As such he is probably unique.

When little William's father, who had declared for the Empress Maud, was besieged in his castle, King Stephen produced little William, his hostage, and threatened to have him slaughtered before the father's eyes. William's father replied that as long as his wife was with him, he had the hammer and the anvil to forge many new sons. Stephen, who was a bad King but fundamentally good natured, saw the boy playing with a dog and could not bear to kill him. He was spared.

One wonders how the child felt about his father's cavalier dismissal of his life as valueless. It does not seem to have warped his youth, however. He went as squire to Count Patrick of Salisbury, and soon became a knight, gaining a reputation for generosity, courage and honesty.
At one joust he saw a dismounted knight in great danger from encroaching hoofs. He dived into the melee, gathered up the knight, and took him back as captive to his penniless friends, exclaiming "Look, here is one who will pay our board!." No one has been able to combine profit with selfless courage since.

He began his long service with the Angevin family when, as a new and penniless knight, he was included in the escort of Lady Eleanor of Aquitaine, in a hunting party with Count Patrick of Salisbury. The Count was killed with a boar spear; the Lady Eleanor fled towards the castle; to cover her retreat, William attacked the men of Lusignan. His horse was killed under him; he set his back against a hedge, and fought well. He killed six horses and still stood unharmed, though he was bare headed against mailed men. A more subtle assassin climbed the hedge and stabbed William from behind, wounding him in the leg and he was made captive.

He was flung into the kitchen of his captor's castle, and left to live or die as he chose. He had no chance of paying a ransom. Fortunately, a kitchen-maid bound up his thigh, and he survived until Lady Eleanor heard of his captivity and swiftly paid the ransom. She also presented him with arms, horses and clothes. He became the knight and master-at-arms to the Royal children, and a knight errant.

This meant that he made his living from jousting. This was not the more polite single combat of later ages, but a melee; a team of knights against another team over a given area. There was a castle which was 'home', in which the battered or hard pressed could recover unmolested. She profit was made from the fact that a losing knight forfeited his armour, his horse and his weapons. A war horse, which was a highly trained and especially bred creature, was very valuable. The jongleur who sang "Oh, Sir William, give me a horse" was asking for a great present. It was consistent with William's reputation for generosity that he rushed outside, knocked the nearest knight off his horse, and presented the reins to the delighted jongleur before the end of his song. She jongleur then changed the chorus to "look at the lovely horse Sir William has given me!" Such a present deserved a song all to itself.

When the Young Henry was skilled enough (under William's tuition) he and Sir William set out on a Royal progress through all the most prestigious tournaments of the time. It annoyed the Young King that, although he was Plantagenet, tall, blond, and very beautiful, he was not as goad a jouster as Sir William, It must also have been galling to realise that William's word was worth more than his. On one awkward occasion, the Young Henry ran out of money in a Flemish inn where he and sic William had lodged while waiting for a tournament to begin. m e innkeeper would not accept the Young Henry's promise to pay, even a sealed note-of-hand, but when William publicly promised that the money would be paid, and pledged his word, the host accepted this at once. Consider the young man's feelings! He was heir to Normandy, Anjou, Maine, England, Ireland, and a considerable portion of Southern France in right of his mother, but the bare word of a penniless knight was better surety than his written promise. William was shabby, Young Henry's armour and robes were the test that money could buy William had nothing at all but his name, and Young Henry was heir to a huge empire; but when battle was joined, the heralds cried "See how the Marshal charges!" and "God aid the Marshal!" at least four times as often as they cried praise to Plantagenet. William also lacked tact in saving the Young King from being grateful to him. He was not modest. At Maintenon, Renault de Nevers captured two men of the Young King's melee. He then challenged Young Henry to single combat, which meant the freedom of Henry's followers, if Renault could be taken. Young Henry did not dare to take the chance. The Marshal suggested that if he, himself, attempted it he would lose nothing but his own very shabby accoutrements. Young Henry agreed, and William naturally rode back with Renault slung over his saddle bow

Plantagenet temper could not bare this. Young Henry had a serious quarrel with Sir William about whisperings in reference to Young Henry's wife, Queen Margaret. The Marshal, insulted, rode off to joust on his own account. Even so, he never acquired tact. Young Henry summoned him to an important tournament. Sir William obeyed; riding to the field late, and finding his irritating Master in serious trouble, he rode into the press, rescued the Young Henry, led him into safety, then rode away, all without a word. He was not to see Young King until 1182, when he judged that his Master really needed him. Young Henry had rebelled against his father, then had double crossed his brothers. He was in deep trouble, and William decided to return to him. He took elaborate precautions to make sure that his return to his liege lord would not lay him open to charges of treason against the Old King. He rode to Paris and received a safe conduct from King Phillip. He also rode to Rheims and obtained another from the Archbishop. Then he visited the Duke of Burgandy and Count of Toulouse, to explain the purpose of his journey. Finally, he reported to the Old King at Limoges. Henry II gave him yet another safe conduct, and at last he came to the castle where the Young Henry was nervously contemplating an uncertain future.

The Young King was very pleased to see William, and begged him to extricate his Lord from his parlous position; in rebellion against his terrifying father, likely to lose any battle he waged, running rapidly out of money, and having offended and betrayed both his brothers, the French King and his father. William had the best solution. He advised the Young King to take the cross. This Young Henry did, though it did not save him. The castle was invested. When Young Henry managed to break out of the siege, he rode like the wind through the district, plundering ally and enemy, even stealing the Holy Sword from the church at Rocamadour. He fell ill with fever at Martel. He lay on a miserable straw bed in a blacksmith's cottage and begged forgiveness from his father. Henry did not dare approach him; so perilous was the young man's anger that Henry's councillors feared for the Old King's life even at his son's deathbed.

Henry sent a ring but did not come. As he was dying, the Young King laid his pilgrim's cloak upon William Marshal, enjoining him to undertake his pilgrimage for the Young King's sake. Sir William agreed. After Young Henry was dead, William was charged with arranging his funeral. The Young King had no money at all. William was without either lands or funds. Unashamedly he applied to Old Henry, stating that Sir William had been taken captive by an old enemy and needed a large weight of silver as ransom. Old Henry immediately remitted the ransom, which William outlaid in a fittingly lavish funeral, masses, offerings and gifts to the poor for the Young Henry. William, when he later entered the Old King's service admitted this pious fraud, and Henry approved. He said that if this story had not extracted the silver, he might have been angry enough with the Young King to refuse to pay for a funeral, and thus earned himself great and deserved obloquy.

William left immediately after the Young King was buried for Outremer He told no tale of his deeds there, deeming them as being on behalf of the Young King, his late master, and the holder of his vow. When he returned he was accepted with open arms by Old Henry. Henry II knew a loyal warrior when he saw one. He attempted to prevent the final break between his Master and Phillip of France. Had he succeeded he might have extended Henry's life, and the lives of all those who died in a pointless civil war. It is a mark of his importance that both Kings paid close attention to what William suggested. As it happened, he failed. Richard the Lionhart joined Phillip's cause; and later, the news that John had also deserted broke Henry's heart, and he died

An incident occurred in Henry's retreat from Richard's army which was to be very important to the Marshal's future. Henry was driven from a melee with only a few men, and Richard, unarmed was, gleefully pursuing his father. William Marshal, dropping back to rover his master's retreat, encountered the Prince Richard and stopped him in mid-gloat with a sudden and unexpected threat. There he sat, mounted and armed, with a lance levelled at Richard's breast. Richard, no coward, exclaimed "By God's legs Marshal, do not slay me. That would be an evil deed for I am unarmed." William paused for a long moment and then delivered a splendidly double-edged comment. "Nay", said the Marshal, "may the Devil kill you, for I will not." He dropped the lance-point and killed Richard's horse effectively stopping the pursuit, which was the reason for his attack on Richard. William knew that by humiliating his future King he was possibly ruining his career. He was, however, King Henry's liege man.

Henry was dead, and William once again had to furnish a funeral. This time he had no King to ask the money of. The servants and varlets had stolen everything, even the Old King's garments, and had all deserted him, except his bastard son Geoffrey and William himself. Regalia was gathered, borrowed from local knights; and merchants of Chinon lent William all the money he needed to bury his liege lord fitly, at Fontrevault Abbey nearby.
His friends besought the Marshal to flee from the wrath of the injured Richard. The Marshal, however, had never feared anyone but God. Richard, he said, could only kill him, and he had been facing death for many years. He went to see him and Richard said "You tried to kill me Marshal". The Marshal replied "No, my lord, I never sought to kill you. If I had wanted to kill you, you would now be dead. And if I had killed you, I should have done nothing to cause me to feel any shame." "Marshal" said Richard, who admired this steel-lined integrity , "I pardon you."

Dying, Henry had promised William the heiress of Striguil (in the north of England) and the honour of the Earl of Pembroke. Henry knew that it was an empty promise; he had no way of knowing whether Richard would honour it. William did not know either. Richard, however, was an honourable man (within his limits) and he admired William and recognised the quality of knightly honesty which made his word as good as gold throughout the known world. He gave the young woman to William and made him Earl of Pembroke and Striguil.

William was sent to England to hold it for Richard, and he did hold it, seeming to take the jump easily from landless errant knight to one of the greatest magnates and landholders in England. He held England for Richard against John, in allegiance with Queen Eleanor, with whom he seems to have had an excellent working relationship. Then he held England for John against the Barons. As a very old man he saved the throne of the infant Henry III against Louis of France When he was over seventy he died, singing a Provencal song with al daughters. He died still the best warrior in the known world, and preserved his honour and his word without blemish through all of his life.

© Kerry Greenwood, 1985 1997, all rights reserved.