ELEVEN

Revolutionary

WE DO NOT know when and where Roger came face to face with Joan again. Nor do we know what they said to each other when they did meet. They had last seen each other in the summer of 1321, more than five years earlier. In all that time they had both suffered for Roger’s war against the Despensers, but Roger had found a surrogate wife, had frequented the courts of Europe, and had become the most important man in the country. Joan on the other hand had spent five years in prison. At forty, having borne so many children, she must have been losing her looks and fast approaching (what was in the fourteenth century) old age. Whenever it was that they met, it seems likely that it was a meeting touched with sadness, regret and possibly some bitterness on Joan’s part; not only because Roger had become Isabella’s lover but also for the years of her life she had lost.¹

It is possible that the meeting took place in November 1326, either just before or after the execution of Despenser. Roger seems to have visited his manor at Pembridge, near Wigmore, where he and Joan had been married.² The records do not mention Joan (except in a legal capacity as heiress of the de Geneville lands) until two years later when Roger endowed a chantry at Leintwardine, where priests were to sing masses for the souls of Roger’s family, closest friends and ancestors. It is probable that four books of ‘romances’ which Roger obtained at Westminster early in 1327 were presents for his wife.³ Joan had a taste for romances, as shown by the inventory of her possessions in 1322. Those issued to Roger in 1327 were actually handed over to Walter de Lingaigne, canon of Wigmore, and Walter de Evesham, clerk, on 19 February. Since Roger was at Westminster himself at this time it seems likely that they were given to the two men to take back to Joan, especially as Walter de Evesham was one of Joan’s own clerks.⁴ This suggests that she was not with Roger at Westminster but back at Wigmore, where she had been staying in 1322, or at Ludlow, where she was living in 1330, and thus perhaps estranged from her husband. There is no evidence that Roger was anything other than regretful that his devoted wife of so many years had suffered for his actions.⁵ On balance it seems that the couple had decided to live apart by early 1327, a decision forced upon them by Isabella’s affection for Roger and her need of his guidance, and, most of all, by Roger’s love for Queen Isabella and his craving for power.

Roger spent Christmas 1326 at Isabella’s castle at Wallingford. His stay was not all seasonal frivolity. Several key issues faced him: how to make Isabella’s seizure of power legitimate; how to control lords such as Henry of Lancaster, who had now started referring to himself by his brother’s title of Earl of Lancaster; how long to keep the Hainault army in England; and, by no means least, what to do with the king.

The first and the last of these could be considered a single question. If the king were executed, his son would naturally assume the title after his father’s death. But such a move, while apparently simple, was technically very difficult. It required a state trial on a charge of treason, a guilty verdict and a death sentence. Roger invited various lords and prelates to discuss the matter with him and Isabella. There was little agreement. From the point of view of most of the lords, Edward had repeatedly shown himself to be unconcerned with the country’s welfare and deserved to die. Several of the prelates, however, held that he had been appointed by God, and thus could not legally be deposed or tried. This spiritual argument against a trial had wide political implications: if he were tried and found guilty, many people might believe that God would punish the country. There was also a legal argument against a trial: if Edward was not found guilty of treason – and most people believed that a king could not technically be charged with treason – he would have to be released, and possibly restored. While it would have been easy to rig the trial, this might have raised widespread sympathy for him. The hardest line was taken by the Lancastrians, whose world had been shattered by Edward’s destruction of Thomas of Lancaster. Roger, on the other hand, had been saved from his death sentence in 1322 by the king’s intervention, and indeed had for many years before that been a loyal supporter of the king. Even now he was a royalist, and he wanted to encourage Prince Edward’s respect, a respect which was very unlikely to be forthcoming if he were held responsible for the death of his father. Nor did Isabella want her husband destroyed, partly out of marital affection and partly on account of the dignity of royalty. Since Roger’s wife was still alive, there was no question of her marrying Roger even if Edward were executed. By the end of December those opposed to killing the king had prevailed. Roger and his associates decided not to have the king tried but to imprison him, without trial, for life.

This decision presented Roger with a much more difficult problem with regard to the legal consolidation of Isabella’s power and the establishment of her son’s reign. Since the prince had been appointed guardian of the country while the king had been abroad, on Edward’s return that guardianship should have come to an end, even though the king was in prison. Roger and Isabella found a temporary solution by having Bishop Orleton take the great seal from the king and give it to Isabella, so she could rule in her husband’s name, or the prince’s, or her own, as appropriate. In addition, in December the Chancery was ordered to date writs issued in the king’s name as if they had emanated from him at Kenilworth. But Roger and his constitutional advisers, such as Bishop Orleton of Hereford and Bishop Stratford of Winchester, knew this state of affairs could not continue. It would only be a matter of time before someone challenged the legality of such writs.

On 4 January 1327 Roger and Isabella entered London with the prince and the court. The rioting had calmed somewhat. The election of Richard de Bethune as mayor in November had placed one of Roger’s most loyal supporters in power, and he had returned the city to something resembling normality. Parliament had accordingly been scheduled to meet on 7 January, and the lords, prelates, knights of the shire and representatives of the boroughs and Cinque Ports all assembled in Westminster Hall.⁶ But the king and the two bishops sent to accompany him from Kenilworth had not arrived.⁷ As a result Parliament could not proceed, for the assembly could not be deemed Parliamentary unless the king were present. Nothing happened until 12 January when the bishops arrived alone.⁸Instead of the king himself they brought his defiant refusal to attend, and his declaration that all who did attend were traitors. Bishop Orleton, in announcing this, declared that it was just as well that the king had not come, for he kept a dagger in his clothes for the purpose of killing the queen, should he ever see her.

Already Roger’s propaganda machine was working. Orleton, who was almost certainly exaggerating the king’s defiance, knew as well as Roger that, for the first time in English history, the representatives of the community of the realm would be called upon to act as an authority over and above that of the king. At this time, commoners were rarely even summoned to Parliament, let alone asked to judge the monarch. But Roger and his advisers intended to manipulate them to their political advantage. It was no democratic principle which made Roger and Orleton draw the representatives of English boroughs into the debate about the deposition of Edward II, but a calculated attempt to unite all the classes of the realm against the monarch. Hence no representatives were summoned from South Wales, which was known to be strongly in favour of the king, and representatives were only summoned from North Wales (which was strongly anti-Mortimer) when it was too late for them to take part in the debates.

Orleton went straight to the crux of the matter: the king had refused to come to Parliament; so did Parliament want the king to rule the country or did it prefer that his son should rule instead? Orleton’s confidence and the rigging of the later debates itself suggests that a wave of approval was expected to follow his speech, together with a unanimous declaration of allegiance to the prince. But such a reaction was not forthcoming. It was too sudden. The Archbishop of York, three other bishops, and various other people refused to give an answer. They declared that this was for fear of the Londoners, who were known to be on Roger’s side. Some of them wished to see the king himself speak in Parliament, and openly abdicate, rather than for him to be deposed by Roger and Isabella. Frustrated, Orleton accordingly dismissed Parliament until nine o’clock the following morning, and consulted with Roger as to what to do next.⁹

Roger now used his influence over the Londoners. The waverers were reluctant to answer his demands because of fear of recriminations; rather than reduce that fear he decided to exploit it. He instructed Richard de Bethune to write to Parliament asking whether the members would come to the Guildhall to swear an oath to protect Isabella and her son, and to depose the king. He also called all the great lords to attend a secret meeting that evening, and asked for their unanimous support in deposing the king. This was forthcoming. Roger now had all the weapons he needed.

At nine o’clock on the morning of Tuesday 13 January Roger addressed the mass gathered in Westminster Hall. He spoke eloquently, but did not try too hard to persuade them. Instead he showed the assembly the letter from the mayor and citizens of London, asking that they all swear the oath to support the queen and her son and to depose the king. Roger added that in a meeting the night before all the great lords of the realm had discussed the matter and were unanimous in their opinion that the king should be deposed. He was not saying this for himself, he said, and nor could he speak for the commons, but he had to speak out on the issue because the great lords had urged him to do so. On cue, Roger’s cousin, Thomas Wake, jumped up and declared in a loud voice that he for one did not think that the king should be allowed to rule any longer. As the tones of assent were heard around the hall, Orleton rose to his feet. ‘An unwise king destroyeth his people,’ he preached, going on to give a tremendous sermon, rousing those present in the way he knew best, through the power of the word of God. By the time he had come to the end, Parliament was truly animated. ‘Away with the king! Away with him!’ they shouted. But the show was only just beginning. As soon as Orleton had resumed his seat, Bishop Stratford took up the call. His theme, obviously prepared well in advance, was that the head of the nation was feeble, and that the king should be allowed to lead the country astray no longer. As he spoke, again Thomas Wake rose and demanded, gesturing to the assembly, ‘Do you agree? Do the people of the country agree?’ By this stage the representatives of the people who agreed were completely swept away, and those who did not had been silenced by the knowledge that they would have to face the Londoners in the Guildhall later that day. As the commotion died down, the last of the three scheduled speakers stepped forward. This was the old Archbishop of Canterbury, Walter Reynolds. He said that the people of England had been oppressed too long, and that, if it were the people’s will that the king should be deposed, then it was God’s will, and the reign should come to an end. Again, on cue, Thomas Wake rose and demanded: ‘Is this the will of the people? Is it the people’s will that the king should be deposed and his son made king in his place?’ A tumult of approval answered him. ‘Let it be done! Let it be done!’ The archbishop then concluded: ‘Your voice has clearly been heard here, for Edward has been deprived of the government of the kingdom and his son made king as you have unanimously consented.’¹⁰ Then, as the assembly was carried away, Prince Edward was ushered into the hall to the cry ‘Behold your king!’ At which point most of the assembly started singing ‘Glory, Laud and Honour’. The Bishop of Rochester, one of the few who did not sing, was later beaten up for his lack of enthusiasm.

The overt manipulation of Parliament was entirely Roger’s doing. Later that day a large crowd of nobles, prelates and knights followed him to the Guildhall to swear the oath of fealty requested by Richard de Bethune. The first to swear the oath was Roger. The oath itself was different from that requested by de Bethune in his letter. Those who took it swore only to protect Isabella, her son, and those who fought against Despenser, and to observe the Ordinances and the liberties of the city of London.¹¹ There was no mention of the deposition of the king. Persuading de Bethune to include this had just been a ruse by Roger to intimidate those who were not in favour to keep quiet during the sermons and speeches in Parliament.¹² It did not matter that many of the assembly did not swear the Guildhall oath; the oath itself was irrelevant as far as the deposition went. But it had influenced or threatened Parliament clearly to vote in favour of removing the king, and thus Roger was able to say that the decision was with the assent of the people of England in Parliament. The English monarchy had changed for ever.

*

The agreement by Parliament to dethrone Edward II was a landmark achievement. Never before had an English monarch been deposed, and nor had any European king of comparable status been removed from his throne. The only precedent was a minor German prince of small reputation earlier in the fourteenth century. Thus, for Victorian and early twentieth-century scholars, the key feature of the fall of Edward II was this constitutional development, and especially what this indicated about the role of Parliament. In concentrating on the constitution they failed to notice the most important fact about the deposition of Edward II: it did not actually happen. Parliament’s will was not imposed on Edward; rather he was asked to accept its decision.

On 20 January Edward, dressed in a black robe, was led into the hall at Kenilworth Castle. There he saw the faces of those who had come to announce the decision of Parliament. Immediately he collapsed in a faint, and had to be lifted back to his feet by Bishop Stratford and Henry of Lancaster. Orleton read the charges. The king had been found guilty of several crimes. Namely: of being incompetent to govern, and of allowing others to govern for him to the detriment of his people and of the Church; of not listening to good advice but rather pursuing occupations unbecoming to a monarch; of having lost Scotland and lands in Gascony and Ireland through his failure effectively to govern; of allowing the Holy Church to be damaged and its representatives to be imprisoned, and other nobles to be killed, imprisoned, exiled and disinherited; of failing to ensure that all received justice, but instead governing for his own profit and allowing others to do the same, against his coronation oaths; and of fleeing in the company of a notorious enemy of the realm, and leaving the realm without government, thereby losing the faith and trust of his people. Since his cruelty and faults in his character were to blame, the people had agreed that there was no alternative but to depose him.¹³ Edward, utterly shaken by this judgement, wept as he heard the charges. At the end, he was offered a choice: to abdicate in favour of his son, or to resist and relinquish the throne to one who was not of the royal blood but experienced in government, with the obvious implication that this would be Roger. Through his tears, the king confessed that he lamented that his people so hated his rule. He agreed that if the people would accept his son, he would resign in his son’s favour. Sir William Trussel then stepped forward to renounce homage on behalf of all the lords of the realm, and after him Thomas le Blount publicly broke his staff of office, announcing that Edward’s royal household was no more. In this way Edward abdicated and was not deposed, a distinction which later would prove significant.

News of all that had happened at Kenilworth was published in London on 24 January:

Sir Edward, late king of England, has of his good will and by common counsel and assent of the prelates, earls, barons, and other nobles, and commonalty of the realm, resigned the government of the realm and granted and wills the government shall come to Edward, his eldest son and that he shall govern, reign and be crowned king for which reason all the magnates have done homage. We proclaim the peace of our said Lord, Sir Edward the son, and command under pain of disinheritance and of loss of life and limb that no one infringe the peace of our said lord the king. If anyone have anything to demand from another let him demand it by way of law without using force or violence.¹⁴

The day after the announcement of the abdication was proclaimed the first day of the reign of Edward III. It was thus effectively the start of the reign of Roger and Isabella, who firmly advised the fourteen-year-old boy, looked after his privy seal for him, appointed the Chancellor who held the great seal, and, of course, controlled access to the young king himself.

*

Roger, as the orchestrator of events, had never had any doubts about the discussions concerning the king’s deposition, nor about the king’s subsequent abdication. Even before the debates had taken place he had fixed the date of the coronation for 1 February, and had decided that his three eldest sons would be among those knighted on the day. On 13 January, the day of his speech and the prelates’ speeches to Parliament, he was more concerned with what his sons would wear at the coronation of the new king than the process of removing the old one. He ordered that his sons should be given bannerets’ clothes for the occasion.¹⁵ Three days later, he changed his mind and decided they should be dressed in clothing befitting earls.¹⁶ This was four days before the king’s abdication. His confidence was so high, and his authority so great, that dressing his sons as earls – implying a rank above himself and far above them – seems never to have crossed his mind as a high-handed act. Nor, in the euphoria of the moment, does it seem to have crossed anyone else’s.

On the day of the coronation the young king was knighted by John of Hainault.¹⁷ Edward himself then dubbed a number of young knights, as tradition dictated. First and foremost were Roger’s sons – Edmund, Roger and Geoffrey – in their earls’ attire, followed by Hugh de Courtenay, Thomas Lestrange and other heirs. The Archbishop of Canterbury performed the actual coronation, while the Bishops of Winchester and London held the crown above the boy, it being too heavy to be placed upon his head. The two bishops who had performed such important roles in the proceedings of the Parliamentary deposition – Orleton and Stratford – were present, as were Roger’s other episcopal supporters: William Airmyn of Norwich, Henry de Burghersh of Lincoln, and John de Hothum of Ely. Even the Bishop of Rochester was present, still nursing his bruises. This time he joined with Bishop Airmyn in the singing of the Litany.

The coronation was marked by several propaganda statements, like the earlier parliament. Young Edward proclaimed a general pardon to all criminals then in custody, thereby clearing up the problem created by his father’s offer of pardons in return for soldiers to fight the invaders. A special medal was struck for the occasion, and scattered among the crowds after the service. This showed, on one side, the young king laying a sceptre on a pile of hearts, with the motto: ‘Given to the people according to their will’, and on the other, the king holding his hands out as if to catch a falling crown, with the motto: ‘I did not take, I received’.¹⁸ The latter message, loaded and unsubtle as it was, was not incorrect. Edward did not take the crown: Roger took it for him.

With the official handover of the crown to the new regime, the protagonists of the revolution were at liberty to grant themselves all the lands, titles and power they desired. Historians have traditionally claimed that Roger and Isabella took advantage of this to make themselves huge grants, and that they were avaricious, insatiable, and even ruthless in their acquisition of land, castles and power. This sounds like a classic case of conquerors gathering their fortunes greedily, but the image is misleading. A closer examination of the records reveals a marked difference between Roger and Isabella in 1327. On the very day of the coronation Isabella had granted to her an annual income of no less than 20,000 marks (£13,333). This was a phenomenal increase from her previous income of £4,500 before the Despenser regime had confiscated her assets. She thus made over to herself one of the largest personal incomes anyone had ever received in English history, larger even than the income of the late Earl of Lancaster, whose wealth had been regarded as fabulous. Roger did not follow her example. In December 1326 he had been given the keepership of Denbigh Castle, and allocated lands to the annual value of £1,000 in fulfilment of a promise made to him before the invasion. He and Thomas Wake shared a debt of £1,152, owing (but yet to be paid) to the late Hugh Despenser. But as far as direct substantial gifts went, that was all. Indeed, it is remarkable how few direct grants Roger received in 1327. In mid-February he was given the right to marry one of his daughters to the heir to the earldom of Pembroke,¹⁹ and four months later he received temporary custody of the lands of Eleanor de Clare, widow of Hugh Despenser, which he returned to her the following year. He also received the wardships of the heirs of the de Beauchamp and Audley families, but he had already been awarded both of these by Edward II before his rebellion, and so these were merely restorations of his property.²⁰ His pardon on 21 February for escaping from the Tower, and with it the restoration of his estates in England, was hardly a concession. The remaining grants made to him carried administrative responsibilities: for example, his uncle’s old role of Justiciar of Wales, which he held for the rest of his life, and a keepership of the peace on the Marches. Otherwise they were grants he requested benefiting his dependants, such as an award to the townsmen of Ludlow of the right of murage (a toll on all those coming and going from the town so they could rebuild the town walls), and a licence for him to make a small gift of land to Aconbury Priory, at which both Joan’s sisters were living. These were not the marks of unbridled acquisitiveness or dictatorship: they amounted to a lump sum of several hundred pounds and an income probably about half as much again as he had earned while he was Justiciar of Ireland. Unlike Isabella he was making relatively modest claims and taking time to explore the limits of his authority and power.

The explanation for Roger’s reluctance to seize great wealth immediately is simple. The examples of Despenser and Gaveston could be said to have haunted him. He did not seek huge grants as they did. He did not impose himself on the government’s largesse as they had done. Most importantly he did not attempt to stamp on his principal rival, Henry of Lancaster. Instead he cleverly allowed Lancaster officially to dominate Parliament and the regency council. He allowed the Lancastrian supporter, John de Ros, to be appointed Steward of the Royal Household. He did not oppose any of the pardons granted to the Lancastrians for their crimes and sentences in 1322 with the sole exception of that of Robert de Holand, in which he followed the Lancastrian demand for the man not to be pardoned. Henry of Lancaster was permitted officially to receive his late brother’s title of Earl of Lancaster. Most importantly a council of twelve or fourteen magnates and prelates was appointed, and Henry of Lancaster, not Roger, was given the chairmanship. This council was filled with members of the Lancastrian faction, for Henry Percy and John de Ros were Lancastrians, and Thomas Wake was not just a cousin of Roger’s, he was also a son-in-law to the late Earl of Lancaster. Indeed, it is open to question whether Roger even sat on this council.²¹ The only significant issue over which Henry of Lancaster did not gain complete success was in the restitution to himself of all his brother’s estates. Isabella herself had appropriated most of the vast wealth of Henry of Lincoln, which had descended to Alice, the miserable and estranged wife of the late Thomas of Lancaster, and thus kept part of what Henry of Lancaster considered his rightful inheritance. Lancaster was particularly angry that he had not received the honour and castle of Pontefract. This confrontation between Isabella and Lancaster, against the background of Roger’s purposeful avoidance of confrontation with the earl, suggests the queen’s acquisition of lands was not wholly with Roger’s blessing, and that her acquisition of personal wealth was the one area in which she refused to follow her lover’s advice.

Between the queen and Lancaster one can discern Roger playing a diplomatic role, playing down his own interests, trying perhaps to restrain the queen from acquiring too many lands, and trying to placate Henry of Lancaster. But as early as the end of March he realised placation was not a long-term strategy. Isabella’s acquisitiveness was too great, and Lancaster’s propensity to sulk even greater. In addition to her massively increased income Isabella had obtained in January a grant of £20,000 supposedly to pay her debts overseas (which had in fact already been paid) and had earlier received a further sum of £11,843, together with the treasures of Hugh Despenser and the Earl of Arundel.²² Henry of Lancaster bitterly complained. Roger, of course, stood by Isabella, and as a safeguard he did the one thing essential to preserve her and the regime he had set up in her name. He took Edward II out of the clutches of the Earl of Lancaster.

Custody of the king was vitally important to Roger. If Lancaster turned against the queen and promoted a counter-revolution, Edward II would be a natural rallying point for all those angered by Isabella’s greed. Alternatively, the earl could allow Edward to be ‘rescued’ by some of the extremist groups who were attempting to free the king and restore him. Even the Scots, who were now beginning to take arms again, could have been involved. One such attempt, by the Dunheved brothers, seems to have been made at the end of March.²³ It was time to grasp the nettle.

The removal of the ex-king from Kenilworth Castle on 3 April 1327 was undoubtedly a strategy devised and put into effect by Roger. The two new custodians, Sir John Maltravers and Thomas, Lord Berkeley, were among his closest political supporters. Maltravers been knighted on the same day more than twenty years before, and had subsequently been a companion in Ireland,²⁴ a fellow rebel in 1321, and a companion in exile on the Continent. Maltravers was close to Berkeley too, being married to his sister and having previously been in the retinue of the Earl of Pembroke with him. Berkeley himself had served in Roger’s household in 1318, rode with Roger in his 1321 rebellion, and had married Roger’s eldest daughter, Margaret. If the evidence of the propagandist chronicler Geoffrey le Baker is to be believed, one of the men-at-arms acompanying the king from Kenilworth was William Bishop, one of Roger’s men-at-arms in 1321.²⁵ But perhaps the most intriguing piece of evidence indicating Roger’s responsibility for the transfer of the deposed king is that now, for the first extended period since invading the country, Roger left the court.

It is much easier to be certain of Roger’s whereabouts in the period after the deposition than at any time earlier in his career. From 1327 he frequently took it upon himself to be one of the barons who witnessed the granting of charters under the royal seal. In the first year of the reign of Edward III he witnessed at least fifty-seven of the ninety-one grants recorded on the Charter Rolls, thus indicating his presence on at least fifty-seven occasions. In addition he made about twenty requests for grants to be made to other people, at which his presence would almost certainly have been required. From this regularity of court service, combined with the usual means of establishing a medieval itinerary, we can be reasonably confident that the periods for which we have no positive information regarding his whereabouts indicate times when he was not at court.

There are two periods in 1327 during which Roger was absent from court for more than two weeks, the first being from early March to early May, the second being in the autumn. On both occasions he rejoined the court at Nottingham. Since on the second occasion he returned to Nottingham from South Wales, and thus by way of the Welsh Marches, it is quite possible that during the first period of absence he was also in the region of South Wales. This coincides with the king’s removal from Kenilworth in early April. The following year Henry of Lancaster accused Roger of taking the king by force from Kenilworth.²⁶ Roger’s rare absence from court at this time and his possible presence in the region does suggest he was on standby to play a military role in seizing the ex-king if necessary, and, if Lancaster’s accusation was true, that he took Edward by force. The ex-king was taken from Kenilworth to Llanthony Priory near Gloucester, and from there to Berkeley, where he was kept in lordly comfort at an expense to the Exchequer of £5 a day.

By now Roger and Isabella had solved virtually all of the problems that had faced them six months earlier. They had forced the king to abdicate and had established the prince on the throne, thereby legitimising their authority, and they had safeguarded themselves from the ill will of the Earl of Lancaster, for the time being at least. Now a new problem raised its head, or rather an old problem, one that had beset and beaten both Edward I and Edward II: Scotland.

*

On the day of the coronation the Scots had launched an exploratory raid on Norham Castle. They had been beaten back, but in March the court was informed by its spies of a build-up in Scottish forces preparatory to an invasion. Accordingly, as a precautionary measure, a general muster was ordered at the beginning of April. Although Roger and Isabella had been wholehearted in their determination to find a diplomatic settlement, peace negotiations between the two countries were constantly collapsing. Four sets of negotiators had been appointed, and one by one they had failed. This was strange, for it was in the interests of both sides to secure a lasting peace. How was it then that England and Scotland now found themselves heading for war?

The explanation lies in the Scots’ neutrality during Roger and Isabella’s invasion. If there had ever been a time for the Scots to attack England, it was in September 1326, when most of the English fleet had been tied up in the south and the army was reluctant to obey a general muster. But the Scots had not attacked. Before the invasion, Sir Thomas Randolph, Bruce’s chief negotiator, had gone to Paris to meet Roger and Isabella. Terms had been agreed: in return for a recognition of Scottish sovereignty, the Scots would not attack England during the invasion. Now the invasion was over, but no recognition of Scottish independence had taken place. Roger and Isabella had delayed their side of the bargain because they had not wanted to alienate the northern barons and Henry of Lancaster, to whom the idea of Scottish independence was anathema. Bruce was close to death now, and he wanted a recognition of Scottish independence in his lifetime. As a result he planned a three-pronged attack on England: through an invasion from Scotland, another from Ireland, and a rebellion in South Wales. Although Roger prevented the Irish rebellion by replacing Despenser’s justiciar there with his own former deputy, time was running out for a peaceful settlement.²⁷

It was a difficult situation. Roger and Isabella did not want to fight. Scotland was, to all intents and purposes, lost, and the last thing they wanted was the expense of a new Scottish campaign. But they faced the enmity of the Earl of Lancaster if they did not. They devised a compromise strategy. They made the appearance of marching to defend the north, but planned to make no significant inroads into the Scottish position. They raised men from the boroughs and from John of Hainault, who was once more requested to bring a mercenary army. The feudal host was summoned, and, by the end of May, the English army was ready at York.

We know what happened in the ensuing weeks in some detail as Sir John of Hainault brought a chronicler in his retinue: Jean le Bel. His account corresponds well with what we know of the story in John Barbour’s poetic biography of Robert Bruce.²⁸ Thus we have the whole story of what became known as the Weardale campaign from both sides, from its riotous beginning in the unlikely location of the dormitory of the Dominican friary at York.

On 7 June, to celebrate the arrival of Sir John, Isabella held a great feast at the friary where the court was staying. As part of the courtly entertainment, Isabella planned to entertain Sir John alone with sixty ladies-in-waiting at tables set up in the dormitory while the king held court with all the men in the hall and cloisters. The ladies were superbly dressed, and dishes were passed around which had been dyed various colours so everyone had to guess what they were eating. But few of the dishes were tasted, as a violent quarrel quickly broke out between some of the Hainaulters’ servants and the English archers lodged with them. Seeing their fellows attacked, the English archers appeared with arrows notched in their bows, and shot some of the Hainaulters, forcing the others to seek refuge in nearby houses. Several householders panicked and refused to let the Hainaulters in to get their weapons. Fences and gardens were trampled in the ensuing panic, and those Hainaulters who managed to arm themselves gathered in a square to attack the archers. There followed a general melee between the Hainaulters and the English in which several hundred men on each side were killed. Le Bel claimed that more than three hundred English archers died. Peace was only restored when the king and the leading English magnates rode through the streets calling for the fighting to stop. But the damage had been done: from then on, the Hainaulters slept in their armour and posted guards on their lodgings. They said they feared the English archers were keener to kill them than the Scots.

The army remained at York throughout June. Several rumours reached Roger of plots being formed against him. Accordingly he took personal control of the situation. On 8 June he had himself appointed chief keeper of the peace in Herefordshire, Worcestershire and Staffordshire, and to this he added Glamorgan four days later. Being the deposed king’s keeper made for an uneasy existence, and one which could only become uneasier if he went to Scotland. But on 15 June the Scots launched an overnight attack, and it became clear that a military confrontation was inevitable, not so much to defeat the Scots as to placate the northern English lords.

On 1 July, as the army set out from York, dreadful news came from the south. An express messenger gave Roger a secret message: Berkeley Castle had been ransacked and Edward II had been captured by men faithful to the Dunheved brothers, the same men who had been involved in the conspiracy in March to free Edward.²⁹ It was a significant blow. One can only imagine the fury and the feeling of powerlessness that he now felt. Here he was, about to set out on a sham war against the Scots, on behalf of a sham king, two hundred and fifty miles away from Berkeley Castle, unable easily to communicate with Maltravers and Berkeley. Edward had to be recaptured at all costs, not just because of the risk of Roger’s enemies exploiting the ex-king but for the sake of his control of the present king too. He must have recognised that without Isabella he had no real power over Edward III. This young man wanted to fight, to play the chivalric hero, to rule even; and Roger, without Isabella, could not stop him. The only potential hold he had over the king was possession of his father, and his ability to stop anyone else from setting Edward II up as a rival to Edward III.

Roger waited at York for a day after the army set out. He had no option but to keep faith with Berkeley and Maltravers, and hope that they could recapture the ex-king. The two custodians were given a special commission to keep the peace across the whole of the region, through the counties of Dorset, Somerset, Wiltshire, Hampshire, Herefordshire, Oxfordshire and Berkshire, in the hope that this would help them track down the conspirators. Apart from this official appointment, everything was done in the strictest secrecy – no one was allowed to know the ex-king was at liberty. Then Roger set off to catch up with the army.

Edward III was full of confidence and expectation as he set out on his first military campaign. Le Bel notes trumpets sounding and pennants fluttering as they marched north, through Overton, Myton-on-Swale, to Topcliffe, where they waited a week for intelligence reports, and then on through Northallerton and Darlington to Durham, which they reached on 14 July. Here they paused again, considering their strategy. With a small contingent of men at Carlisle guarding the western approaches to England, it was hoped that any Scottish army intent on reaching York would be held at bay by the risk of being cut off by the king’s force at Durham.

The Scots were not daunted. Under the command of Sir Thomas Randolph and Sir James Douglas – Black Douglas as he is known to Scottish patriots – Bruce’s army had already crossed into England and was harrying the country. Far from cutting off the Scots’ advance the two English armies had created a corridor along which the Scots had skilfully manoeuvred their forces. The first the English knew of the incursion was seeing smoke rising above the villages to the south.

How could an experienced military leader like Roger have allowed this to happen? One explanation may simply be that he was not personally in control. The king had appointed the Earls of Norfolk and Kent to take direct charge of the army, and Henry of Lancaster to be overall commander.³⁰Roger received no position of command at all. As the most experienced and successful military leader then in England, this might be considered surprising. But it has to be remembered that Roger and Isabella were not anticipating any great conquests or victories, but rather a campaign merely to hold the Scots at bay prior to agreeing a surrender of the English claim of sovereignty. Moreover one must bear in mind Roger’s policy of not offering himself official positions of command in order to avoid being seen to be appropriating power. It is probable that he opted out of any share of responsibility for the campaign on the basis that it was bound to end in a peace which many would find humiliating. The alternative explanation – that his failure to receive a position of command was due to the king’s or Lancaster’s resentment – is unlikely, since the appointments were made in mid-June, at York, while Edward was still under his mother’s watchful eye. The blunder was most probably a failure of collective leadership, in which Roger, in a distracted and unenthusiastic mood, was to blame as much as Henry of Lancaster and the two royal earls.

Jean le Bel, as a Hainaulter footsoldier with the army, had his own explanation as to why the Scottish forces managed to outstrip and outsmart the English. They travelled on horseback, taking no provision wagons, no chests of meat, no tuns of wine. They took no pots or pans either, and so could travel long distances in one day, whereas the English were tied to their long lines of packhorses and supply wagons. In war the Scots relied on local cattle, which they butchered and stewed in cauldrons made of hide, and to balance their diet they carried oatmeal under their saddles which they baked into cakes on flat stones. In addition they were following two very experienced and inspiring commanders; the English by comparison were following a fourteen-year-old boy whom Roger and the other leaders were desperately trying to shelter from danger.

When the English saw the smoke rising to the south, they turned in that direction and drew up in three battalions, expecting to do battle. The Scots withdrew. The English followed as far as a wood near Bishop Auckland, where they waited for their baggage carts while the Scots burnt another village. So long did they wait that they camped in the wood, and set out in formation again the following day. But the terrain was too hilly and marshy for battle formations to be maintained. Their systematic rule-book approach thwarted them. Not only that, it was exhausting, and they were still no nearer meeting the Scots in battle. Smoke now rose from more villages in their path. The army was exhausted. When they camped that night the king ordered his commanders to meet at a nearby monastery to discuss tactics. It was agreed that the Scots were probably now in retreat, unwilling to face superior numbers, and that the English might yet win a victory if they moved north to cut off their route over the River Tyne. The one problem was that this strategy required a very rapid troop manoeuvre. The decision was made that the English mounted men should emulate the Scots and leave behind their provisions. Lacking the knowledge of how to make oatcakes, each man was told to take only one loaf of bread with him, strapped to his saddle. It was anticipated that there would be a battle the next day, so further provisions were considered unnecessary.

Next morning the English mounted men all set off on a thirty-five-mile ride towards the Tyne. The strict battle formation in which they had proceeded earlier no longer applied. Now men rode ahead of their banners and behind them, lacking all order. But the weather had not been good, and horses were trapped in bogs and marshes. The journey became miserable and frustrating. Those whose horses stuck in the mud, or went lame, quickly fell behind, and with no support to help them soon lost sight of the army. They were riding in heavy armour, which made progress even harder and slower. The lack of discipline hampered them: when the front ranks of riders cried out or gestured at the sight of wild animals, of which there were many, the rear thought that the enemy was attacking, and forced themselves forward with all haste. Through marshes and mountains le Bel and his comrades followed the king and Roger, reaching the Tyne that evening. There they forded the river near Haydon, despite the inconvenience of the huge rocks, and collapsed, exhausted and hungry, on the far side.

Now the shortsightedness of the manoeuvre became apparent. Having failed to meet the Scots, they would have to sleep in their armour, out in the open, with no tents, nor the means to make any shelters. This effectively meant no sleep. They had no warmth since they had no hatchets and hooks to get material to build fires, and they had no food, except the loaves they carried. By now these were mostly disgustingly salty and damp, soaked by the sweat of their exhausted horses. Their forces were scattered, their companions were far behind, and their supply wagons were a fading memory. Worse, they had nothing for their horses to eat, and on the bare bank of the Tyne there was precious little to which they could tether them, so men sat out the night on the ground, shivering, holding their horses’ reins.

When dawn finally came, their sorrows were swollen by a downpour. The rain was so heavy that within a few hours the river before them had risen dramatically, and it was no longer possible to cross to find out where their supplies were, or where their enemy was. Men drew their swords and hacked branches from the trees to tie up their horses, but otherwise they were in the same parlous state as they had been the evening before: except colder, hungrier, and more hopeless.

That night they attempted to sleep in their armour again.

The following day, about noon, they found some ‘poor peasants’, who told them they were forty-two miles from Newcastle and thirty-three from Carlisle, and that there were no nearer towns. Men were sent off accordingly to fetch provisions on horseback. They proclaimed in the towns that whoever wished to sell their goods should bring them to the army. The announcement was sufficient to bring a few mules and ponies laden with poorly baked rough bread and thin watered down wine to add to the river water the army had been drinking. Although the food was poor, men fought over it. The rains continued and the saddles and harnesses began to rot, and many horses fell sick and died. Sores developed on the horses’ backs, and their hooves rotted. They were unable to replace the horses’ shoes. There was no wood except stuff so green and wet it would not burn, and men’s armour began to chafe and tear the skin off their shoulders. For eight days this went on, according to le Bel, with the army tramping up and down the north bank of the river between two fords. The official records agree with him: after the long ride from Bishop Auckland on 21 July the privy seal (the most accurate indication we have as to the king’s whereabouts) was either at Haydon or twenty miles upstream at Haltwhistle until 29 July.

Meanwhile, the Scots, who had not anticipated the sudden dash of the English from Bishop Auckland, had begun to wonder what had happened to the enemy. They themselves sensibly remained in their well-defended position at Stanhope. On 29 July, a Yorkshire squire named Thomas Rokeby found them, and, having been captured by the Scots guards, was released in order to bring the English back to confront them. At Haltwhistle the army returned to the river, now in full flood, where a number of horses were drowned. Once across they rode down to the burnt-out ruins of Blanchland Abbey. Here, knowing at last where the Scots were, and reunited with their footsoldiers and supply wagons, they prepared for battle. With great solemnity Edward heard mass and made his confession. Then the English mounted and advanced with trumpets sounding behind their banners and rode the last nine miles south from Blanchland to Stanhope, where the Scots were arrayed.

The purpose of the Scots in releasing Thomas Rokeby to lead the English to them was immediately apparent. They were lined up on the side of a steep hill about four hundred yards on the other side of the River Wear. To fight them, the English would have to cross the river and climb the hill under arrow fire. Although the young king did what he could to inspire his forces – riding among his army giving them words of encouragement, knighting several esquires, and drawing his footsoldiers up in battalions – nothing could detract from the strength of the Scottish position. They simply did not move. Edward sent heralds to them, asking them whether they would consider crossing the river to fight on the English side, since they professed to be eager for battle. Sir Thomas Randolph was all for this, but Sir James Douglas restrained him, insisting they should be patient. The Scots sent their reply: the King of England could see that they were in his country, and that they had ransacked and plundered it; if he did not like them being there he should cross the river and force them to retreat, otherwise they would stay where they were.

The English marched several battalions forward, and sent their archers to the front to cross the river and to cover the advance of their knights. But Douglas anticipated this move, and sent a party forward under Donald of Mar and Archibald Douglas to ambush the archers. The archers were warned at the last minute by a squire, Robert Ogle, and although many were killed, they managed to retreat. In the fighting a Scots knight, Sir William Erskine, was captured, and, in anticipation of a general attack, the English brought forward some new weapons they had brought with them. ‘Crakkis of wer’ Barbour calls them, saying they had never been heard before.³¹ They were in fact the forerunners of the first cannon to be used in war in Britain: iron buckets filled with stones and gunpowder, ignited from beneath, making noises considerably louder than anything heard in battle before. As the wily Scots may well have observed from their commanding position, these exploding iron buckets were not yet wholly reliable or even controllable, and required considerable further development before they would become effective weapons. Barbour also remarked that that day was the first time the Scots had seen heraldic crests on knights’ helmets. It is ironic that one of the classic hallmarks of the knight on horseback should first appear in the same battle as the first guns, which would eventually make such mounted knights redundant.

On seeing the attack on the English archers, Roger insisted that the advance be halted. Young Edward was furious: this was his great chance to lead a victorious army. Moreover, he had gone amongst his men urging them to fight for England and for God; he could not possibly be seen to withdraw now: it would seem cowardly. But Roger insisted. He overruled the Earls of Lancaster and Kent, countermanded Sir John of Hainault, and persuaded the marshal of the army, the Earl of Norfolk, not to lead the vanguard against the Scots.³² They all obeyed him. Seething with fury, Edward accused Roger of treason, saying that he wanted the Scots to get away.³³ Roger would not be moved. He had no official position, he ruled only through force of character – he did not even have Isabella at his side to coerce young Edward – but on the field of battle no one disagreed with him or dared disobey. His peers were scared of him.

That night the English encamped in a bitter mood. The Scots, seeing their advantage, decided to keep them up all night. They built huge fires and blew their trumpets and screamed and howled to keep them awake. Morale in the English camp sank; nor did it rise much the next day. The English feigned a frontal attack while an ambush of a thousand men was sent around to attack the Scots from the rear, and to force them closer to the river. But the Scots discovered the ruse, and made to ambush the would-be ambushers. The English advance party was called back. A few men were killed or captured: nothing was gained.

The following day was 1 August, St Peter’s day, and the fourth anniversary of Roger’s escape from the Tower. Perhaps he reflected that his living conditions were hardly any better than they had been in 1323. At least as a prisoner he had been able to sleep. Again, that night, the Scots did all they could to prevent the English from getting any rest.

After three days of this constant harassment by day and night, the English raised their weary heads to behold a bare hill. The Scots had gone. In the middle of the night Douglas and Randolph had led their men several miles along the river to another wooded hill, one even more defensible than the first. The few Scots whom the English had managed to capture in their skirmishes had let on that the Scots were short of bread and wine, although they did have plenty of cattle to eat. It was resolved once more to starve the Scots from their position. The English army shifted camp, to stop the Scots coming and going. Apart from the odd skirmish, nothing happened for eight days.

One night, when the English were being allowed a good night’s sleep for a change, Sir James Douglas secretly led five hundred mounted men across the river.³⁴ He led them a long way around the English camp, to the far side, and ordered half of them to draw their swords to cut the guy ropes of the English tents; the other half were to have their spears ready, to stab down on the bodies sleeping beneath. According to the Scottish patriot Barbour, as Douglas rode to the English camp he heard a soldier saying how he wanted to stay in the north no longer, for he was much afraid of Black Douglas, to which Douglas replied ‘You have good cause!’ as he killed him. With Douglas blowing his horn, the Scots galloped through the camp, slashing with their swords and stabbing with their spears by the light of the English fires. Sir James was heard yelling, between blasts on his horn, ‘Douglas! Douglas! You will all die, you English barons!’ Even the king’s tent was attacked: two or three of the guy ropes were cut, and the king was shaken badly. Douglas was attacked by a man with a club on his retreat and was wounded and thrown from his horse, but his men piled towards the sound of his horn, and his assailant was killed. As suddenly as they had arrived, the Scots vanished back into the night.

Thereafter the English once again chose to sleep in their armour. They posted heavy guards on all the approaches to their camp, but no further attacks were staged. On 6 August they captured a Scot who told them that that night the army had been ordered to follow Sir James Douglas’s banner wherever it went. He knew nothing more than this. The English leaders were sure that this meant they would be attacked, and so drew up in readiness, fully armed, in their battle formations. The Scottish fires burnt late, as usual. But shortly before dawn two Scottish trumpeters came to them and announced that the Scots had left for home some time before midnight. A party of men sent across the river to their camp next morning discovered this to be true: le Bel saw three hundred leather cauldrons full of meat to be cooked. It was a final insult to the English, as if the Scots were even giving them a farewell meal.

Two days later Roger, King Edward and the army arrived back in Durham. They found their carts and wagons there, each stored in a barn with a little flag on it to help identification. After two days in Durham they returned to York, and Roger rejoined Isabella. The army was disbanded. The Hainaulters were promised £4,000 compensation for their horses, along with all their other expenses, and sent home.

It had been an absolute fiasco, and no one tried to pretend otherwise. Whose fault was it? Given the youth of the king, one would normally blame those who had command of the army, in this case the Earls of Lancaster, Norfolk and Kent. But the king himself blamed Roger, who, as we have seen, was effectively in charge throughout. Responsibility for the initial failure to contain the Scots probably lies with him, and he certainly prevented the English army from attacking them at Stanhope. Edward believed that such failure amounted to treason. But in Roger’s defence, it was obvious at the time even to footsoldiers like le Bel that the Scots were in too strong a position for the English to mount a serious attack. In addition, it seems probable that Roger actually wanted the Scots to get away. A massacre of Scotsmen would only provoke reprisals, and he and Isabella were not prepared to countenance year after year of war against the Scots for a few barren acres of no-man’s-land, as Edward’s father and grandfather had done. They were determined to honour an agreement which recognised the independence of Scotland, and this would have been jeopardised by a major battle. Thus Edward was justified in accusing Roger of treason but not of incompetence. Roger’s purposes had been to preserve the king’s life on a sham campaign which satisfied the northerners and did not significantly damage the Scots, and this he had done.

Whatever his private motives, the Weardale campaign was publicly embarrassing for Roger. His lack of official command would have done little to lessen Lancaster’s anger, for example. The escape of the ex-king, although still a secret, threatened to humiliate him further. Back at York he heard from Thomas de Berkeley that Edward had in fact been recaptured and secured, but also that further plans to free him were being made by groups of dissident royalists in South Wales. Over the course of the next few weeks, Roger planned a final resolution to his various problems. He decided that the Exchequer and courts should be transferred to York, where they could be more directly administered while negotiations took place with the Scots. And at the beginning of September, he and Isabella agreed what they would do with Edward II. On the 4th he left the court at Nottingham, ignored his summons to Parliament, and went to South Wales.³⁵ From there he would order his final solution to the problem of the ex-king.