He set out at once for Canterbury and again the Abbot and his monks were thrown into a panic when they heard of the King’s approach.
He summoned them all to meet him and although his rage was great it was by this time somewhat under control.
He shouted at the assembly. ‘By God’s teeth, there are traitors here. There are liars and enemies of the King. I forget not that I came here and was told that Reginald had not been elected. Then it seemed he had. And knowing that you had elected Reginald, yet you denied it and elected John de Grey. So says the Pope this makes both elections invalid and he would set up his own man. I will not have this man. I … and I alone, will select my archbishop. I will have people of my choice, those who work for me and not for themselves or the Pope. You thought to trick me. Do not deny it. I know full well your cowardly ways. In secret you set your choice upon the Primate’s throne. A plague on you all. You are no longer monks of mine. Get out! This is no longer your abbey. Go, go … go! No … not tomorrow … nor the next day … as you are now … now unless you, wish to be cast into dungeons, which you richly deserve. What would be the best punishment for you, I wonder – to deprive you of the eyes that looked on that treacherous ceremony or the tongues which applauded it?’
He was amused to see the terror dawn in people’s faces at the prospect of these terrible punishments. To threaten them with death could not produce the same concern.
‘So shall it be,’ he cried. ‘If you are not on your way this very day. Where to? you might ask. Go where you will. Go crawling back to the master whom you thought to serve better than you serve me. Go to Reginald and ask him to care for you. You gave him your support … in defiance of your King … let him support you now.’
The rage was in control. This was more enjoyable … to inflict punishment on others rather than himself because when the rages were out of control he came close to injuring himself. How much more fun to strike terror into their hearts.
That day sixty-seven of the monks left Canterbury and made their way to the Continent. John was pleased, for now he was in possession of their lands.
He was in no hurry to settle the dispute – even to install John de Grey – because until there was an Archbishop of Canterbury the riches of that very prosperous see remained in his possession.
John sat down to write to the Pope. He was not going to curb his anger. He wanted Innocent to know that he had no intention of submitting to his will. He would not accept Stephen Langton as his archbishop and he understood well Innocent’s reasons for trying to impose this man upon him. He wanted to force papal doctrines on him which as a King of England he could not accept. It was a matter of amazement to him that a Pope could have so little regard for the friendship of the King of England as to treat him with such a lack of respect, as a man whose desires were of so little consequence. John was afraid that he must point out to His Holiness that he could not – nor would he – accept such treatment; and if the Pope had so little regard for him, that was not the case with others. He knew nothing of this man, Stephen Langton, except that he had been particularly well received at the Court of King Philip in France – a man who had shown himself to be no friend to John, indeed he would find it difficult to name one who was a greater enemy to him. And this was the man whom the Pope – without the sanction of the King of England – had chosen to be England’s Primate. This was beyond John’s understanding.
Exceedingly irritated to receive such a letter, the Pope wrote with great dignity reminding the King, in every line, of his supremacy over temporal rulers.
‘The Servant of the Servants of God informs the King of England that in what he has done there was no cause why he should tarry for the King’s consent, and as he has begun he will proceed according to canonical ordinances neither to the right nor to the left …’
John scanned the letter with growing impatience.
‘We will for no man’s pleasure,’ went on the Pope, ‘defer the completion of this appointment, neither may we without stain of honour and danger of conscience.’
John ground his teeth in anger. ‘Curse him. Curse him!’ he cried. ‘God curse all my enemies … and none more than this one who calls himself the servant of Your servants.’
‘ … Commit yourself therefore to our pleasure which will be to your praise and glory and imagine not that it would be to your safety to resist God and the Church in a cause for which the glorious martyr Thomas has shed his blood.’
Any reference to Thomas à Becket always made John uneasy. Becket had been the cause of his father’s public humiliation at Canterbury. He must never find himself forced to do the sort of penance his father had. Curse on all churchmen who made saints of themselves!
The Pope went on to say that he did not believe John was as ignorant of Stephen Langton’s qualities as he implied. True, Stephen had spent little time in England and had been appreciated by the King of France, as a man of such outstanding ability must be by all with whom he came into contact. John himself must be aware of his work – if only the revision of the Bible. It was not only in Paris that Langton had enjoyed great fame. The Pope had heard of it in Rome and he knew that John had in England, for had he not mentioned this to Stephen Langton himself when he had congratulated him on being elected Cardinal? John should be gratified that such a man was bringing his great intellectuality to England.
John danced with rage when he read the Pope’s reply.
‘Does he think we have no men of intellectual stature here? We have our scholars here. Does he think England is populated with the ignorant?’
He sat down and wrote in the heat of his anger once more to the Pope. He would not have Stephen Langton in Canterbury. He had decided on John de Grey and John de Grey it should be. If the Pope did not agree with him, if he withheld his sanction, let him. Why should he be governed by Rome? He was quite prepared to break away if the Pope wished it. Let the Pope do his worst. He was ready for him, but first let him consider how much poorer he would be from all the benefits which he would miss from England, for if John broke with Rome he would not allow his churchmen to journey back and forth taking rich gifts, which he knew they did now. It was not England which would suffer; it was Rome.
This vituperation was received coldly by Rome.
The Pope merely replied that John should give thought to what could happen to him if he continued to offend the Holy Church. This was a hint that there could be excommunication for him and an interdict placed on England.
John snapped his fingers and put the matter from his mind. Another event had occurred – a much more pleasant one. In the early part of the year Isabella had discovered that she was pregnant.
Isabella was delighted. She was nearly twenty years old and had been John’s wife for seven. She had begun to be rather worried about the fact that she had not conceived during that time. It was true that John had not wished her to in the first years of her marriage – and it may well have been that her extreme youth had prevented her from doing so. In those early years neither of them had wanted children and even later the passion between them and the sexual satisfaction which was so necessary to them both was of far greater importance than anything else.
And now she was sure. She was with child.
She had to watch her beautiful body – of which she was very proud – become misshapen. Never mind, it would return to its former beauty when the child was delivered. It would be interesting to have a child, and she hoped for a son.