The baronial government collapsed within two years. A papal bull was published, releasing Henry from any promises made under duress to his lords; the bull stated that when a king was distrained by his subjects it was as if a woodman was assaulted by his own axe. Henry also declared that the barons had stripped the king of ‘his power and dignity’. He moved into the Tower, both as a defence against his enemies and as a potent symbol of that power.
Not greatly chastened by events, he resumed the exercise of sovereignty. It lasted for only two years. The ‘aliens’, the Savoyards in particular, were once more blamed for being ‘over-mighty’. Henry had also introduced a body of foreign mercenaries, provoking rumours that the country was about to suffer an invasion. So in 1263 a group of dissident barons found themselves a new leader to press their claims, and in particular their demand that they should be governed only ‘per indigenas’ or by native-born men.
Simon de Montfort, summoned by the barons, sailed to England. It has been said that he was the first ever leader of an English political party. He was perhaps an odd representative of the English cause. He was born in France and was part of a noble French family. Yet he had native connections. He had inherited the earldom of Leicester, by virtue of the fact that his grandfather had married the sister of the previous earl; it was a circuitous route, but it was a proper one. He had also married the king’s sister Eleanor. So, as one chronicler put it, he became ‘the shield and defender of the English, the enemy and expeller of aliens, although he himself was one of them by nation’. The barons summoned the representatives of the shires to an assembly at St Albans, while the king called them to Windsor.
The confrontation between Henry III and Simon de Montfort could not be contained. De Montfort himself was an obstinate and intolerant man, with an obsessive hatred for Jews and heretics. He was something of an isolated figure in England, with a disdain for the compromises and irresolution of his English supporters whom he had once described as ‘fickle and deceitful’. He was impatient of fools, and could be high-handed both in his manner and in his methods. He was, in other words, a bully. He knew what was right. He knew, or thought he knew, what had to be done. He had in the past commanded a crusading army, and Henry himself had once despatched him to Gascony as his seneschal or viceroy. The king was notoriously fearful of storms. It was an aspect of his simplicity. But on one occasion he told de Montfort that ‘by God’s head, I fear you more than all the thunder and lightning in the world’.
A large element of self-righteousness existed in de Montfort’s nature that may have helped to conceal, even from himself, his true purpose. Like the rest of his family he wanted to extend his power and lordship. That was where proper honour lay. He preferred strong rule as a moral and theoretical imperative, but surely it would be all the stronger if it were wielded by him? Further questions arose. If he were able to gain the victory, would he allow the king to resume his rule under baronial restraint? Or would he himself take on the role of sovereign?
The members of both parties engaged in intermittent conflict after his arrival in England. They were also involved in what would now be called a propaganda war, with open letters to the shire courts and sermons in the churchyards. The political ballad also emerges in this period. In the early months of 1264 the struggle turned into open and intensive warfare, on a scale not seen in England since the battles of King John with his barons. The peace that the king craved was snatched from him. He had an uneasy relationship with his elder son, Edward, since Edward had the stronger and more valiant character. At his instigation the king marched on the rebel town of Northampton, bearing the royal standard of a red dragon with fiery tongue; this bloody flag was a sign that no quarter would be given to those who surrendered. The king took the town. Edward then pillaged rebel lands in Staffordshire and Derbyshire. De Montfort himself was using London, where the citizens had turned decidedly against the king, as the centre of operations. Here he was impregnable. But Henry had the larger army.
A decisive confrontation could not be avoided. Otherwise the administration of the country would perish with a thousand cuts. On 11 May Henry and his entourage arrived at the Cluniac priory of Lewes in Sussex. The baronial army took up its position 10 miles (16 kilometres) to the north. Two days passed in inconclusive negotiations, but then de Montfort moved forward to the high downs overlooking Lewes. The armies faced one another and, as battle began, Edward led a furious attack upon the contingent of Londoners; he broke them, and pursued the scattered bands for several hours. That was the mistake. By the time he returned the rebels had won a signal victory, with the king himself immured in the priory. De Montfort had not flown the red dragon on his standard, so an armistice was quickly arranged. The Lord Edward, as he was known, was confined in Dover Castle as a hostage for the king’s good intent.
A Latin poem of 968 lines, entitled The Song of Lewes, was written soon after the event. Its intent was to celebrate what de Montfort had called ‘the common enterprise’, and it justified the armed rebellion of the barons as the only means of ensuring that they played their proper role in the administration of the country. ‘Commonly it is said, as the king wishes, so goes the law; the truth is quite otherwise, for the law stands, though the king falls.’ It would not be wholly fanciful to suggest the presence of something like a communal sentiment of the realm in the face of manifest injustice. Strong evidence also exists that the working population of the countryside took matters into their own hands and sided with the barons. Some Leicestershire villagers, for example, surrounded a captain and his men who were fighting in the king’s army; they attempted to arrest them on the grounds that they were ‘against the welfare of the community of the realm and against the barons’. These were not idle or theoretical concepts; they were part of living reality.
Many hundreds of villagers were also fighting as foot soldiers beside the mounted knights. The poorest of them had knives and scythes, the more prosperous were obliged by law to possess an iron cap and a lance. They were fighting against the king’s exactions. At the beginning of the nineteenth century three pits were uncovered in Lewes; each one contained approximately 500 bodies. They had just been piled one on top of another, the unmourned and unremembered casualties of war. They are described by one chronicle as ordinary people bred ‘de vulgo’, from the masses. Very few knights were killed in the battle.
Henry III was returned to London after his defeat, where he was placed for safekeeping in St Paul’s Cathedral. A small body of nine barons, under the leadership of de Montfort, assumed power while all the departments of state continued to operate in the name of the king. But it was only a name. De Montfort was now the strong man of the state. It is the first instance in English history of a subject seizing rule from an anointed sovereign. He confiscated the lands of eighteen barons who had fought on the wrong side, and took the lion’s share of ransom money. He even turned on his fellow barons, and consigned one of them to prison; another fled the realm. De Montfort was becoming a tyrant. That is what happens within oligarchies; one climbs over the others. As a result his support was soon fatally weakened. Who would not prefer a king to a tyrant?