Under Duress: In the end, John Plantagenet had nothing but bad options to choose from. Cornered by his barons at Runnymede, about 20 miles west of London, and chivvied by Stephen Langton, the Archbishop of Canterbury, King John affixed his seal to the charter which, its high-flown promises about freedom, justice and the rule of law notwithstanding, was drawn up to ensure that government of the barons, by the barons, for the barons, would endure.
“FOR THE WATCH!” With that grim cry, the conspirators of
Castle Black struck down their Lord Commander. How fitting that the
assassination of the fictional Jon Snow should coincide with the 800th
anniversary of a legal document sealed at Runnymede on 15 June 1215. Why
fitting? Because the breath-taking brutality and treachery of Game of Thrones offers us a much truer
guide to the political realities underpinning Magna Carta (as that legal
document is now known) than the pious platitudes offered up by its latter-day celebrants.
The power of Game of
Thrones, and the likely explanation for its worldwide popularity, is its
clear-eyed refusal to pretend that good character and effective policy are
somehow inextricable. The very real John Plantagenet, like the fictional Jon
Snow, was a man confronted with a multitude of poor options – none of which
were likely to significantly improve his position.
George R.R. Martin, the author of Game of Thrones, presents Jon Snow to his readers as a man of
honour and courage who, in spite (or is it because) of these qualities, is
required to make his choices from a set of dwindling military and political
options – each one carrying a higher risk of death, either in battle or by assassination.
With every decision Jon Snow makes, his personal circumstances grow more
perilous, until, eventually, nothing remains to him but fatal choices.
Very few historians (if any) would attempt to present John
Plantagenet as an honourable man. The historical cliché of “Bad King John” (so
unlike his “good” brother, the chivalrous King Richard the Lionheart) does possess
a reasonably solid foundation in historical fact. With brutality to match the
very worst scenes in Game of Thrones,
John ordered the deaths of the young Welsh noblemen sent to his court as
hostages to their fathers’ good behaviour. And, to prevent her spreading
rumours (which were, almost certainly, true) that he had personally murdered
his own nephew, Arthur, John ordered Maud de Braose, along with her eldest son,
to be shut up in the dungeon of Corfe Castle and starved to death.
John Plantagenet was, clearly, no Jon Snow when it came to
matters of good character. He did, however, have much in common with the
fictional hero when it came to poor political options. The vast Angevin Empire,
which John inherited from his father, King Henry II, and his formidable mother,
Eleanor of Aquitaine (Cersei eat your heart out!) was under constant pressure
from barons loyal to the French king. To hold onto his family’s territories
across the English Channel, men and money were urgently required – and they did
not come cheap.
If John had refused to defend his inheritance, he would have
been in all kinds of trouble. (His enemies already called him John “Lackland”,
or, even worse, “Softsword”!) But, in raising the resources required to defend
the empire, he was bound to displease his feudal support-base, the barons.
Indeed, it was John’s success as an administrator – and tax collector – that
incited his barons (especially those who owed him lots of money) to rebel.
And these barons were very far from being the lordly
defenders of the rights of freeborn Englishmen that the celebrants of Magna
Carta like to paint them. On their own lands they wielded the same sort of
brutal authority as the murderous Bolton family displays in Game of Thrones. One could even argue
that it was the royal encroachments on baronial power represented by John’s
administrative innovations (he invented to post of Coroner, the “Crown’s Man”)
that made his rebellious barons so determined to roll back their King’s
expanding authority.
Good man or bad man, John Plantagenet, like Jon Snow, was
ultimately left with nothing but bad options to choose from. Cornered by his
barons and their “bannermen” at Runnymede, about 20 miles west of London, and
chivvied by Stephen Langton, the Archbishop of Canterbury, King John affixed
his seal to the charter which, its high-flown promises about freedom, justice
and the rule of law notwithstanding, was drawn up to ensure that government of
the barons, by the barons, for the barons, would endure.
Jon Snow over-ruled his enemies in the Night’s Watch – and
paid the price. John Plantagenet bowed to his barons’ assembled swords – and survived.
Three months later, at John’s insistence, their long-winded charter was
annulled by the Pope.
This essay was
originally published in The Waikato Times, The Taranaki Daily News, The
Timaru Herald, The Otago Daily Times and The Greymouth Star of Friday, 19 Junes 2015.
