robbed him of. For John Lackland he
would never fight, nor for such as him, but for the honor of the Crown,
and of England, he undertook the cause. The old warrior, wasted with
imprisonment, was prepared by good feeding, and received his weapons:
the Frenchman fled at once, and De Courcy prepared to return to Ireland.
He made fifteen attempts to cross, and each time was forced to put back.
At length, as old chronicles relate, he was warned in a dream to make
the trial no more: for, said the voice, "Thou hast done ill: thou hast
pulled down the master, and set up the servant."

This was thought to refer to his having newly dedicated the cathedral of
Downe in the name of St. Patrick, whereas before it had been the Church
of the Holy Trinity. He took blame to himself, submitted, and going to
France, there died at an advanced age. For his championship, the right
of wearing the head covered in the presence of royalty was granted to
him and his heirs, and it is still the privilege of his descendants, the
Earls of Kinsale;

"For when every head is unbonneted
They walk in cap and plume."

CAMEO XXIII.

THE REBELLIOUS EAGLETS.
(1149-1189.)

_King of England_.
1154. Henry II.

_King of Scotland_.
1165. William.

_Kings of France_.
1137. Louis VII.
1180. Philippe II.

_Emperor of Germany_.
1152. Friedrich I.

_Popes of Rome_.
1154. Adrian IV.
1159. Alexander III.
1181. Lucius III.
1185. Urban III.
1187. Gregory VIII.

"The gods are just, and of our pleasant sins make whips to scourge us."
This saying tells the history of the reign of Henry of the Court Mantle.

Ambition and ill faith were the crimes of Henry from his youth upward,
and he was a man of sufficiently warm affections to suffer severely from
the retribution they brought on him, when, through his children, they
recoiled upon his head. "When once he loveth, scarcely will he ever
hate; when once he hateth, scarcely ever receiveth he into grace," was
written of him by his tutor, Peter of Blois, and his life proved that it
was a true estimate of his character.

The root of his misfortunes may be traced to his ambitious marriage with
Eleanor of Aquitaine, twelve years older than himself, and divorced by
Louis VII. of France on account of her flagrant misconduct in Palestine,
in the course of the miserable expedition called the Second Crusade. For
her broad lands, he deserted the woman whom he loved, and who had left
her home and duty for his sake, and on his promise of marriage.

Fair Rosamond Clifford was the daughter of a Herefordshire baron, with
whom Henry became acquainted in his seventeenth year, when he came to
England, in 1149, to dispute the crown with Stephen. He lodged her at
Woodstock, in the tower built, according to ballad lore, "most curiously
of stone and timber strong," and with such a labyrinth leading to it
that "none, but with a clue of thread, could enter in or out." There
Rosamond remained while he returned to France to receive Normandy and
Anjou, on the death of his father, and on going to pay homage to Louis
VII., ingratiated himself with Queen Eleanor, whose divorce was then
impending. Eleanor and her sister Petronella were joint heiresses of the
great duchy of Aquitaine, their father having died on pilgrimage to the
shrine of Santiago de Compostella, and the desire of the fairest and
wealthiest provinces of the south of France led the young prince to
forget his ties to Rosamond and her infant son William, and never take
into consideration what the woman must be of whom her present husband
was resolved to rid himself at the risk of seeing half his kingdom in
the hands of his most formidable enemy.

For some time Rosamond seems to have been kept in ignorance of Henry's
unfaithfulness; but in 1152, the year of his coronation, and of the
birth of her second child, Geoffrey, she quitted Woodstock, and retired
into the nunnery of Godstow, which the King richly endowed. It has been
one of the favorite legends of English history, that the Queen traced
her out in her retreat by a ball of silk that had entangled itself in
Henry's spurs, and that she offered her the choice of death by the
dagger or by poison; but this tale has been refuted by sober proof;
there is no reason to believe that Eleanor was a murderess; and it is
certain that Rosamond, on learning how she had been deceived, took
refuge in the nunnery, where she ended her days twenty years after, in
penitence and peace, far happier than her betrayer. Her sons, William
and Geoffrey, were honorably brought up, and her remains were placed in
the choir, under a silken canopy, with tapers burning round, while the
Sisters of the convent prayed for mercy on her soul and King Henry's.
Even King John paid the costs of this supposed expiation; but St. Hugh,
Bishop of Lincoln, not thinking it well that her history should be
before the minds of the nuns, ordered the corpse to be interred in the
ordinary burial-place of the convent.

During most of these twenty years of Rosamond's repentance, all
apparently prospered with Henry. The rigorous justice administered by
his excellent chancellor, Ranulf de Glanville, had restored order to
England; the only man bold enough to gainsay him had been driven from
the kingdom. Ireland was in course of conquest, and his astute policy
was continually overreaching the simple-minded Louis VI., who, having
derived the surname of _le jeune_ from his age at his accession, was so
boyish a character all his life as never to lose it.

Four sons and three daughters were born to Henry and Eleanor, and in
their infancy he arranged such alliances as might obtain a still wider
power for them--nay, even the kingdom of France. Louis VI. had married
again, but his second wife died, leaving two infant girls, named
Margaret and Alice, and to them Henry betrothed his two eldest sons,
Henry and Richard. It was to ask the hand of Margaret for the prince
that Becket took his celebrated journey to Paris, and the young pair,
Henry and Margaret, were committed to his care for education; but the
disputes with the King prevented their being sufficiently long in his
hands for the correction of the evil spirit of the Angevin princes.

By threats of war, Henry obtained for Geoffrey, his third son,
Constance, the only child of Conan, Duke of Brittany; though the
Bretons, who hated Normans, Angevins, and English with equal bitterness,
were extremely angry at finding themselves thus connected with all
three. On Conan's death, Geoffrey, then ten years old, was called Duke
of Brittany, but his father took the whole government into his hands,
and made it a heavy yoke.

John, Count of Mortagne, for whom no heiress had been obtained, was
gayly called by his father Lackland--a name which his after-life fitted
to him but too well. Richard was intended to be the inheritor of his
mother's beautiful duchy of Aquitaine, where he spent most of his early
years. It was a strange country, where the ordinary events of life
partook so much of romance that we can hardly believe them real.

It had never been so peopled by the Franks as to lose either the
language or the cultivation left by the Romans. The _langue d'oc_ had
much resemblance to the Latin, and was beautifully soft and adapted to
poetry; and when the nobles adopted chivalry, they ornamented it with
all the graces of their superior education. The talent of improvising
verses was common among them; and to be a minstrel, or, as they called
it, a troubadour (a finder of verses), was essential to the character of
a complete gentleman.

Courts of beauty and love took place, where arguments were held on cases
of allegiance of a knight to his lady-love, and competitions in poetry,
in which the reward was a golden violet. Each troubadour thought it
needful to be dedicated to the service of some lady, in whose honor all
his exploits in arms or achievements in minstrelsy were performed. To
what an extravagant length this devotion was carried, is shown in the
story of Jauffred Rudel, Lord of Blieux, who, having heard from some
Crusaders a glowing account of the beauty and courtesy of the Countess
of Tripoli, on their report made her the object of his affections, and
wrote poem after poem upon her, of which one has come down to our times:

"No other love shall e'er be mine,
None save my love so far away;
For one more fair I'll never know,
In region near, or far away."

Thus his last verse may be translated, and his "_amour luench_," or love
far away, occurs in every other line. He embarked for Palestine for the
sole purpose of seeing his _amour luench_, but fell sick on the voyage,
and was speechless when he arrived. The countess, hearing to what a
condition his admiration had brought him, came on board the vessel to
see him; the sight of her so charmed him, that he was able to say a few
words to her before he expired. She caused him to be buried with
great splendor, and erected a porphyry tomb over him, with an Arabic
inscription.

The romance of the Languedocians was unhappily not accompanied by purity
of manners, and much of Queen Eleanor's misconduct may be ascribed to
the tone prevalent in her native duchy, to which she was much attached.
Her brave son, Richard, growing up in this land of minstrelsy, became
a thorough troubadour, and loved no portion of his father's domains
as well as the sunny south; and his two brothers, Henry and Geoffrey,
likewise fell much under the influence of the poetical knights of
Aquitaine, especially Bertrand de Born, Viscount de Hautefort, an
accomplished noble, who was the intimate friend of all the princes.

The King's first disappointment was when, at length, a son was born to
Louis VI., who had hitherto, to use his own words, "been afflicted
with a multitude of daughters." This son of his old age was christened
"Philippe _Dieu donne_," and the servant who brought the welcome tidings
of his birth was rewarded with a grant of three measures of wheat yearly
from the royal farm of Gonesse. Soon after, Louis dreamt that he saw
his son holding a goblet of blood in his hand, from which his valor was
predicted, and he did indeed seem born to visit the offences of the
Plantagenets on their own heads. Even while quite a child, when present
at a conference between the two kings under the Elm of Gisors, he was
shrewd enough to perceive that Henry was unjustly overreaching his
father, and surprised all present by exclaiming, "Sir, you do my father
wrong. I perceive that you always gain the advantage over him. I cannot
hinder you now, but I give you notice that, when I am grown up, I will
take back all of which you now deprive us." And, by fair means and foul,
he kept his word.

Next Henry began to find that the Church would not allow him to remain
in peace while he kept the Archbishop in exile, and the dread of
excommunication caused him to obviate the danger of his subjects being
released from their oaths of allegiance, by causing his eldest son to
be crowned, and receive their homage. The Princess Margaret was in
Aquitaine with Queen Eleanor; and when she found that the rights of her
former tutor, Becket, were neglected, and the ceremony to be performed
by the Archbishop of York, she refused to come to England, and her
husband was crowned alone. It was then that his father carved at his
banquet, and he made the arrogant speech respecting the son of a count
and the son of a king.

That year was marked by the murder of the Archbishop, and soon after the
storm began to burst. Young Henry, now nineteen years of age, went with
his wife to pay a visit to her father at Paris, and returned full of
discontent, complaining that he was a king only in name, since he had
not even a house to himself, and insisting on his father's giving up to
him at once either England, Normandy, or Anjou.

His complaints were echoed by Richard and Geoffrey, who were with their
mother in Aquitaine. Richard had received investiture of the county of
Poitiers, but the entire authority was in the hands of Castellanes,
appointed by his father, and the proud natives were stirring up the
young prince to shake off the bondage in which he, like them, was held.
Geoffrey, though only fifteen, thought himself aggrieved by not having
yet received his wife's duchy of Brittany, and positively refused to pay
homage for it to his eldest brother, when newly crowned to repair the
irregularity of his first coronation, and for this opposition the
high-spirited Bretons forgave his Angevin blood, and looked on him as
their champion. The boys' discontents were aggravated by their mother,
and the state of feeling was so well known in the South, that when
Henry and his eldest son came to Limoges to receive the homage of Count
Raymond of Toulouse, that noble, on coming to the part of the oath of
fealty where he was engaged to counsel his lord against his enemies,
added, "I should warn you to secure your castles of Poitou and
Aquitaine, and to mistrust your wife and sons."

Henry, who was aware of the danger, under pretext of hunting, visited
his principal fortresses, and, to guard against the evil designs of his
son Henry, caused him to sleep in his own bedroom. At Chinon, however,
the youth contrived to elude his vigilance, stole away, and escaped to
Paris, where he was received in a manner that reflects great discredit
on the French monarch.

When the elder Henry sent to Paris to desire the restoration of the
fugitive, the messengers found him royally robed, and seated by the side
of the French King, who received them, asking from whom they came.

"From Henry, King of England, Duke of Normandy and Aquitaine, Count of
Anjou and Maine."

"That is not true. Here sits Henry, King of England, who has no message
to send me by you. But if you mean his father, the late King of England,
he has been dead ever since his son has worn the crown; and if he still
pretends to be a king, I will soon find a cure."

Young Henry adopted a great seal, and wrote letters to the Pope, his
mother, and brothers, exciting them against his father, and putting
forth a manifesto declaring that he could not leave unpunished the death
of "his foster-father, the glorious martyr St. Thomas of Canterbury,
whose blood was crying out for vengeance."

On receiving these letters, Richard and Geoffrey hurried to meet him
at Paris, and Queen Eleanor was following in male attire, when she was
seized and made prisoner. Louis caused the two boys to swear that they
would never conclude a peace with their father without his consent, and
they were joined by great numbers of the Norman and Poitevin nobility,
even from among the King's immediate attendants. Each morning some one
was missed from his court, and known to be gone over to the enemy, but
still Henry outwardly kept up his spirits, conversed gaily, and hunted
as usual.