He commandeered supplies, ordering the men join him, and by Easter he had one of the finest armadas the country had ever seen waiting in Portsmouth harbour to set sail. John went to nearby Portchester to make the final arrangements.
News came from the Continent that Philip was not now amassing his army on the Normandy shores. He had evidently decided that a conquest of England was a tricky undertaking; instead he was turning to attack Poitou.
‘By God’s eyes,’ cried John, ‘it is time I was there.’
There was now no indefatigable Queen Mother to hurry to the defence of Aquitaine. He was alone, John thought bitterly, for whom could he trust? There were many people who were trying to warn him against this undertaking. ‘Traitors,’ he cried. ‘Traitors all.’
There were two men who were in particular set against the expedition – one was Hubert the Archbishop of Canterbury and the other William Marshal.
Hubert as Archbishop was almost certain to be regarded with suspicion by John. Relations between them had been far from easy particularly since John’s return to England, for the Archbishop, like other members of the community, was beginning to realise that John was a tyrant.
Hubert was more than an archbishop; he was a statesman, and many might accuse him of being more the latter than the former; he was an astute man with the good of England at heart and during the years of Richard’s absence he had managed to raise money for his king in the manner which he had learned from his uncle Ranulf de Glanville. When it had been necessary to raise the hundred thousand pounds needed for Richard’s release from captivity he had worked closely with Queen Eleanor to produce the money and had managed this seemingly superhuman task with great credit to himself; and following the methods of Henry II he had succeeded in performing a task so painful to the people of England in such a manner that they resented it far less than might have been expected.
He had of course quarrelled with John but in a moment of good sense John had realised that a quarrel could profit him very little and he made peace with the Archbishop.
Now at Portchester, Hubert was preaching against taking an army into France. The invasion had been too long delayed, he declared. It could end in failure and if that army were beaten how could England be defended if Philip decided to turn his strength towards it?
John raged and ranted, as eager now to go into battle as a short time ago he had been determined to avoid it.
William Marshal too firmly believed that the expedition would be a failure, but he had another reason for not wishing to go to France.
The barons, growing more and more distrustful of John, had been deluded into thinking that they were going to defend Normandy. Now they had discovered that this was not John’s intention. He was going to do battle with Philip for Poitou and Anjou. While the barons were interested in Normandy where so many of them had property, they were not equally so in the other dominions. They began to murmur among themselves and when they discovered that the Archbishop of Canterbury and William Marshal were reluctant too, they took heart and said they did not wish to go.
William Marshal, with a number of the barons, came to speak of the matter with John.
‘I myself could not go to France to fight,’ he said.
‘I understand you not, Marshal,’ cried John.
‘My lord, you know that I and others made a pact with Philip. This we did with your approval, you will remember. We paid him that we might hold our lands for a year, promising that if you did not conquer Normandy by that time we would swear allegiance to him. That time has passed, my lord, and the allegiance has been sworn.’
‘You … traitor!’ cried John. ‘So you have sworn allegiance to my enemy.’
‘With your knowledge, my lord.’
John’s eyes began to protrude and his lips began to move although he did not immediately speak. They all saw the signs of the notorious temper.
‘Arrest that man!’ he shouted. ‘I will not have traitors beside me.’
There was a silence. The barons remained impassive. There was not one of them who would raise a hand against the Marshal.
John began to scream. He pointed at William Marshal with a shaking finger.
‘By God’s ears and teeth,’ he shouted, ‘I tell you that man is a traitor. He has made pacts with the King of France behind my back. He is my man and he cannot fight the King of France because he has made a vow to serve him. This is a man I have allowed to be close to me. I have given him my confidence and he has betrayed me. Arrest him. Take him away. Take him to a dungeon. Let him there await my pleasure … and my pleasure will not be yours, Marshal, I promise you that.’
His eyes raked the silent company.
‘What’s this? What’s this?’ he cried. ‘So none of you move. You stand there. I order and you do nothing … nothing … nothing!’ His voice had risen to a scream. Then he suddenly seemed to grow quiet. ‘I see,’ he said slowly. ‘I see clearly. You are all against me. Every one of you. Traitors … all of you. By God’s eyes, this is an ugly matter.’
He turned from them and strode off.
The Marshal was against him. The Archbishop was against him. And there was smouldering resentment among his barons.
‘They shall not stop me,’ he screamed at Isabella. ‘I’ll have my way. Rest assured I will. Nothing will stop me … nothing … nothing … nothing.’
And he went on with his preparations.
William Marshal came to him. He looked sad and contrite and for the moment John’s heart leaped with hope because he thought he had come to beg his pardon.
No so the Marshal. John thought: None would think he were my subject. I could take him and imprison him and put out his eyes. Does he forget that?
No, you could not, whispered common sense. If you did the whole country would rise against you. This man is beloved of the barons and the people. Do not delude yourself. You need his friendship.
All the same he scowled at the Marshal.
‘Well,’ he cried, ‘why do you come to me? Why do you not go to the lord you have chosen to serve?’
‘There is one I serve on these shores,’ said William Marshal. ‘There is one I would always have wished to serve. I have been forced to swear allegiance to the King of France when in the land he now commands and I am a man who must keep his oath.’
‘So you swore away your honour for your lands.’
‘I would never swear away my honour, sire. Has it struck you that if – and by God’s grace may it be soon – you regain Normandy you will have strongholds there of those who serve you well. I am one of those.’
‘Am I expected to believe that?’ demanded John scornfully.
‘You must believe as you will, my lord. The facts will remain as they are. I come now to beg you to disband your army.’
‘Because you do not wish to fight against your friend?’
‘If you refer to the King of France I must say I do not wish to. But my reason for braving your wrath and coming to you is to beg you consider. The facts are these: Philip is now in command of vast territories; he can put more men in the field than you can. You know full well the treachery of the Poitevins. Can you trust them? They would be your friends one day and if it was advantageous to them – as it could well be – they would turn to France. And while you were engaged over there with the flower of your army you would leave this land exposed to the invader. Your presence is needed here. The people are disturbed. They liked not the taxation which has had to be imposed to raise this army. The barons are on the edge of revolt. My lord, you can best serve your interests by disbanding your army and staying here, to hold firmly on to what is left to you.’