It seems that things were not all straightforward, and the Magna Carta we have today went through many trials and tribulations before reaching the final parchment. In fact there were so many trials and tribulations that it is quite possible the document we now have is the wrong one!
To mark this major breakthrough, June will see the publication of The Magna Carta (Or Is It?)
One Robert Peal of Civitas, which appears to be some sort of tank for thinking, has criticised some writers for encouraging people "not to think about the past, but to laugh at it." - here's hoping.
A first glimpse of the latest text is offered below:
The
ink was still wet. King John held the rudiments of the great charter up in
front of his eyes, much to the consternation of the old master scribe, who
rushed forward to try and stop the words running down the page. But this was
King John, and stopping him doing exactly what he wanted was the reason they
were all here in the first place.
The
scribe valued the remaining days of his ancient life highly enough to make his
objections clear with a very light cough.
The
King noticed things like this, looked over to the scribe and scowled at him. ‘What
is it now?’
A
scowl from the King was a powerful thing. The man was not physically commanding,
his build was slight and wiry, although obviously he could kill you with sword
or dagger as well as the next man. The face was in keeping with the body; lean,
with prominent cheekbones and a proportionate nose. There was no denying he was
a handsome man, well, handsome considering he was coming up to fifty and by all
rights should be dead by now.
He
had been on the throne for sixteen years and knew how to be King. He had that
certain something about him. That certain something that made you step aside,
even when he was behind you and you didn’t see him coming. That certain
something that made you avoid his stare, which was as likely to kill you as his
dagger. Talk of his personality was enough to keep most men at bay. Some of the
horrible things he was rumoured to have done were simply unbelievable. Until it
was rumoured he’d done them a second time. And a third.
The
scribe stopped coughing and tried to sound as if he didn’t want to say anything
at all. ‘Ah, sire, Majesty. It’s only that the document is not yet dry and some
of the letters may slip. Once your discussions are finished we need to apply
the final changes and instigate the copying. The copyists won’t be able to work
if the original is corrupted. It is always advisable to keep a parchment level
until it has been sanded or until a scribe has advised…’ the scribe trailed off
in the face of the King’s withering gaze.
It
had taken the Stephen Langton, Archbishop of Canterbury, the Barons, the
Church, the Bishops and the Clergy months to get John to this point in
discussing the rights and powers of the throne. They’d been camped out at
Runnymede alone for the best part of a week. A humble scribe had no chance
quibbling over how to handle a parchment.
Howard
Warwick
January
