EIGHT
THE DAY AFTER Roger surrendered to the king at Shrewsbury, a contingent of men-at-arms approached Wigmore.1 They rode through the main street of the small town and turned to the west, taking the gently rising road to the castle and under the brow of the low hill on which stood the ancient parish church. Further on they came to the outer courtyard, and presented their letters of appointment to the gatekeeper. Here, on the ridge leading to the castle itself, they passed barns and granaries, cow byres, pigsties, hay lofts and cart houses, and heard the lowing cattle and saw the strutting peacocks about the yard. Beyond them stood the high-standing walls and towers of the castle itself. Crossing over the drawbridge, their leader, Alan de Charlton, addressed Roger’s castellan, showed his letters of appointment, and reiterated what King Edward had declared: the castle was forfeit by reason of Roger’s rebellion against the king.
It was a pattern repeated all across England. Everything Roger owned was forfeited. Every castle and every manor house, every manorial right and every feudal loyalty. The cattle on his farms were confiscated. So too were the buildings and carts his manorial tenants used to farm his land. Everything was taken into the king’s custody. This extended even to his personal possessions: his armour, carpets, wall-hangings, silverware and all his clothes and linen were forfeited; even his wife’s books. In surrendering himself to the king he was also surrendering everything he held by right of his lordship or owned as a matter of inheritance. He was left with nothing but the clothes he wore on the day of his surrender.
Adam de Charlton’s men inspected the entire castle, from the small chambers in the towers to the keep high up on its mound overlooking the buildings in the bailey. His subsequent inventory of what he found is still extant.2 For a study of Roger it is invaluable, since it gives us a rare glimpse of the things which he and his wife owned, and an insight into their personal tastes.
There was a large amount of war machinery in the castle. There were six siege engines, called springalds: huge flat crossbow-like wooden machines for flinging rocks and massive bolts. Several similar machines had bombarded Bristol under the co-direction of Roger in 1316. There were twenty-one windlass-operated crossbows, and eighteen foot-operated ones. Although we do not know how large these were, their prominence in the inventory suggests that they were not merely small arms but instruments of strategic warfare. Two hundred and ninety iron crossbow bolts were found, some flighted with brass and some with wood, indicative of a sophisticated, multipurpose nature.
As one might expect, there was a large quantity of armour. Some of this was specialist jousting equipment, including nine helmets and one ‘jousting coronet’. Other items were specifically for war, such as the unambiguous ‘war helmet’. Among the remainder were two ‘suits of plate armour’, two helmets ‘with visors’ as well as a large quantity of older weaponry and items which might have been used in practice combat, such as leather breastplates, suits of body armour, iron and leather helmets. There were collections of lances and shields, lance-shafts and lance-heads, pavilions and tents, indicating that Roger had stored much of his old tournament armour at Wigmore, and that, while he and his men carried their newest war armour with them to Kent and finally to Shrewsbury, the armoury at Wigmore was full of memorabilia: a Saracen arbalest (steel crossbow) and arrows, and an Irish sparth (axe), being two of the more unusual items.
Mixed in among the weaponry were a few hunting tools, such as drums for scaring game and snares and nets for catching animals. Luxury items included a chessboard painted with gold, and another ‘gaming board’ made of aromatic nutmeg. But there were few luxuries laid aside at Wigmore. Most of the rest of the inventory records everyday practical items: shackles, hooks for pulling down burning wooden buildings and thatch, chests and coffers, table boards, benches, cauldrons and barrels. Eleven wooden vats or tubs were found in the kitchens. The whole picture was one of a castle furnished with the essential rudiments of life. This was where Roger kept his old armour and a few necessary chattels. It was not where he kept his gold or jewels.
To Alan de Charlton it was clear that these items were just the vestiges of the lord’s possessions. Where were his spare clothes? Where was his finest armour? Where indeed were his wall-hangings? It was not surprising that they were absent. Medieval lords travelled with a great many of their personal possessions as they journeyed with the court. As it happened, since Roger had never anticipated being imprisoned, de Charlton only had to look as far as Wigmore Abbey. Here he found another huge array of personal arms and armour of very high quality. His men carried it out piece by piece and loaded it on to the wagons to be taken away to be sold. Roger’s personal armour alone included eight chain-mail shirts, an iron corset, a pair of gussets (chainmail between pieces of plate armour), a lined gorger (throat-plate), seven pairs of armoured leggings, five chain-mail head coverings, two iron helmets with visors, one war helmet with a ‘wicket’ (criss-crossed metal face piece), one round iron helmet, one padded tunic covered with brown taffeta, a shirt ‘of Chartres’ (probably a padded shirt for jousting), five pairs of horses’ head-armour, five pairs of iron flank protectors for horses, two pairs of iron covers for horses, two pairs of trappers, a pair of greaves, a pair of shoes of plate armour, a shield, four lances for war, three lances for jousting, a pair of boots topped with iron, and two swords with silver fittings, as well as a small pile of other pieces of plate armour for head, arm, foot, hand, throat and leg protection.
At Wigmore Abbey, Charlton also found Roger’s wardrobe: his personal possessions other than his armour and weapons. The clothes found there, which, of course, were those Roger had left behind in 1321–2, show that he was a man of fashion. They included:
Two short jackets of green velvet
A tunic, two supertunics [topmost garments] and a tabard [sleeveless tunic] of scarlet, without fur or hood
A tunic, two supertunics, tabard and hood of mixed brown cloth, without fur
A tunic of indigo velvet
A supertunic and tabard of scarlet red for summer, without hood
A tunic, two supertunics, tabard and hood of mulberry brown cloth
A supertunic of green with a quarter yellow or grey, and hood lined with red muslin
One black hat furred with high grade lambskin.
The warlord was a man of taste. In addition to fine clothes, and the nutmeg gaming table and gold painted chess set from the castle, his wardrobe keeper also looked after:
One green bedcover embroidered with owls, with four matching hanging carpets
One bedcover with a blue background with several coats of arms embroidered, with three matching hangings
One bedcover of knotted work, with four matching hangings
One great hanging tapestry for a [great] hall embroidered with popinjays and griffons
Two yellow hangings, old and made into curtains, embroidered with red roses, with one benchcover of the same work
One hanging of good and subtle work with four matching hangings
One long benchcover striped with yellow and red.
In addition there was an abundance of cloth, including long lengths of ‘good striped cloth’, ‘striped cloth of lower price’, ‘yellow striped cloth of small value’, ‘yellow unstriped cloth’, ‘green unstriped cloth’, and ‘striped dark blue cloth’, some of which may well have gone to furnish Mortimer family retainers with surcoats bearing the family arms, or possibly the yellow and green tunics of the Marcher rebels in 1321. Two final items of interest on the list were ‘a brass horn that, together with a certain falchion [a broad, curved sword] … is the charter of the lands of Wigmore’. The horn (but apparently not the falchion) were also carried off to become just a horn hung around someone’s nect rather than a relic of the family’s ancient lordship.
Just as interesting as the list of items belonging to Roger is the separate list which was made for Joan’s possessions at the abbey. Not only are such inventories of ladies’ possessions rare at this period (as indeed are those for men), this one may be regarded as perhaps more complete than most as Joan was present at the abbey, and so any valuable effects with which she travelled were included. The list in full is as follows:
One wall-hanging, four carpets, one benchcover of a fashion, with the Mortimer arms
Four carpets of another type
Four carpets of good and subtle work
Three chequered bedcovers
One red bedcover
One mattress covered with fine linen
Two mattresses covered with canvas
Eight blankets
One red cover furred with miniver
One fustian for the bed
One counterpain for the bed
Fifteen pairs of linen sheets
Three pairs of muslin curtains
One pair of striped muslin curtains
One pair of curtains of striped linen
One pair of red linen curtains
One curtain of white pannelled linen
Two tunics of ‘cloth of Thars’, of which one is green and the other brown
Two supertunics of indigo silk without fur
Three supertunics of brown silk without fur
One tunic and two supertunics of red ‘cloth of Thars’
One uncut violet wool cloth
One tunic, two supertunics, one mantel and one hat without fur, of mixed brown cloth
One new fur of miniver for a supertunic, and another for a hood
Two red Irish fallaings
One old white Irish fallaing
One piece of cloth for three altar cloths
One table cloth for a dinner table
Two ‘double’ towels
Three small towels
Twenty-two ells of linen cloth
One long towel
Three sanap cloths [table under-cloths]
One small piece of linen cloth of double thickness
Two wool cushions of stitched work
One psalter
Four books of ‘romances’ [stories of chivalry]
Two chests, of which one contains two striped red velvet cloths, one comb, one ivory mirror, one small ivory image of the Virgin Mary, one ivory scourge [whip?], one belt decorated with enamel and precious stones belonging to one of her daughters. The second chest contains one enamelled mirror, and one set of ivory chessmen, one empty strong box, two wash basins.
Lastly, two silver basins, six silver dishes, four silver salt cellars, and two silver cups found with Lady Mortimer.
This list says much about women in a noble household in 1322; for instance, about the provision of washing facilities, and the use of changes of cloth as marks of both wealth and cleanliness. The household Joan controlled was luxurious but not excessively so. She and her husband lived in a style befitting their chivalric and military position. But the list reveals above all that Lady Mortimer was not spared her husband’s fate. Her possessions too were loaded on to carts and sent off to be sold or (in the case of the silverware found with her) presented to the king. Lady Mortimer herself was arrested at the abbey and taken under guard to be imprisoned in Hampshire. With her were sent the six men of her household: a knight, Richard de Burgh; two men-at-arms, William de Ockley and John de Bullesdon; her strikingly named chaplain, Richard Judas, and her two clerks, John de Eldecote and Walter de Evesham.3
For modern writers as well as contemporaries this is one of the most shocking aspects of government under Edward and Despenser: women were punished along with their husbands for their husbands’ perceived ‘crimes’. A precedent had been set with the imprisonment of Llywelyn Bren’s wife in 1317, and of Lady Badlesmere in the Tower the previous year. Now Joan, heiress of the de Geneville family in her own right, and a kinswoman of the Earl of Pembroke, was stripped of her belongings and incarcerated. Not since Edward I had exposed the female relations of Robert Bruce in wooden cages had women been treated so harshly. One by one the rebels’ wives suffered a similar fate to Joan. With their mothers as well as their fathers in prison, the children of the lords who had dared to oppose Edward II were also incarcerated. Roger’s two eldest sons, Edmund and Roger, were imprisoned with the children of the Earl of Hereford at Windsor. His youngest son John was kept under guard in Hampshire. Geoffrey, Roger’s third son, would also have been imprisoned had he not been in France at the time of the arrest, probably serving in the household of the de Fiennes family. Three of Roger’s eldest four daughters were imprisoned, Maud alone being allowed to remain free owing to her marriage to John de Charlton of Powys, who was pardoned by Edward. In the general enthusiasm to persecute entire families, even aged relatives were not spared. Roger’s mother, Margaret de Fiennes, almost lost Radnor Castle and all her household possessions there. Only some outraged complaints, which reveal her to have been a woman of some spirit, prevented her dower lands being confiscated too. Embarrassed by the mistake, the king returned her rightful inheritance to her.4
Wigmore was left empty of its lord’s possessions, a mere shell. It became a royal castle, but the king had little need of a fortress on the Marches, now that the Marcher lords were divided. In effect it became a royal farmhouse, a place of accounting for the produce of the manor, the revenue from which was supplied to the Exchequer. When, at a late stage in Alan de Charlton’s examination of the castle, a chest of documents was found relating to the Mortimer inheritance, this too was packed up and despatched to the royal treasury at the Tower, where its contents were listed and sorted into chests by the king’s clerks. All trace of the Mortimer family’s lordship of Wigmore was wiped away, with the exception of the painted effigies of the dead warriors lying in their graves in the abbey church, and the family arms in the stained glass shining down on them.
*
Roger and his uncle arrived at the Tower of London ‘after dinner on the eve of St Valentine’s day’, 13 February 1322.5 They were led through to the inner courtyard, and into the medieval palace. There they were separated. Roger was taken up to a high, narrow cell, ‘less civilised than the rooms he was used to’, as one chronicler put it, and left to consider his fate.
He knew little of what was going on in the rest of the country, and this must have been infuriating for a man usually at the centre of events. Scraps of news had reached him on his journey to London, passed to him by Herefordshire merchants still loyal and bold enough to bring messages. But such men were few; and they were treated very harshly if caught.6 Once the doors of his cell had swung shut on him, there was very little news to be had of the outside world. His sole source of information was the castle garrison, as they came and went from his cell.
Roger would have been shocked to hear what was happening elsewhere. He would have been infuriated at the imprisonment of his wife, and he would have been roused to similar anger by Despenser’s renewed onslaught on the family of Llywelyn Bren. The Welshman’s widow and family were all taken into custody by Despenser on royal authority, and so too were their allies in Wales, including Rhys and Philip ap Howell, friends of the Mortimer family. Edward even took action against clergymen. Bishop Orleton was accused openly of helping the Mortimers to defy the king on their retreat in November 1321. In addition to removing the bishop’s income, the king wrote to the Pope asking that Orleton and the Bishops of Lincoln (Henry de Burghersh) and Bath and Wells (John Droxford) should be removed from their offices and exiled for supporting Roger. The Pope refused, angry that Edward should ask such a thing without presenting evidence. This was an important move by the Pope. At a stroke he had demonstrated that the king would never be able to eliminate all opposition as he would not be able to remove the bishops from their sees.
The Mortimers’ fate following their surrender was closely observed by their fellow rebels. The Earl of Hereford, who had also been prepared to submit to the king, now realised that he too faced imprisonment, and possibly death, and joined forces with the Earl of Lancaster and the northern barons. Hugh Audley the elder had decided to come with the two Mortimers to Shrewsbury to give himself up, as a loyal king’s man. A few days later Lord Berkeley followed suit. But no other Marchers followed them. It was clear that a great battle would be fought in the north, and the fates of Roger and his uncle depended on the success of the man who had hitherto always let them down: the Earl of Lancaster.
For more than a month Roger languished in his cell, knowing nothing of his fate, or the king’s actions. His captors had a mere 3d per day for his custody, indicating he was kept in very poor conditions, although not actually starved.7 It must have seemed that he would receive the worst punishment the king felt inclined to administer. Then, at the end of March, news of events in the north filtered through to London.
Lancaster was dead.
As Edward had marched north, he had summoned men from all over England, even from the clergy and his lands in France. The French king too had been asked to send men. At Lichfield his forces had been strengthened by the return of Hugh Despenser and his father. Fearful of the size of Edward’s army, and his unmistakeable purpose, men had begun to desert the Earl of Lancaster. Even Lancaster’s own steward, Robert de Holand, had left him. In desperation Lancaster had summoned men to him on the pretence that he needed an army to defend the north against the Scots. Hardly anyone obeyed. Contemporaries were amazed at the transformation: the power of this once mighty prince had simply melted away. His failure to support the Mortimers had made his opposition seem unprincipled, weak and self-interested. Few were prepared to defend him.
Many of Lancaster’s allies now pleaded with him to let them throw themselves on the king’s mercy, but Lancaster refused. He had ruled the north like a king for years, and would not bow before Edward. Nor would he permit his vassals to do so. But his authority was almost gone. When the king besieged Tutbury Castle, Lancaster’s remaining supporters were panic-stricken. They called him to councel at Pontefract, and begged him to retreat north to his great castle of Dunstanburgh. But Lancaster would have none of it, and pointed out that men would say that he was a traitor seeking sanctuary with the Scots. He was convinced that his royal status gave him an immunity from the king’s wrath, and that he had nothing to fear from continued opposition. His vassals and allies were more vulnerable. Only a naked blade drawn in his face by Lord Clifford persuaded Lancaster that retreat was the only reasonable course of action. Hereford and the others persuaded him to make for Boroughbridge, a crossing over the River Ure in Yorkshire, about twenty miles north-east of York.
It was a fatal mistake. Both armies were riddled with spies, and a man in Lancaster’s ranks informed Sir Andrew de Harclay, Sheriff of Carlisle, about the plan to retreat by way of Boroughbridge. De Harclay roused the men of the counties of Cumberland and Westmorland, and, by forcing them to march through the night, reached the bridge first. As Hereford and Lancaster approached on 16 March 1322, they realised that they would have to fight their way across. With the king’s army to the south, they were trapped.
The earls surveyed the battlefield. Besides the bridge there was also a ford, where de Harclay had stationed a number of pikemen. They decided that the Earl of Hereford and Lord Clifford would attack the bridge, while Lancaster would attack the ford with his cavalry. It must have seemed a relatively straightforward task, but they underestimated the redoubtable de Harclay. From long experience fighting the Scots, he knew well how to defend a strategic point, and the rebels were acting in haste, and consequently did not prepare their attack on the bridge with sufficient care. De Harclay’s men were drawn up in Scottish schiltrom formations, preventing the knights from charging. Hereford led the fight on the bridge, but he and his men were caught in the arrow fire. Then one of de Harclay’s pikemen, concealed beneath the bridge, thrust upwards between the planks and skewered the Earl of Hereford through the anus, twisting the head of the iron pike into his intestines. His dying screams turned the advance into panic. Lancaster, amazed, and finding no easy way to cross the river with the arrows coming at him thick and fast, called off the attack, and withdrew from the river, promising to return the next morning, either to do battle or surrender.
That night, the men of the dead Earl of Hereford deserted, many of them leaving their armour in their tents and creeping away in borrowed or stolen old clothes, pretending to be peasants or beggars.
At first light de Harclay, whose scouts had kept an eye on the desertions throughout the night, seized the initiative. He crossed the bridge and moved towards Lord Lancaster. In a short while the Battle of Boroughbridge was all over. Most of the leading lords who had opposed the king, including the Earl of Lancaster, were led to gaol in York.
This was the news that came to London: all opposition to King Edward and Hugh Despenser had been defeated in battle at Boroughbridge. The Earl of Hereford and Lord Damory, two of Roger’s closest political allies, were dead. But what was truly shocking, and what astounded the whole country, was what happened to the lords who surrendered to de Harclay or who were captured by him. Six northern barons were drawn and hanged at Pontefract immediately. The Earl of Lancaster was judged by a tribunal of lords, including the two Despensers and the king. He was not allowed to speak in his defence, nor to have anyone speak for him. He was sentenced to be drawn to the gallows, hanged and beheaded. As a mark of respect for his royal blood, the king spared him the indignity of being drawn and hanged. Instead he was dressed in an old surcoat and taken on an ass a mile from his castle of Pontefract, and there beheaded in the king’s presence.
This was clearly a tremendous blow to Roger. He had not had the strength to defeat Edward himself, but with the forces of the Earl of Lancaster he and Hereford might have done so. The failure of the Earl of Lancaster to support him had forced him to surrender; but equally it had meant the end of Lancaster too, for on the surrender of Roger and his uncle, the whole opposition movement had faltered. Indeed, when one looks back over the whole anti-Despenser campaign, it emerges as a rebellion heavily dependent on Roger Mortimer and Hereford. It was these two who had led the Marcher attacks on the Despensers, and it was entirely Marcher demands which were presented at Westminster. It was a Mortimer ally, Bartholomew de Badlesmere, who was attacked at Leeds Castle, and it was the Mortimers after whom Edward had taken the royal army at the end of 1321. Roger and Hereford may thus be seen as the focus of the king’s attention and the prime movers of the rebellion. Lancaster had merely tried to influence royal favouritism from his lands in the north, an old game which he had played often, but which was in reality a continual bluff. When the Mortimers were removed from the opposition, Lancaster could do nothing to stop the king, even with the worthy Earl of Hereford on his side.
What Roger could not have foreseen, and what indeed the rest of the country could not believe, was the extent of Edward’s vengeance. Not only did he hang the northern barons and behead Lancaster, he brought back the Marchers and southern lords to have them killed too.8 Bartholomew de Badlesmere was taken to Canterbury. There he was dragged to the gallows and hanged beside his nephew, Sir Bartholomew Ashburnham. His head was cut off and exhibited as that of a traitor. Sir Henry le Tyeys, a supporter of Roger who had gone north to fight with Lancaster, was drawn and hanged at London. Sir Francis Aldenham was drawn and hanged at Windsor. Sir John de Mowbray and Sir Roger de Clifford were drawn and hanged at York and their corpses left to decompose on the gallows. Sir Henry de Montfort and Sir Henry de Willington were drawn and hanged at Bristol. More than a dozen peers were killed or executed, and many more knights were killed or died in prison. Hundreds were served crippling fines which acted as security against any future dissent.9 All opposition to the king had been ruthlessly and very visibly crushed.
Now it seemed it was Roger’s turn to suffer the king’s retribution. But first Edward headed north, to wage an utterly unsuccessful campaign against the Scots. It was not for another three months that he began to think about his Tower prisoners. Roger’s henchman, Hugh de Turpington, who had now served Roger loyally for more than twelve years, was accused of complicity in Roger’s ‘rebellion’ and lost his lands. In June Roger and his uncle were tried for their damage to the king’s lands at Newport. On 13 July a complete review of Roger’s government of Ireland was ordered, notwithstanding the letter from the community of Dublin commending Roger’s service. Finally, the day after the Irish order, the king at York appointed a jury to sit in London to try Roger and his uncle for treason.
A few days later, the constable of the Tower removed the Mortimers from their cells, and took them to Westminster Hall. There they confronted their judges: Walter de Norwich, Chief Baron of the Exchequer; Sir John de Friskeney, another Baron of the Exchequer; Sir William de Harley and John de Stonor, two judges, and Hamo de Chigwell, the mayor of London. With the exception of the last-named man, this was as impartial a jury as the Mortimers could have wished. But all five men knew they were not expected to produce an impartial verdict. On 21 July they concluded their deliberations. Roger and his uncle were told that each:
having contrary to his allegiance levied war against his sovereign lord along with Humphery de Bohun, Earl of Hereford (now dead), Roger Damory (now dead), Bartholomew Badlesmere (now dead), John Giffard of Brimpsfield (now dead) and Henry Tyeys (now dead), and having traitorously taken the town and castle of Gloucester and feloniously plundered the king’s goods there, and having afterwards as a traitor and enemy, with his banner displayed as in war, ridden to Bridgnorth, assaulted and plundered the king’s people there, killing some and wounding others, and burnt the town, and with banner displayed as in war, both before and after, rode in arms destroying and robbing the king’s people. All these crimes are notorious, and the king records them against him. This court therefore awards that for these treasons he be drawn, and for arsons, robberies and homicides he be hanged.10
The king was satisfied. But in his moment of victory he began to have doubts about the Mortimers’ fates, and the renewed opposition that killing his own kin and longstanding servants would have in the wake of the Boroughbridge executions. With Lancaster gone, it seemed he had little to fear from Roger and his sixty-six-year-old uncle. Upon hearing the news of the sentence, he commuted it to perpetual imprisonment. The Mortimers’ lands and possessions remained forfeit, and they and their families remained incarcerated in their respective castles and priories, but their lives were spared.
*
All England now lay in the hands of Edward II and Hugh Despenser. Every notable opponent was dead or in prison. Every lord who had so far remained obedient was too terrified to voice dissent. At the York parliament of 1322 Edward enacted a Statute revoking all previous Ordinances which restricted his authority and prohibiting any further attempts to control his power. There would be no royal council, nor would the king be accountable in any way to Parliament. The lords, prelates and commons of the realm were henceforth expected to consent to his will. If they did not, they were expected to suffer his will in silence. Any questioning of the king’s authority would be regarded as treason. Parliament became merely an advisory council.
With no check on the king’s power, Despenser assumed two roles: that of first minister and that of arch-bully. In the former guise he exhorted the king to gather a large treasury, taking money from whomsoever he could, and paying out nothing unless he absolutely had to, even where he was in debt. In his bullying role, any ‘rebels’ he wished to constrain were threatened with such crippling fines that they could not possibly step out of line. He took any lands he fancied. Some manors of Roger Mortimer of Chirk and dower lands of the widow of the Earl of Lancaster were made over to Despenser by the king. But these were not the only victims. Even the king’s own brother, Thomas of Brotherton, Earl of Norfolk, was forced to rent out lands to Despenser for a nominal amount. Later he was forced to sell them for a ridiculously small sum. Worst of all, Elizabeth, the widow of Roger Damory and the king’s own niece, was forced to surrender the lordship of Usk (worth £770 per year) in return for that of Gower (worth £300 per year). Despenser forced her to do this in the king’s name, through his control of royal agents, despite the fact that she was his own sister-in-law. He then sought Gower’s confiscation on behalf of William de Braose. Thus Lady Damory, the sorry sister and co-heiress of the late Earl of Gloucester, was left with almost nothing of her rightful inheritance.
It would be tedious and depressing to list all of Despenser’s misdealings. Through extraordinary connivance, intrigue, extortion, oppression and royal nepotism he acquired whatever he wanted. Lands, money, influence, and prestige all flooded his way. It was only a matter of time before he sought the final victory over Roger. About a year after Roger was condemned, Despenser decided that he would obtain an order from the king for him to be put to death. And what Despenser requested, the king invariably granted.
Despenser had a problem, however, in the person of Queen Isabella.
Isabella hated Despenser’s ruthlessness and his manipulation of her husband. She abhorred the tyranny that he had brought on the country, especially the incarceration of so many noblewomen. She loathed the vindictiveness with which he sought revenge on his enemies, and the degree to which he and the king punished whole communities, including the Londoners. When she had come to London as a young, terrified princess, it had been the citizens above all others who had welcomed her with flags and gaiety, and she had always remained fond of the citizens. Now they were suffering increased taxation from the king on Despenser’s advice. As for the imprisoned children, Isabella lamented to see them separated from their families. Despenser was constantly undermining her respect and authority. In late 1322 she decided she had no choice but to act against him, as she believed was right.
For Isabella the breaking point was the English campaign to Scotland in the summer after Boroughbridge. Like all Edward’s other Scottish campaigns, this was completely disastrous. Unlike all his earlier disasters, however, Isabella was there in person, close to the border, at Tynemouth Abbey. When the Scots surprised Edward and Despenser at Blackhow moor, the king and his favourite fled, leaving Isabella to the mercy of Robert Bruce.11 Knowing that Bruce’s own mistress and sister had received precious little mercy from Edward I, being exposed in wooden cages on the walls of Berwick and Roxburgh castles for three years, this was an outstandingly callous act. It was only due to Isabella’s quick thinking and determination that she managed to escape. Although the coastal routes were controlled by the Scots’ Flemish allies, she managed to find a boat prepared to take her to England. Two of her ladies-in-waiting died in the desperate flight from Tynemouth.
As Isabella once again found herself safe on English soil she knew her future course of action: to work towards the release of Roger Mortimer and the overthrow of the Despensers. She was well aware of the dangers, and she knew that any move had to be made in the greatest secrecy. Even to pass a message to Roger was fraught with difficulty. Direct action was even more dangerous. In late 1322 Robert le Ewer was executed by being crushed to death in a linen shirt under a load of iron, over the course of several days, for his part in an attack on the elder Despenser (now titled the Earl of Winchester), in which the Mortimers were believed to have been involved.12 But Isabella heard that Edward was travelling to the Tower of London, and knew she would soon have an opportunity to act.
Her chance came within a couple of months. In January 1323, as the royal party neared London, Lord Berkeley almost escaped from Wallingford Castle. Certain members of his household arranged to visit him for a feast, and the imprisoned lord invited his gaolers to join them. With a stunning lack of care for security, the guards fell straight into the trap. The men of the Berkeley household drew concealed weapons and threatened to kill them. A further twenty men were allowed into the castle. Their plan was thwarted when a boy living in the outer gatehouse guessed what was happening, and told the mayor of the town, who besieged the castle, and warned the Earls of Kent and Winchester, who were in the vicinity. Lord Berkeley was apprehended in the castle chapel.
Edward and Despenser hastened towards Wallingford to interrogate Berkeley in person, leaving Isabella at the Tower. She was there on 3 February, when she dined with her son, and again on the 17th.13 While scholars in the past have argued there is no evidence that Isabella was in touch with Roger at this stage, this is not necessarily correct, as on the latter occasion she wrote to the Treasurer on behalf of Lady Mortimer, Roger’s wife, who was being badly treated. At that time Joan was in the custody of the Sheriff of Hampshire. Thus Isabella had access to inside information which directly connected her to Roger’s wife while she was in the same building as Roger. Although it is clear from other evidence that normally Roger was kept very securely under lock and key, it is also clear that he was able to smuggle letters out of the castle. While we cannot be sure that Isabella received the message about Lady Mortimer from Roger himself, the most probable explanation as to how she learnt that Joan was being mistreated was that Roger informed her. It is thus more likely than not that Isabella was colluding with Roger in February 1323.
This begs the question of the nature of Roger’s relationship with Isabella. A meeting on or just before 17 February 1323 does not demonstrate anything more than that they were in contact. However, if Roger passed a message to Isabella, on which she acted, it does suggest they had an understanding. That they were drawn to each other, and were impressed with each other, is not in doubt, given later events. They were both wellborn, intelligent, sophisticated people. But the only evidence of the two of them acting together lies in the queen taking up Roger’s championing of a disgraced chamberlain of North Wales ten years earlier.14 While this absence of evidence should not be taken as an indication that they were not in contact, one should not assume at this point that their liaison was anything more than a political one. As to the question of what Isabella could do to help Roger, this is perhaps answered by her returning to court soon afterwards.15 The likelihood is that Roger asked Isabella to spy on her husband, and to report any discovery by the king of any plots to free him.
Isabella was not the only person to be working towards Roger’s freedom. Under interrogation, Lord Berkeley confessed that his attempted escape was just the first part of an elaborate plan to release Roger from the Tower. Thomas de Newbiggin was arrested in South Wales for plotting to free him. Roger himself was working on an escape plan.16 He had persuaded the sub-lieutenant of the Tower, Gerard d’Alspaye, to help him. D’Alspaye was probably the man smuggling Roger’s letters out of the Tower, and passing them on to Roger’s contacts among the monastic clergy and London merchants, most notably John de Gisors and Richard de Bethune. In this way Roger was able to communicate with his network of powerful ecclesiastical supporters, such as the Bishops of Hereford (Adam of Orleton), Bath and Wells (John Droxford), Lincoln (Henry de Burghersh), and Ely (John de Hothum), and the Archbishop of Dublin (Alexander Bicknor), all of whom were beyond Edward II’s power. Unfortunately his letters to the Priors of Leominster and Wormsley and the Abbot of Wigmore were intercepted.17 As a result of these plots and Roger’s intercepted letters, Edward and Hugh Despenser realised that they would not be safe until Roger was dead. Roger would not have survived much longer if there had not been a spy in the royal household, almost certainly Isabella, who now sent word to London that Roger’s murder was planned for early August.18
The first of August was the feast of St Peter ad Vincula – St Peter in Chains – the patron saint of the Tower, whose chapel occupied a corner of the inner ward. At the time of the evening meal, most of the garrison made their way to the hall of the royal palace and, seated at the long tables there, began their festive eating and drinking. From the kitchen the cook sent out the meats and various dishes; from the buttery the butler produced the wine to be drunk on the special occasion of the feast. The castle gates were shut, and the prisoners locked in their cells. Almost all the men were present, carousing, with the exceptions only of the gate keepers and perhaps the occasional tower watchman. Stephen de Segrave, the lieutenant in charge of the castle, and Gerard d’Alspaye, the sub-lieutenant, sat among them. But d’Alspaye did not drink. More wine was offered, and slowly the hall filled with drunk, drugged, stumbling men. Stephen de Segrave himself lay unconscious. In the silence which followed, d’Alspaye hurried, with a crowbar and a rope ladder, to the cell in which Roger was locked up with another man, Richard de Monmouth.
The light was dim, but d’Alspaye had to work fast, with only a candle to see by. The door to the cell was heavily barred and padlocked so d’Alspaye had to lever out the stones one by one with the crowbar. The mortar being old, it gave way easily, and soon the first stones fell from the wall. Inside Roger had been praying to St Peter for help. He had sworn a vow that, if successful, he would build a chapel to the saint at Ludlow.19 Within a short while there was a ragged hole, and a few moments later Roger pushed his way through, followed by de Monmouth.20 Quickly the three men descended the stairs and made their way into the building next door, which was the kitchen of the king’s palace. There the cook, who had been informed about the escape, turned a blind eye as the three men climbed up through the huge chimney on to the roof. In the moonless night Roger and his accomplices felt their way across to the wall, and scrambled over the edge, using a rope ladder brought by d’Alspaye, and climbed down the high walls into the outer ward. From there they slung another rope ladder over the outer curtain wall and climbed up, and by the same rope ladder swiftly let themselves down the outer face to the river bank and into the marshy waters of the Thames. In the darkness they found two men waiting with a small boat. The three fugitives were rowed across the river to Greenwich, where four of Roger’s men-at-arms were in readiness, with spare horses. Without pausing for a moment, they mounted and rode off into the night.
Within hours there were men-at-arms in pursuit, riding along the highways up to the Marches, and to the king and Despenser to let them know the news. But they did not find Roger. They presumed he would be heading either to Wales or the south coast, probably Dover. Roger and his men knew that that was what they would expect, and went an indirect way. As the king’s men searched for him on the Dover road he was hurrying to Portchester, keeping out of sight of the guards on the highways. Near Portchester he was led to a place to which one Alice de Boarhunt had arranged for a boatswain from the Isle of Wight to bring a small vessel at the request of a London merchant, Ralph de Bocton.21 Roger and his six companions embarked. He ordered the boatswain to take him to the Isle of Wight, where one of de Bocton’s sea-going vessels was waiting to take him to Normandy. Within thirty-six hours of his escape he was out of the country.
Roger was not just at liberty. In attaining his own freedom he had become the most powerful symbol of freedom for all other Englishmen labouring under the tyranny of Edward II and Hugh Despenser. The chroniclers wrote of Roger as following God’s will, and being guided by an angel from his cell like St Peter himself. Later he would say that he knew truly that his escape was ordained by God through His mercy, and that he had been freed from the king’s hands for a purpose.