The Three Edwards (35 page)

Did these clods, these assertive bishops and barons, think that she, Isabella of France, could not rule as well as Blanche of Castile? Did they not realize that she had succeeded in ousting Edward from power when they had failed, that the credit for everything which had happened belonged to her?

The stage has now been reached when some attention should be paid to the fifteen-year-old boy who had become the King of England. Edward was a true Plantagenet. He had the fair hair and blue eyes of the family and was perhaps the handsomest of them all. One description which has been handed down is that his face was like an angel’s. He would grow to be tall, although he would lack the commanding stature of his grand-sire and the massiveness of frame which had contributed so much to Richard Coeur-de-Lion’s reputation as a great fighting man.

Behind that angelic countenance a cool and clear mind was already at work. Edward would never be willingly a tool of anyone. He had allowed himself to tag behind his mother’s skirts about Flanders and had let her take full command of the invasion which had been so successful; and this raises the question as to why he was willing to aid in his father’s undoing. The answer must be that young Edward had already become convinced that the poor weak reign of his father must come to an end for the good of the country. Isabella had not read his mind aright. She undoubtedly
thought that his acquiescence was the result of her influence. It never entered her mind that the boy who had agreed to the removal from power and honor of one parent might be prepared later to do the same for the other, if he perceived equally good reasons. She could not see beyond the present and the fact that he was bound to her by bonds of gratitude as well as filial affection.

Edward lacked the noble sense of kingly responsibility which had animated Edward I and which could be traced back to the first great Plantagenet, Henry II, but he was to become such a wise and resourceful monarch that it would be wrong to assume him incapable at fifteen of forming his own conclusions. He was still a rather quiet boy (in fact, he seems to have had nothing in common with his shabbily endowed father), but he was an observant one. It may be taken for granted that he was fully conscious of his mother’s relationship with Mortimer and of the evil effect this would have on the country. He must have seen that Isabella’s determination to elevate her lover to almost a full partnership with herself was certain in the end to lead to another national upheaval. His opinion of this upstart who had dared to cuckold a king could not have continued favorable for long. Mortimer’s silky dark good looks and his masterful ways might be irresistible to a neglected wife, but they did not offer any substitute for sound vision and administrative ability, in both of which the Marcher baron was lacking. Edward III, watching intently and moving slowly, would not be held for long on such leading strings as these.

Isabella decided that she would exercise the duties of a regent, even though the title and recognition had been withheld. Mortimer and Adam of Orleton had been given places on the council and she felt certain that, with their collaboration, she could make the functions of the board purely nominal. The young king, who showed a strain of shrewdness early, must have seen that the council, made up of inert bishops and land-proud barons, would be no more effective than it had been when Cousin Lancaster was head of the Ordainers. He seemed content, at any rate, to let his mother proceed with her theft of authority.

In the unofficial regency that Isabella proceeded to form, she made Mortimer her chief minister and selected Adam of Orleton as her first adviser. That snarling churchman, whose malice seemed always at the boiling point, was as necessary to her as the diabolical Nogaret had been to her father: someone to read the purpose in the royal mind and put it into words for the first time, thereafter acting as the unscrupulous sword arm in carrying it out.

Never had there been such prodigal peculation, such insatiable seizure of honors and lands as when Roger Mortimer, given almost absolute power
by his royal mistress, began to gather in the fruit from the medlar trees of Westminster. Here are a few of the benefits he conferred on himself:

Knighthoods for four of his sons the day of the king’s coronation.

The return of all of his confiscated estates and those of his uncle of Chirk.

Granted the custody of Thomas Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick, for the term of his minority. (How badly gutted the estates would be when young Thomas came of age!)

Obtained the lands in Glamorgan which had belonged to the wife of the younger Despenser.

Was appointed justiciar of the diocese of Llandaff.

Granted lands worth a thousand pounds a year which had belonged to the elder Despenser, including the castle of Denbigh.

In Ireland given complete palatine rights in the liberty of Trim and in the counties of Meath and Uriel.

Had transferred to him the castle of Montgomery and the Hundred of Chirbury.

Allowed four hundred marks a year in addition to his full fees as justice in Wales.

His barony raised to the earldom of March.

Granted the manor of Church Stretton in Shropshire as a return for his services to Queen Isabella and the young king.

Granted the justiceship of Wales for life.

Two chantry priests were paid ten marks a year to say prayers for him. This was in the nature of a foundation in honor of St. Peter. He had not forgotten that it was on the feast day of St. Peter that he escaped from the Tower of London.

And so it went, lands, honors, wardships, titles, offices. Hardly a week passed that he did not see something his greed craved; and the queen, in the grip of her middle-aged passion for him, could not say him nay. Was it any wonder that soon the wave of enthusiasm with which Isabella had been received began to shrivel into suspicion and resentment? That soon a large part of the people of England would have preferred to have Edward back, with his careless rule, his stupidities and weaknesses, even his favorites?

In the meantime Isabella gave a pension of four hundred marks a year to the faithful Sir John of Hainaut and found means of rewarding the rest of her foreign troops before re-embarking them for Flanders. This was just as well, for on Trinity Sunday the queen and her son held a great court at Blackfriars. To start the proceedings the young king knighted fifteen young candidates and the queen gave a splendid dinner for the Netherland nobles. A ball was to follow, but unfortunately it was interrupted
by a furious battle that broke out in town between a party of English archers and the grooms of the foreign noblemen. The party broke up before the first minstrel could tootle a note on his horn or the goliards had yet raised their voices in song.

The foreign troops went home after this. They had been in England long enough.

In considering the tragic event that followed, it must be borne in mind that a deposed monarch is a menace to constituted authority, a rallying point for all discontent. It was not often possible to deal as leniently with a defeated ruler as in the case of Crassus (the Fat) in Gueldres. In England, as elsewhere, a violent solution had always been found. Henry I kept his older brother Robert in prison until he died and had his eyes burned out with a red-hot iron as an extra precaution. John lost no time in disposing mysteriously of Prince Arthur. There would be other cases later.

Before the coronation of the young prince on January 29, a sermon was preached at Westminster Abbey by the Archbishop of Canterbury, the turncoat Walter Reynolds, who had been foisted on the Church by the hand he now proceeded to bite. He took as his text
Vox populi vox Dei
. It soon became apparent, however, that the voice of the people was not being raised as one in favor of the change. There was a growing sympathy for the deposed king throughout the land, a sentiment which could easily be fanned into a great blaze. The desire to be rid of Edward was not confined, therefore, to the queen and her paramour. All who had been actively against him, who had flocked to the standard of Isabella, felt a need to be safe from the ex-king. Remembering the hasty trial of Thomas of Lancaster and the block set up on the hill of St. Thomas, they had no inclination to allow him any chance to regain control. There were many eyes fixed on the not too secure prison provided for him at Kenilworth and many anxious ears pressed to the ground.

The deposed king remained at Kenilworth for the balance of the winter, lapped in luxury and kindly treated by Henry of Lancaster. He complained bitterly in letters to the queen of his separation from his family and received from her in return many gifts, mostly of fine articles of clothing. In one letter she said that she would like to visit him but had been forbidden by Parliament. He is said to have written some verses in Latin which when translated began:

The poor captive had no knowledge of Latin, and the sentiments seem quite foreign to what is known of his character. It seems certain that this was an invention of some later romancer.

While he passed the days as well as he could in Caesar’s Tower, a conspiracy for his release was reaching formidable proportions. A family named Dunhead possessed considerable property around Kenilworth. There were two brothers, one a Dominican friar, who was noted for his eloquence and was held in wide regard for his sanctity. He had stood so high in the regard of Edward that he had once been sent on a mission to the Pope at Avignon; having to do, it was whispered, with the possibility of getting a divorce from Isabella. The friar was still intensely loyal to the deposed king and had enlisted the aid of his brother and many of the neighboring gentry. Henry of Lancaster learned what was afoot and asked to be relieved of the responsibility for so difficult a guest.

The decision to send Edward to Berkeley Castle was due, therefore, to the fear of a successful
coup
and not, as has been stated, because the queen felt he was being pampered. Thomas of Berkeley had been confined to prison by Edward for some political offense and had been released by Isabella on her return to England. He was married to a daughter of Roger Mortimer, and his selection as Edward’s keeper can be ascribed undoubtedly to that connection. John de Maltravers, a member of a rich Dorsetshire family, was chosen as co-keeper, probably because he was married to Berkeley’s sister. A third knight named Edward de Gurney was then added for good measure. An allowance of five pounds a day was set for the care of the prisoner, which disposes of the charge often made that he was removed because of the queen’s resentment of the easy living provided for her ex-spouse. It was certain, of course, that a goodly part of the daily allowance would find its way into the pockets of Messires Berkeley, Maltravers, and Gurney.

Edward was removed from Kenilworth at night, before the plans of the Dunhead brothers had matured, and taken to Berkeley Castle with a numerous escort. The zealous brothers soon discovered where he had been taken and devoted themselves to a plan to crack open his new prison. At the same time an active conspiracy in favor of the captive developed in South Wales under the leadership of a knight named Sir Rhys ap Gruffydd. This was Mortimer’s responsibility, and the deputy he had appointed to keep peace there, William of Shalford, wrote to him about the scheme, suggesting what he called “a suitable remedy.” It is clear that the same thought had been in Mortimer’s mind, and many other minds, for
some time. Edward alive would always be a menace. The Dunheads might be balked and the activities of Rhys ap Gruffydd might be suppressed, but others would arise to carry on the agitation.

It is of little avail to speculate on the part the queen played in the events which followed. It is reasonable to suppose that she was taken into Mortimer’s confidence and that she gave her consent, but no proofs of this exist. It is conceivable, of course, that her paramour thought it unwise to draw her into it in any way. The only piece of direct evidence with any bearing on the point is that after her husband’s death she summoned a woman who had embalmed the body and questioned her minutely as to what she had found. The queen’s desire to get at this much of the truth does not clear her of complicity by any means, but it does make it certain that she had not been in the full confidence of the instigators of the murder. That much of doubt she must be allowed.

As to Mortimer’s share in the plot, there can be no doubt at all. The finger points at him as the one who found “the suitable remedy.” He picked out a dependent of his named William Ogle and sent him to Berkeley to act with the others.

Before the remedy could be applied, the council had taken matters into its hands by sending a doctor of law named John Walwayn to Berkeley. He was supposed to direct everything that was done for the safekeeping and the comfort of the king. The activities of the Dunheads came to a peak at this point, and it is now believed that the release of Edward was accomplished. A letter from Walwayn has been resurrected from the records of the day which can be construed as an acknowledgment that he had escaped. If it were so, he was recaptured almost immediately. This may provide proof of another story in the records, that he was removed to Corfe Castle for safer keeping. The sentiment around Corfe was too friendly to the captive, however, and again he was taken back to Berkeley. The time for the “remedy” had come.

In many histories it is asserted that the order for the murder was contained in a line of Latin sent to the circle of keepers by Adam of Orleton. The line ran:

which, translated, reads, “Edward to kill be unwilling to fear, it is good.” The meaning of this ambiguous sentence could be altered by the changing of the comma to appear after the word “unwilling.” The keepers of the king took from the first version that they were expected to act and so proceeded with the plan.

This story is not worthy of any credence. In the first place, the bishop was in Avignon at the time on a mission to the Pope, and it is absurd to believe he would put such a damning piece of evidence in writing. It is
equally absurd to believe that the rascals to whom it was supposed to be sent would be able to read Latin or to understand the significance of a misplaced comma. It may be taken for granted that any order would have been conveyed by word of mouth so that no incriminating evidence would be left.