Richard I, Coeur de Lion – national hero?

There’s a yawning gulf between the popular myth of Richard the Lionheart as a heroic character, and what we know from historical fact. King for less than 10 years, Coeur de Lion spent barely six months in the country - about the length of the English cricket season. And though physically brave in battle, he was a vicious character even by the standards of the time, having nearly 3000 prisoners killed in cold blood after the siege of Acre. It rather stretched the boundaries of his much vaunted chivalry.

Richard's Fontevraud tomb - photo by Adam Bishop

While he was seemingly not domestically unpopular, Richard quarrelled with his family, with his allies on crusade and even his friends (who called him ‘Yes and No’ due to his terseness). And he cost the English treasury vast sums to ransom him from capture and pay for his ruinous Chateau Gaillard project, the huge fortification on the Normandy border at Les Andelys.

Richard was the third son (of five) of King Henry II of England and Eleanor of Aquitaine. While he was born in England, probably at Oxford, Richard never had much fondness for the place. His horizons were those of the Angevin dynasty and all its territories. Richard was King of England from September 1189 to April 1199. But he also ruled as Duke of Normandy, Aquitaine and Gascony, Lord of Cyprus, Count of Poitiers, Anjou, Maine and Nantes, and was overlord of Brittany at times during the period. He spoke French and Occitan (old Provencal, common then in Gascony and Aquitaine). And despite widespread belief, probably English, too, given his early years under the care of an English nurse. Historian Marc Morris, who knows his way around the episode, points this out.

King's ransom

Richard was captured by Duke Leopold of Austria in December 1192 on returning from the third crusade. In March 1193 he was handed over to the Holy Roman Emperor, Henry VI. The story that Blondel the troubadour found Richard imprisoned in an obscure castle and reported back on his whereabouts to his friends in England is a complete myth. The location and terms of his custody were never a secret.

Emperor Henry VI was in need of money for the army he was building up. And Richard was hardly popular, having upset some of his crusade allies among others. So as a high status piece in the game he might be ransomed. But imprisoning a king returning from a crusade was politically dubious at best. Indeed it was anathema to the Papacy, so Emperor Henry was duly excommunicated.

Despite this, a huge 150,000 marks was the ransom demand, equivalent to three times the annual revenues of the English Crown. Richard’s mother, Eleanor of Aquitaine, used her influence and leverage to help raise the money for her favourite son. Paid in silver, it was sourced from heavy property taxes on both clergy and laymen and by selling the gold and silver treasures of the churches. The sum was collected as metal, loaded up, then physically transported to Germany. Richard was finally released on February 4 1194. Philip of France then famously sent a message to Richard’s brother, John, “Look to yourself, the devil is loose”.

While Richard was away on crusade, or in captivity, or fighting in Aquitaine, the government in England was definitely not run by his brother John. This is another myth, deliberately propagated by Sir Walter Scott in Ivanhoe, and by 20^th century books, films and a TV series, of a country yearning for the return of its brave and noble King Richard. A succession of ‘justiciars’ was actually appointed, starting with William de Mandeville, earl of Essex, and Hugh Puiset, Bishop of Durham. These men, supported by officials, had what were virtually viceregal powers in the king’s absence. When Essex died in 1190 he was replaced by William Longchamp who was later given charge of the ‘seal of absence’.

It was a messy arrangement, based on a rough division of functions, not on a council with collective responsibility, where the chancellor was simply the head. And indeed it seems Longchamp rather exceeded his powers, or so others thought, and he was deposed of his justiciarship. The Archbishop of York was added to the ruling group, then later the Archbishop of Canterbury, and perhaps some leading magnates.

This cabal was not formally constituted as a ‘Council of Regency’ but in practice acted as one, and offered what for the time was in fact a reasonably sound basis for English government. Still, a name definitely absent from the group was Prince (later King) John, not trusted by Richard, nor by anyone much else.

Apart from the horrors committed at Acre, Richard was implicated in the assassination of Conrad, elected King of Jerusalem, alongside co-conspirator Guy de Lusignan. Coeur de Lion then engineered Guy’s installation as ruler of Cyprus. He did, however find time for political reasons to marry Berengaria of Navarre while there, though can have spent little time with her. Richard had been betrothed for many years to Alys, half sister of King Philip of France, but this was terminated in 1190 for a series of reasons which space prevents us from considering.

Historical Legacy

A belief held by some that Richard was responsible for St George being adopted as England’s patron saint is wrong - a Tudor myth. He would have sold the country had he received a realistic offer, and the nonsense around his tangential ‘Robin Hood’ involvement is simply unfathomable. Indeed Richard was not highly regarded by posterity until briefly in the 19^th century. Even then most serious historians scorned him. Stubbs thought him “a bad son, a bad husband, a selfish ruler and a vicious man”. It would be hard to disagree.

Finally it’s curious that a statue of Richard Coeur de Lion stands outside the Houses of Parliament in Old Palace Yard. The first parliament we’d recognise today was called by Simon de Montfort in 1258 under the Provisions of Oxford. The authoritarian Richard would have had no truck with it, of course, but in any case when it happened he’d been dead for nearly 60 years. Created by the Italian sculptor Marochetti, the statue was first fashioned in clay for the 1851 Great Exhibition. Then the horse’s tail fell off. Two years later Victoria and Prince Albert for some reason headed a list of subscribers for a bronze cast, installed in 1860. But 40 years on, with what seems delicious irony, it was found to be riddled with holes, and never properly attached to its pedestal.