‘Lionheart and Lackland’, Frank McLynn’s excellent 2006 output, is both a chronological biography and useful comparison of the two kings of England, the brothers Richard I and John. It may at first seem that their crusading medieval epoch is a world so very far removed from ours and their positions so very elevated as to make any analysis of their lives a meaningless exercise. McLynn, however, describes their behaviour as reflective of their humanity and is therefore psychologically perceptive and relevant. As biographies of English kings go, this double outing seeks not only to outline their activities (surely a challenge after so great a time and when much of the documentation takes the form of glowing/withering biographies), but also to identify their behaviours and motives. Despite the centuries, one cannot help cheering on Good King Richard and theatrically booing Bad King John.
Richard I
Richard I was a hero’s hero. Leading quite literally from the front, he carved his will through utilizing the best of the military arts of his day. His father Henry II the fiery red-haired grandson of William the Conqueror was often considered so ill-tempered and an unquiet member of any church congregation that many folk thought him the progeny of Satan and his family the devil’s brood. He had married the exquisitely beautiful Eleanor of Aquitaine: Richard was the third of their eight children. From Henry Richard inherited his extraordinary energy and determination as well as his temper and pugnacious political will. From his mother the love of arts, travel and fine living. The two men collided early on (which is hardly surprising considering that Henry had his beloved mother imprisoned and seduced Richard’s betrothed, Alys) and waged common war with his brothers in the Revolt against King Henry. Finally outmanoeuvred, the young Richard capitulated, being at that time the weaker, and begged for and received forgiveness on his knees.
At the time of his father’s death in 1189 Richard was again at war with his father, this time in cohorts with the Philip II King of France. Now King not only of England but also of vast Angevin Empire that stretched from the Scottish borders to the Pyrenees, Richard took to task with relish and quickly –that is, to raise the considerable finances necessary to organise his Crusade. This activity seems to us quaint at best, barbaric at worst, but to the medieval mind crusading was the pinnacle of all human endeavour, a thoroughly meritorious act –even without fault, seen in much the same way we might view campaigning against racism or working for the United Nations.
On his way he captured Sicily and Cypress (the latter in a week) and arrived in Acre in the nick of time to save from collapse the desperate Christian siege –itself besieged. And now comes his most damning criticism: His allies, realising themselves in his shadow, quickly departed back home leaving him with 2,700 Saracen prisoners. Not able to feed them or secure their release, he beheaded them all. Even by the standards of 1191 that was a war crime.
Over the next year, however, his derring-dos more than proved his mettle as commander and as a supreme strategist leading sorties, organising successful sieges and defeating Saladin. It culminated in the march to the walls of Jerusalem. But the city was a step too far and he wisely withdrew, came to gracious terms with Saladin and set out for his European dominions.
On his way back he was unluckily shipwrecked, continued by foot and was captured and held for ransom by the Austrians. There appears to be no substance behind the famous story about the minstrel Blondel going from castle to castle singing a verse of one of Richard’s songs hoping to hear the second and thereby discovering his imprisoned king’s whereabouts.
The ransom paid, Richard returned to duty. His first act was to bring his errant rebellious brother John to heel, fight King Philip of France and build a massive impregnable castle to prevent him from invading Normandy. This he encompassed within two years, but he was not to enjoy the fruit of his labours for long. Whilst besieging a minor castle in 1199 he was famously shot in the shoulder by a crossbow and died within days from gangrene. A rather ignominious end: had he lived, Richard would no doubt have made an even bigger impact on European history than he did.
John
The youngest of the devil’s brood, John was rather spoilt by his father Henry. On reaching maturity he viewed almost every occasion as an opportunity for rebellion, treachery, lying, cheating, murdering, raping and pillaging. He was subject to bouts of hyperactivity and then, usually at the most critical juncture, to mournful incapacity. In modern parlance, he was bi-polar. Without any of his brother’s charms or leadership qualities, he sought to govern by force, threats, blackmail and obfuscation.
Once Richard was dead John took over and enjoyed all the trappings of kingship without responsibility and failed to demonstrate any of the necessary leadership qualities that would have drawn his kinsmen to his illustrious brother. He expected fealty and respect as a matter of course, unquestioning obedience and forbearing when he was clearly in error. His largess was always spiked and his ever-greedy hands were constantly turning the fiscal screws on his subjects tighter and tighter.
His most infamous action was to murder his nephew and pretender to the Continental part of the Angevin empire, Arthur of Brittany –some said by his own hands. It was rumoured he threw his weighted body into the Seine.
Despite Richard’s consolidation in terms of strategic castle building, John ineptly lost Normandy to Philip. He spent the rest of his reign seeking ways to get back at the king, building confederacies and pacts with the enemies that surrounded France’s . But no matter how hard he struggled, his inadequacy came to the fore. He clearly wasn’t the great general his brother was.
He disputed with both church and barons and when he couldn’t get his way took it out on both institutions, stripping churches of all their possessions or removing individual barons from their estates, setting up and selling sinecures. The Pope appeared to listen to John’s poisoned letters and forgave him. The English barons, however, were less magnanimous. When John’s war with France began to falter they rebelled and his response was to quit the Continent. He famously met them at Runnymede, but as he signed the Magna Carta which set out their demands for universal justice and peace he was simultaneously writing to the Pope pleading that his signature be considered done under duress. He further rampaged across the rebellious baronial lands killing and murdering all who offered resistance and setting fire to anything.
It was during this time that the barons pleaded with King Philip to allow his son Louis to become King of England. He landed and John fled, believing in the might of his many castles. Preferring to hide rather than fight, John thought to wait it out. Indeed, support for Louis was on the wane. But on his way around the marshland called The Wash that separated Norfolk and Lincolnshire John’s baggage train was lost to the high tide and quicksand: within were the Crown Jewels and much of his wealth. This so upset an already ill monarch (he had dysentery) that he became worse. He could barely move and within days he was dead. John, however, did nothing in his life better than the leaving of it. His young son Henry became one of the strongest, most long-lived and ablest kings England had.
If one can criticize the book, it is that within there are few maps included (and we are discussing an empire, crusades and civil wars here) are those given are so lacking in detail as to be practically useless: it might be better to read this book with an eye on a good website to fill the gaps. McLynn’s imaginative and loquacious narrative certainly had me wanting to know more about these characters, but I do wonder about some of his more telling personal insights. As a body of work it certainly holds good comparison with other works on the subject. His other book '1066: The Year of Three Battles' is also an excellent account of the events before and after the most momentous date, taking a broader sweep of the usually neglected Norwegian side of that story. One might also be drawn to Alison Weir's 'Eleanor Of Aquitaine: By the Wrath of God, Queen of England' which made me fall in love with this subject in the first place.
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