of Ingeborg’s brother, the King of Denmark, and—above all—of the Pope.
The distasteful story of Ingeborg illustrated just how far the power of the Capetian monarchy had reached under Philippe Auguste, to the point where he could openly defy and out-manoeuvre that most powerful pontiff, Innocent III, over a period of many years when all the faults were manifestly on his side. It also demonstrated the single-minded stubbornness of his character, and the fear that he was able to inspire.
By 1213, King John had fallen into every trap laid for him by Philippe, political and military. By refusing to heed a summons to attend a court of adjudication in Paris, in his capacity as Duc d’Aquitaine, he gave Philippe a pretext to declare his fiefdoms forfeit and to renew war against him. By his cruelties John had progressively alienated the sympathies of his subjects in France, and Philippe had already taken from him Rouen, the Angevin capital in France, followed by the whole of Normandy—which meant the end of Henry II’s short-lived Angevin Empire. It looked as if Philippe had all the chips: the Pope, the Danish fleet and the Emperor, and he had also seized from John Touraine, Brittany, Maine and Anjou. In 1213 John fell foul of Innocent III for rejecting Stephen Langton as archbishop of Canterbury, and was placed under an interdict, with Philippe openly invited to invade, to remove John’s crown and place it on the head “of someone who would be worthy.” Philippe had a candidate—his son and heir, Louis—and had already been at work subverting the Welsh and Irish against John as well as some of the English barons. According to a French chronicler, he awoke one morning exclaiming, “God, why am I waiting when I should just go out and conquer the English?” In fact, his preparations had been carefully laid. In the only serious attempt at invasion between William the Conqueror and Napoleon, a fleet of 1,500 sails and an immense army were assembled in the Channel ports in May 1213.
Then, just as Philippe was about to embark on this tremendous enterprise, two weeks later came the devastating news that Innocent—perhaps still mistrusting the wayward King, and eager to show his claws—had reversed his policy yet again, and had become reconciled to a humbled John, who was now ready to comply with all the Pope’s demands. Philippe was ordered to pull back.
THE BELLUM
For a spell, the skies looked dark for Philippe yet again. At the beginning of July 1214 John himself attacked in Aquitaine, threatening Philippe from the south-west and drawing Prince Louis down to meet him in Anjou, while his allies (including John’s nephew Otto IV of Brunswick, the Holy Roman Emperor) launched their main effort in Flanders. Aged twenty-six, the future Louis VIII, based in Chinon, managed to defeat John and an army three times the size of his own at Roche-au-Moine, close to Angers. Philippe was gratified by his heir’s success, but the main threat to France lay in the north on the plain of Flanders, close to Lille, where Otto and his allies had concentrated a force of 80,000 men and 1,500 knights—a massive army for those days—ready to advance southwards on Paris. Philippe could muster no more than 25,000 men, of whom 500 were chevaliers. His infantry included, for the first time, a substantial body of bourgeois Communes, regarded as a great novelty, who were to play a role of historic significance.
In the twelfth century, military operations were divided into two kinds, guerra and bellum. Guerra was normal warfare usually fought around castles, for immediate goals and with inconclusive results. In contrast, a bellum sought to obtain a definitive decision with important objectives. As a wager of total victory or loss, it was regarded as a judgement of God. France had not risked a proper bellum against her adversaries since 1119, a hundred years previously, when Philippe’s grandfather Louis VI had been decisively defeated by Henry
The distasteful story of Ingeborg illustrated just how far the power of the Capetian monarchy had reached under Philippe Auguste, to the point where he could openly defy and out-manoeuvre that most powerful pontiff, Innocent III, over a period of many years when all the faults were manifestly on his side. It also demonstrated the single-minded stubbornness of his character, and the fear that he was able to inspire.
By 1213, King John had fallen into every trap laid for him by Philippe, political and military. By refusing to heed a summons to attend a court of adjudication in Paris, in his capacity as Duc d’Aquitaine, he gave Philippe a pretext to declare his fiefdoms forfeit and to renew war against him. By his cruelties John had progressively alienated the sympathies of his subjects in France, and Philippe had already taken from him Rouen, the Angevin capital in France, followed by the whole of Normandy—which meant the end of Henry II’s short-lived Angevin Empire. It looked as if Philippe had all the chips: the Pope, the Danish fleet and the Emperor, and he had also seized from John Touraine, Brittany, Maine and Anjou. In 1213 John fell foul of Innocent III for rejecting Stephen Langton as archbishop of Canterbury, and was placed under an interdict, with Philippe openly invited to invade, to remove John’s crown and place it on the head “of someone who would be worthy.” Philippe had a candidate—his son and heir, Louis—and had already been at work subverting the Welsh and Irish against John as well as some of the English barons. According to a French chronicler, he awoke one morning exclaiming, “God, why am I waiting when I should just go out and conquer the English?” In fact, his preparations had been carefully laid. In the only serious attempt at invasion between William the Conqueror and Napoleon, a fleet of 1,500 sails and an immense army were assembled in the Channel ports in May 1213.
Then, just as Philippe was about to embark on this tremendous enterprise, two weeks later came the devastating news that Innocent—perhaps still mistrusting the wayward King, and eager to show his claws—had reversed his policy yet again, and had become reconciled to a humbled John, who was now ready to comply with all the Pope’s demands. Philippe was ordered to pull back.
THE BELLUM
For a spell, the skies looked dark for Philippe yet again. At the beginning of July 1214 John himself attacked in Aquitaine, threatening Philippe from the south-west and drawing Prince Louis down to meet him in Anjou, while his allies (including John’s nephew Otto IV of Brunswick, the Holy Roman Emperor) launched their main effort in Flanders. Aged twenty-six, the future Louis VIII, based in Chinon, managed to defeat John and an army three times the size of his own at Roche-au-Moine, close to Angers. Philippe was gratified by his heir’s success, but the main threat to France lay in the north on the plain of Flanders, close to Lille, where Otto and his allies had concentrated a force of 80,000 men and 1,500 knights—a massive army for those days—ready to advance southwards on Paris. Philippe could muster no more than 25,000 men, of whom 500 were chevaliers. His infantry included, for the first time, a substantial body of bourgeois Communes, regarded as a great novelty, who were to play a role of historic significance.
In the twelfth century, military operations were divided into two kinds, guerra and bellum. Guerra was normal warfare usually fought around castles, for immediate goals and with inconclusive results. In contrast, a bellum sought to obtain a definitive decision with important objectives. As a wager of total victory or loss, it was regarded as a judgement of God. France had not risked a proper bellum against her adversaries since 1119, a hundred years previously, when Philippe’s grandfather Louis VI had been decisively defeated by Henry
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