Yesterday’s tour was timely, because this week sees the anniversary of a dramatic incident that took place at the priory over eight hundred years ago, which brought the regency government of Richard the Lionheart to its knees. Richard had left England at the end of 1189, just a few weeks after his coronation, heading in the direction of the Holy Land on his famous crusade. He was concerned that in his absence his younger brother, John, and his illegitimate half-brother, Geoffrey, might make trouble, and had made both of them swear to stay out of England for three years. The kingdom had been entrusted to a regency government headed one of Richard’s favourite clerks, William Longchamps.
Longchamps, who filled the roles of both chancellor and justiciar, and was also a papal legate, quickly became very unpopular, appointing his friends and relatives to key castles and top ecclesiastical positions as they became vacant. Very soon people were complaining about his tyranny. This gave John an edge to exploit for his own purposes. At some point early in 1191 he returned to England in breach of his oath, and placed himself at the head of the opposition to Longchamps’ regime. Throughout the spring and summer of that year there were a number of stand-offs and sieges, leading to fears of civil war, but talks ensured that a fragile peace was maintained.
Until 14 September 1191, at which point Geoffrey returned to England. A bastard son of Henry II, Geoffrey had been made archbishop of York against his own wishes and those of the cathedral chapter, Richard no doubt reasoning that by forcing Geoffrey into a tonsure he would nix any hopes that his half-brother entertained in the direction of inheriting the crown. But Geoffrey was still quite capable of causing trouble, and Longchamps had given strict orders to arrest him on sight.
When the archbishop landed at Dover on 14 September he was immediately surrounded by soldiers, but somehow he managed to evade them and make his way to Dover Priory. After five days the soldiers, presumably on direct orders from Longchamp himself, entered the priory, violating its sanctuary, and dragged the archbishop out, bashing his head on the pavement as they did so. He was lead from the priory up the steep hill to Dover Castle and imprisoned their by the castellan, who happened to be Longchamps’ brother-in-law.
Dover Castle from the Priory. The castle was built in the 1180s by Henry II,
so was brand new in 1191.
The repercussions were devastating. The news, says the contemporary chronicler Richard of Devizes, flew round the country quicker than the wind. He may have had few merits as a clergyman, but Geoffrey was apparently a popular individual, and for the clergy this constituted a violent attack on the sanctity of the Church. Geoffrey had played his part for all it was worth, wearing his archiepiscopal robes at the time of his removal and clutching his ceremonial cross. Everyone was reminded of the time, just twenty-one years earlier, when royal knights had entered Canterbury Cathedral and murdered another archbishop, Thomas Becket.
The violence against Archbishop Geoffrey did for the regime of William Longchamps. He tried to disassociate himself from the event, denying all knowledge and ordering Geoffrey’s immediate release, but the damage had already been done. While the archbishop made his way to London, making great play of his arrest and injury, John rallied the outraged magnates and clergy, assembling them at Loddon Bridge near Reading and demanding that the chancellor come and answer the charges against him. When he failed to do so they marched on London and Longchamps fled to the Tower. A few days later he surrendered, and was tried before a great multitude of people outside the city walls. Stripped of all his power and possessions, he was sent to stay at Dover Castle. A short while later he escaped across the Channel to France. Scurrilous reports composed by his enemies say that he disguised himself so by dressing as woman, and had a humiliating sexual encounter on Dover beach.
So that’s what happened at Dover Priory on this day in 1191. Apologies for any errors, I bashed this out on the train to London for tonight’s revels — today also happens to be my birthday. You can read the full story, and also John’s subsequent schemes, in my book King John: Treachery, Tyranny and the Road to Magna Carta. It’s very cheap on Amazon at the moment.
