THREE
TWO DAYS AFTER his coronation, Edward presided over his first parliament as king. It was obvious that two of his lords would dominate. One of these was the earl of Lancaster: garrulous, proud, and angry that for so long he had been deprived of his rightful inheritance. He was a royal earl, a grandson of Henry III, and the richest lord in the country, and therefore had a good reason to consider himself pre-eminent. But Isabella did not like him, nor did she trust him. The other lord was Mortimer, who disliked him every bit as much as Isabella, and did not trust him at all.
Lancaster stormed through that first parliament. As Edward watched from his throne the earl put forward a whole gamut of petitions. He proposed that he and the invaders should be pardoned for any wrongdoings, that his dead brother Thomas be pardoned for his part in opposing Edward II, and that accordingly he should receive his brother’s full inheritance. Edward listened and assented, refusing only to grant the part of Lancaster’s inheritance which Isabella had already taken for herself. Mortimer kept a low profile. Lancaster continued. As the king was under age, there should be a council of regency, composed of twelve or fourteen men, which he (Lancaster) would lead.1 And so the whole Lancastrian programme was rolled out. Many grievances dating back to the days of Thomas of Lancaster were aired: curbs on the abuses of gaolers, restrictions on the appointments of justices of the peace, rules against the king making contracts with lords to supply troops, restrictions on taxation. Lancaster was given an open field.
The power game which was developing during that parliament was subtle. Lancaster was trying to set the political agenda, as his brother had done before him, and to use parliament to reinforce his influence over a weak monarchy. Edward was in no position to do anything but take advice and play the official role of monarch, acquiescing to the council of regency. Mortimer’s strategy was totally different. He would not challenge Lancaster in parliament. He would allow the earl to dominate that forum. He did not mind if royal authority appeared weak. But through Queen Isabella, Mortimer had royal influence. He would let Lancaster play the part of a political leader while, behind the scenes, he played the king.
Mortimer’s subtlety in wresting control from Lancaster went much further than parliamentary contests. When Edward II had abdicated he had been promised that he would continue to enjoy regal status as he had before.2 And so he did at Kenilworth, under Lancaster’s guard. But certain lords did not see why the ex-king should be kept in prison. In addition, in March the Dunheved brothers, fanatical supporters of Edward II, tried to set him free. Mortimer could see that, whoever had custody of the ex-king wielded an instrument of great power. Since medieval kings were, by their very existence, royal, they could revoke any law which had been forced upon them. If Mortimer and Isabella were to lose favour, and if Edward II were to be freed, they might see the country reinstate the old king. Edward, still under-age, might find his father, as his guardian, commanding him to give up power. Mortimer and Isabella decided that Lancaster could not be trusted with such political leverage. As a result, Mortimer secured a royal writ to remove Edward II from Kenilworth. In March he left court and supervised the removal himself, with an armed retinue, much to Lancaster’s fury. The old king was taken to Berkeley Castle and placed under the care of two of Mortimer’s most trusted supporters: his son-in-law, Lord Berkeley, and his old comrade-in-arms, Sir John Maltravers.
To Edward, these developments were deeply disturbing. Neither Mortimer nor Lancaster was to be trusted. Lancaster was clearly following his own agenda: insisting, for example, that the young king confirm that he was bound by Magna Carta and the laws of the forest. And Mortimer was clearly a law unto himself, working through people, not institutions or ordinances. Isabella too was another force in the land. Her priority, however, was more straightforward. She sought money, in vast quantities. In addition to her twenty thousand marks a year, she now demanded another twenty thousand pounds to clear her debts.3 Edward could not stop her any more than he could stop Mortimer.
Although only fourteen, and therefore seven years short of being able to rule without a council of regency (in theory), Edward knew that young men who proved themselves in war could dispense with the need for councils and advisers. Richard Bury, full of historical anecdotes, had probably advised him that Mortimer himself had been advanced to his inheritance because of his soldierly prowess at a time when the then king needed knights. So too had some of the young men at court, such as Robert Ufford. Edward was supposed to be the new King Arthur. Had that legendary leader not also won renown as a youth, and come to the throne in his fifteenth year? Edward could see that in order to prove himself a king, he would have to be more than a well-dressed puppet on the throne.
The royal accounts for 1327 are littered with payments for armour for Edward.4 He commissioned his armourers to produce hauberks, greaves, lances, bascinets with visors (the latest style of protective helmet), gauntlets, trousers and breeches, and many other items of personal armorial wear. He ordered decorated aketons (protective stuffed leather jerkins), gilded lances and armour for tournaments. Some of his tournament armour was decorated with images of flowers and animals; some with royal emblems, such as leopards and crowns. Most importantly, he put this armour to use, as shown by a payment for enlarging his hauberk.5 Edward took part in tournaments, and, aware of what was expected of him, he made himself as obvious and as visible as possible. Although only fourteen, he was trying to live up to his destiny.
*
Edward’s need for a war to assert himself had an unlikely parallel north of the border. The Scots were no less aware than the English that this new king was prophesied to be the all-conquering King Arthur. In order to retaliate with a little propaganda of their own, they chose the day of the coronation to launch an attack on Norham Castle. Their plan went disastrously wrong after the governor of the castle heard rumours in advance, and the attackers were repulsed with the loss of several men. Nevertheless it was an indication that the Scots were no longer satisfied with the truce which had been signed in 1323. In particular, they were not happy that a promise made by Mortimer and Isabella before the invasion had not been honoured. To ensure Scots neutrality, Mortimer and Isabella had assured the Scottish representatives that if the invasion was successful, they would recognise Scotland as an independent kingdom.6 Isabella had entered into further negotiations just after Christmas 1326, but talks had already broken down. Robert Bruce was growing ill and old: an independent Scotland was his last great ambition. By the spring, he wanted action.
Mortimer and Isabella did not want war. They had gone so far as to sign an embarrassingly one-sided treaty with France in March in order to make sure they would not have to fight in Gascony.7 Lancaster, however, had good reasons to want the north armed and ready to fight. Bruce had demanded that the northern English barons give up their rights to their Scottish estates. In reality, the northerners had long since lost control of these lands, but they cherished their nominal rights nonetheless. Isabella could not persuade Lancaster and the other northern lords to surrender them. Thus there could be no lasting peace, and thus there would be repeated attacks on the northern marches of England by the Scottish king’s men until the matter was resolved. Negotiations led by Lord Percy in February and March failed. In April, the army was ordered to muster in preparation for an attack. Mortimer and Isabella still hoped for a peaceful settlement but Bruce did not trust them. Moreover, he knew that, if they wanted peace, he could not lose by waging war. He would send an army to harry the northern counties until the English leaders bought the peace they wanted by recognising Scotland’s independence.8
The consequent campaign was arranged with more ceremony than strategy on the part of the English. Positions of authority went to all three royal earls – Lancaster, Norfolk and Kent – with Lancaster in overall control. But no one doubted that Mortimer was really in charge. He had considerably more battlefield experience than the earls. Hainaulter mercenaries joined them at York, where a riot – which resulted in several hundred deaths – was only quelled by the king and his magnates riding through the streets to restore order. Edward could take a measure of pride in his appearance being the decisive factor in calming the riot, but the omens for the campaign were not good.
Still, this was his great opportunity, and he was determined to make the most of it. On 1 July he set out with the army and began the march to Durham, with trumpets sounding and pennons fluttering. Although the chronicler who recorded these details – Jean le Bel – does not describe the pennons in detail, they bore the arms of St George.9 This was not the first time St George had been adopted by an English army in the field; both Edward I and Edward II had carried pennons bearing the red cross on white background.10But on that occasion the pennons had been mixed with those of St Edmund and St Edward, kings of England. This time, only the arms of St George were specifically made. Eighteen hundred of them were ordered to be taken to Stanhope. During the campaign, more were ordered, including some for the king’s own trumpet. It seems Edward was calling the warrior-saint to stand by him, perhaps as an emblem of his prophesied status as a champion of God.
Unfortunately for Edward, the English forces were slow and cumbersome. The Scots by comparison were supremely manoeuvrable. Under the command of Sir Thomas Randolph and Black Douglas, they ran rings around the English force. Seeing they had been outwitted again, and not knowing whether the Scots were planning to attack the queen mother at York, or were in retreat to Scotland, one of the commanders ordered a sudden dash to the north to cut them off.11 It was an unwise decision, for it split the footsoldiers from the mounted men-at-arms. And the supply wagons were left far behind. By the time the English had regrouped at Haydon Bridge, on the River Tyne, many of the men were hungry, soaked with the heavy rains, tired, and starving. Worse, they had no idea where their enemy was.
At this point Edward tried to take control of the situation. He sent word among his bedraggled and downhearted men that whoever would tell him where the Scots were would receive a knighthood and an income of one hundred pounds a year for life. Esquires set out immediately in all directions. One, Thomas Rokeby, not only found the Scots, he was captured by them. When he told them of his mission they laughed and let him go. Rokeby returned to Edward and admitted he had been captured. Edward acknowledged his honesty and, true to his word, knighted him. Rokeby might have been successful in a most inglorious fashion, but he had given Edward the initiative he wanted. He also gave Edward the opportunity to demonstrate that the king intended to honour his promises. The king ordered the army to be prepared, and masses to be sung, and called for his confessor.
The army set out that morning. They passed the burnt-out ruins of Blanchland Priory and continued on towards the Scots’ position. Edward was determined to do battle: his mind was fastened on what was required of a king. And the men around him, his bodyguard, would have been aware that this young man truly meant to fight, and that they were bound to fight to the death to protect him. At about midday, as they came towards a steep hill on the far side of the River Wear, the Scots army appeared, gathering themselves into battalions on the slope.
The tension mounted, on both sides. The Scots were in an unassailable position, but Edward was not going to hold back. More than just Scottish independence was at stake: Edward’s self-esteem and personal authority hung in the balance. The English army drew up below the Scots’ position, on the near side of the river, in readiness. Edward, on horseback, rode among them, calling out encouragement. This was unusual for an English king; his father certainly had not done likewise. But Edward wanted everyone there to see he was different from his father. He wanted men to see that he would willingly share their danger. Occasionally he stopped, and dubbed a man a knight there and then. Then he rode on, telling the men that, under pain of death, no one was to attack until the order for the whole battalion to move was given.
Then the advance began. The army moved forward in slow time, to see whether the Scots would withdraw. They did not. Closer and closer the English approached, the crosses of St George flapping in the wind before them, until the two sides were in arrow range, and they could recognise the nobles on the opposing side by their coats of arms. The Scots stared back. The English came to the river. Then Mortimer called a halt. After the failure of a contingent of archers to break the Scots’ position, Mortimer called off the attack.
Edward was furious. Who was Mortimer to give orders? And who was he to take away Edward’s chance of glory? But the truth was that Mortimer was in control, and even he was nervous. His priorities were to keep the young king from danger, to drive the Scots out of England and allow them to pass back into their own country without great loss, so that they would sign a treaty. He could not see how he could attack the Scots in their present position without risking all these things; they had chosen a spot which was too well-defended. The young king had to be held back. To break the deadlock, Mortimer agreed to allow heralds to cross the river to ask the Scots to fight a fair pitched battle, as the king wanted.
This move bought Mortimer time, but that was all. The Scots’ reply was calculated to enrage Edward even further. ‘The king of England can see we are in his land, and he can see we have burnt and pillaged wherever we have been. If the king is displeased, let him come and seek redress.’12 Edward’s response was to camp exactly where they were. Although he could not go forward because of Mortimer, he would not retreat on account of the Scots. The English nobles spent an uncomfortable night in the open, in their armour, while the Scots banged drums and kept them awake, to demoralise them.
So began a long stalemate. Edward wanted to attack. Mortimer would not let him. The English lords were set to besiege the Scots in their well-defended position. This stalemate was only broken to be replaced by another, when the Scots suddenly left their camp to take up position in an even better-defended spot. The siege began again: the English weary with the wait, and Edward frustrated that he was being denied a battle in which to prove himself a man.
It was at this second site, still on the banks of the River Wear, that the Scots made their move. On or about 3 August, the English had placed their guard for the night as usual. But unknown to them, Black Douglas – the famous Sir James Douglas who was to die in Spain, flinging the heart of Robert Bruce into the midst of the enemy that was pressing his men on all sides – took two hundred men along the river bank and crossed quietly in the moonlight.13 The English camp was quiet and unsuspecting. Most Englishmen were asleep. Suddenly the Scots rushed in, slashing the ropes of the tents and thrusting down with spears on the sleeping men caught beneath the tangled canvas, ropes and poles. The leaders were sleeping in their armour, and were quickly awake, but they could do little to organise resistance, and many men were slain. Edward himself was badly shaken, for as he slept, Black Douglas cut the ropes supporting his pavilion. The plan had been to capture the young king, but one of his chaplains within his tent managed to conceal him, saving him from a terrible humiliation.14 All through the camp the cries of ‘A Douglas! A Douglas! You shall all die, English thieves!’ rang out and caused terror. Then, as quickly as they had arrived, Douglas and his Scotsmen left the English to tend to their wounded men as they lay screaming, dying of their wounds, in the night.
The next few days were unremarkable in terms of military encounters. Black Douglas had made his point well: the Scots were in the ascendant because the English had too much to lose. Even the English and Hainaulters marvelled at the Scots’ audacity. But for Edward it was a startling introduction to war. He had come close to being killed. He had seen and heard men butchered around him. He had seen the dead, their lifeless flesh, the grass soaked with blood. The sight was hideous, but in his comprehension of war and his duty, what he perceived to be required was not a man who would shrink from the sight of death but a man who would lead his men despite such horrors. So completely did Edward believe in his duty to lead a fighting nation, that he saw himself as the failure of Stanhope Park, and Douglas as the victor, even though the English generally saw themselves as the army which forced Douglas to retreat. When a few days later the Scots once more tricked the English, and escaped by night, leaving their leather cauldrons bubbling with stewed meat in a final insult to the army of King Edward, the young king broke down and wept. The tension had been great; the stakes had been high, and in all the suddenness of the Scots’ departure it became clear to Edward that he had lost in every way. The Scots had succeeded in harassing the English and getting away without a battle. Mortimer had succeeded in stopping them invade England further, and in protecting the king. And Edward was as powerless as ever.
*
There was one small consolation in the failure of the attack on the Scots: Edward had at last been able to speak out against Mortimer openly and in full view of the leading nobles of England. They had all cowered under Mortimer’s reply – Lancaster included – but just by speaking his mind Edward had distanced himself from the growing authority of this dictatorial Mortimer. When the court was informed in September 1327 that there was a rebellion growing in South Wales and Mortimer declared that he would leave court to attend to it in person, Edward can only have been relieved. He could not possibly have foreseen the depths to which he would shortly be plunged.
The court travelled from York to Nottingham, and from Nottingham to Lincoln. There, on 15 September, parliament assembled. Mortimer still had not returned, and Edward was able for several days to imagine that he was king in practice as well as in name. Many issues were raised – charters were confirmed, pardons were issued, terms of military service were established, taxation was discussed, the debts of the Crown were negotiated, and the franchises of cities reaffirmed – and no fewer than seventeen Acts were passed. Mortimer only returned on the fifth or sixth day. At the end of the parliament on Wednesday 23 September Edward could reflect that at last his authority was growing, and that perhaps soon he would be king de facto as well as de jure. But late that night a messenger, Thomas Gurney, arrived from Berkeley Castle. He was carrying two letters: one for the queen and one for Edward. His father, the late king, was dead.
Although Edward’s relationship with his father had been difficult, it was not the man but his unsuitability as a king which had come between them. Had his father not been a monarch – if he had been a minor lord – he would have been able to enjoy a much simpler life, and he would have been far happier. But as a king, unloved as a child, expected to be a warrior and a leader against his temperament, and placed in a position of responsibility which he simply could not understand, his unhappiness and the unhappiness of his family had been guaranteed. Edward had witnessed the arguments at court and fully comprehended the depth of his father’s failures of responsibility. But did these failures deserve to be punished with loss of royal status, liberty, and life? Edward did not think so. He wrote to his cousin, the young earl of Hereford, the next day, with the principal purpose of giving orders for the reinforcement of the northern border against a possible further Scottish attack, but he was unable to refrain from passing on the news that ‘my father has been commanded to God’.15
Edward could not have helped but dwell on his father’s death. Natural causes? It must have been an illness brought on by grief, some said.16 But the man was strong, forty-three years of age. Edward dared not repeat a suspicion that his father had been killed, but it probably occurred to him. On the other hand, his mother did not appear particularly grief-stricken even though she had been fond of her husband, and had sent him presents in his captivity at Berkeley. But since her liaison with Mortimer, Edward was not sure how to interpret her reaction. Mortimer himself gave nothing away. He gave permission for the abbot of Crokesden to commemorate the old king’s death annually on 21 September, and allowed the prior of Canterbury to do likewise. But he refused permission to the monk Robert Beby to receive Edward’s body in order to bury him with his father, mother and grandfather in the church of Westminster Abbey.
From the 24th or 25th messengers carried the news that Edward II was dead across the country. Lords and knights leaving Lincoln after the parliament took the news with them on their return journeys. A huge canopied hearse was ordered for the late king, to be sent to Gloucester Abbey. Various knights and priests were detailed to join the bishop of Llandaff in the continual watching of the shrouded body from the time of its delivery to Gloucester until its burial. Eight hundred gold leaves were purchased for gilding a leopard onto the cover placed over the body.17 Knightly robes and tunics were commissioned for the attendants.18 Four great lions were made by John Estwyk, the king’s painter, who gilded them and covered them with draped garments adorned with the royal arms, to be placed at the four corners of the late king’s hearse. Four images of the Evangelists were also built by Estwyk to sit on top of the hearse. Eight incense-burners in the form of angels with towers of gold, and two rampant leopards, were made for the exterior of the hearse.19 A wooden effigy of the dead king was carved, dressed in his robes and given a gilded copper crown.20 Oak beams were supplied to keep the crowds away from the hundreds of candles which were to be placed on and around the hearse. Armour, including two helmets, was purchased for the deceased king.21 Everything was packaged and transported by road to Gloucester, ready for the funeral, which was scheduled for 20 December.
In the meantime, Edward was jousting.22 At first, this seems incongruous, and somewhat disrespectful. The young king, having just lost his father, continued to follow his favourite pastime. But we must remember that Edward was no ordinary young man, and martial prowess was a duty which consumed him completely. Jousting was part of his education as well as a pastime. One can read just as readily that Mortimer ordered the tournaments to take place, to divert Edward’s attention. It was a full three months between receipt of the letters announcing Edward II’s death and the funeral. Life, with all its demands on the young king, had to continue.
On the day of the funeral, Edward, his mother, his uncles, and Mortimer were among the several hundred mourners who gathered for the late king’s obsequies. Hundreds of candles burned on and around the magnificent hearse. High within its structure the crowned wooden effigy of the king was clearly visible, lying on top of the sealed wooden coffin, which encased the lead coffin in which the embalmed body lay. Isabella was given a silver vase with the man’s heart inside, in accordance with her long-stated wish to bury his heart with her.23 As the monks of the abbey sang a mass, the royal family watched the coffin taken from the hearse and lowered into the tomb on the north side of the nave. The monks carried on singing for the soul of the departed man and the royal party withdrew. They stayed only for one night in Gloucester, and then left, travelling to Worcester, which they reached the following day.
Over the last three months Edward had come to terms with his father’s death. He still must have felt a sense of loss, and not just on personal grounds, for his father was the only other man in England to have borne the burden of kingship. In those three months too he had grown more wary of Mortimer, who, if he had murdered his father, might equally turn against him. Mortimer had, after all, demonstrated how he could use parliament to remove a king, and then how he could have that ex-king buried without anyone publicly asking questions as to the manner of death, or even seeing the corpse. In this mixture of personal loss, fear, and growing responsibility, the next development in Edward’s reign must have been utterly devastating. He must have felt his whole world shaken. Shortly after the funeral, probably while journeying to Worcester, he was told that his father was not dead.24 The whole episode had been a fabrication. The letters sent by Lord Berkeley announcing the death had been false. Edward had been tricked.
Although we may now piece together the process whereby Edward, parliament and the rest of the country had been misled (see Appendix Two), we cannot know what the young king thought in the days and weeks after receiving this shocking news. However, it is reasonable to suggest that, along with the resentment towards Mortimer, he felt an element of self-recrimination. Mortimer had set the trap, but he (Edward) had walked blindly into it. As soon as he had been informed of his father’s death, he had started circulating the news. On the very next day, in fact. Why did it never occur to him to check the identity of the corpse, to insist on seeing his father’s face? But Edward was intelligent enough to realise that his mother and Mortimer between them would have prevented him from making sure. And his mother may well have suggested that it was in all their best interests that his father lived out the rest of his days in obscurity. It had been already agreed that the man should be kept perpetually in prison. But any relief Edward felt in knowing that his father was alive would gradually have been eroded by the disturbing implications of this news. Mortimer had power over his father. His father had been forced to abdicate. What if Mortimer were to turn against him? Edward would be exposed as having officially announced his own father’s death and having subsequently attended the funeral, when a false body was lowered into a royal grave. How on earth could he, Edward, do anything but support this upstart monster, Mortimer? He had not only been tricked, he had been trapped. And his mother was part of the plot. There was no one to whom he could turn.
*
On Sunday 24 January 1328 Edward met Philippa of Hainault, his bride, at the gates of York. It had been more than a year since he had last seen her, at Valenciennes, but the kind and pretty Philippa was a most welcome sight. She was practically the same age as Edward, probably eighteen months his junior.25 She was of the same blood, being his second cousin on his mother’s side. Most important of all, she was temperamentally his ideal companion. She had a sense of humour, loved romances, and displayed a sympathetic understanding of people. Her wedding present for her husband was an illuminated collection of texts for aspiring rulers, including the ‘Book of Julius Caesar’ and the ‘Government of Kings’, and a book of statutes and music, with an illuminated picture of Edward in his favourite pose, holding a falcon: altogether a well-considered gift.26 Side by side they rode into the city, with the crowd celebrating in widespread and heartfelt joy at their union. Either the next day or on Tuesday 26th they were married in the cathedral by the archbishop, William Melton, with Bishop Hotham of Ely in attendance, watched by Mortimer and Isabella and thousands of lords, knights, esquires, priests and citizens of York.27 The Hainaulters were as fervent in their celebrations as the English. Count William of Hainault, struggling with gout, had accompanied his daughter and his brother, Sir John, bringing a large contingent. Of course there were tournaments. Philippa watched as Edward fought, with the pennons of his chosen protector, St George, flying above him.28
For Edward the wonderful thing about Philippa was that, for the first time, he had someone totally loyal in whom he could confide. Isabella could read his letters and Mortimer could spy on his conversations, but neither of them could come between him and his wife. She very quickly became his support in his struggles with the leaders of the regime. Although Edward could not reduce Mortimer’s authority, he could obstruct his plans. Also with Philippa came a number of young pages and Hainaulter servants who owed no allegiance to anyone but her. One, Walter Manny, would prove a lifelong friend to Edward. When Edward’s household officers were appointed by Mortimer, and when he had to entrust his secret business to men like John Wyard – a man who would one day betray him – he needed all the friends he could get.29
Before the end of the wedding festivities, dark news was received in York. King Charles of France, Isabella’s last brother, had died, leaving no heir. Since females were barred from inheriting the French throne, Isabella had no claim herself; but she could pass on her claim to her son. Indeed, with all her brothers dead, if Isabella wanted her dear father’s dynasty to continue to occupy the French throne, she had no alternative but to make a claim on behalf of Edward.
As far as Edward was concerned, the French claim only added to his problems. In the parliament which met at York directly after the wedding, it became clear that Mortimer and Isabella were preparing to give up his sovereignty of Scotland. This would alienate his northern barons, and lose Edward part of his inheritance. More personally, his grandfather, Edward I, had fought long and hard for control of Scotland; it should not be given up without a fight. To Edward, Scotland symbolised everything that was ignoble about the government exercised in his name. He also knew that unless he made it clear that he personally did not agree to giving up Scotland, a large contingent of English lords would blame him, for not standing up to Mortimer.
Mortimer and Isabella were unassailable. On 1 March letters were issued in Edward’s name which outlined the terms of the permanent peace. Edward had to renounce all his claims and those made by his ancestors. The borders of the time of Alexander III (d.1286) were to be recognised. All English lordships in Scotland were to become Scottish lordships. All English actions against the Scots at the papal curia were to be dropped. Most personal of all these insults to Edward’s status was the clause about a royal marriage. One of his sisters would be forced to marry the heir to the kingdom of Scotland, David, the eldest son of Robert Bruce, a man whom most Englishmen held to be a traitor.30 To agree publicly with any of these terms would be humiliating. Edward began thinking about how he could make his disagreement publicly known.
Edward’s quiet planning was given an unexpected boost a few days later. For the first time since the invasion, his mother, Mortimer and Lancaster all left him. On 2 March he issued a writ urging the sheriffs throughout the kingdom to assist his mother wherever she went on her pilgrimage.31 On 5 March the next parliament was summoned to meet at Northampton at the end of April.32 And then they began to depart. Mortimer disappeared off to Wales, probably with Isabella.33 Lancaster and his kinsman, Thomas Wake, remained with Edward until 8 March and left shortly afterwards. Edward was left in the keeping of the bishops of Lincoln and Norwich, Gilbert Talbot, John Maltravers (then steward of the household), William Zouche, and John Darcy.34
This unprecedented departure prompts us to wonder what was going on in March 1328. And we might well wonder, for one of the reasons why Mortimer left court was to attend to his business in secret. We might say that, if contemporaries did not know what he was up to, what hope have we seven hundred years later? It is like trying to find where a needle was in a long-since vanished haystack. But the problem is potentially very important. For another of the characters who disappeared from court at this time was the earl of Kent, Edward’s uncle. He was away for the same period as Mortimer, and returned to court at the same time as him.35 This is interesting because these two men seem to have fallen out at this point. They had been close in France in 1325–26, and Kent had married Mortimer’s cousin, Margaret Wake. Kent had urged a gift of a manor to be given to Mortimer after the invasion; Mortimer had responded on 3 March 1328, offering Kent some of Hugh Despenser’s old lands. But thereafter there is no evidence of closeness between them, and later there was great hostility. The reason this is relevant to Edward III is that, at some point in 1328, almost certainly before March, Kent discovered that Edward II was still alive.
This was the third great worry (along with France and Scotland) that weighed on Edward III’s mind in the summer of 1328. In 1327 there had been three attempts to rescue his father from prison: what if it were to happen again? Edward would then be entirely dependent on Mortimer to protect him. But how did Kent know? In 1330 he confessed that a friar had conjured up a devil, who had told him; but this was merely a ruse to cover up his true source. This was almost certainly Sir John Pecche, a man of fluctuating loyalty, who returned unexpectedly from abroad in about January 1328. He was the keeper of Corfe Castle, where the old king was being held.36
Edward, still only fifteen-and-a-half, was under huge pressure when parliament gathered at Northampton. War with France was being discussed. The independence of Scotland threatened England. And the earl of Kent’s knowledge was potentially the greatest danger of them all. Disempowered by his mother and Mortimer, and separately undermined by his uncle, what could he do but try to manoeuvre himself between their contests, and look to his own safety, while trusting that others would speak out on his behalf? Lancaster, as head of the council of regency, did speak up. But he and Mortimer were so hostile to one another by this stage that Mortimer had no qualms about using Edward’s name and authority to threaten his rival. When Mortimer declared outrageously that he spoke for the king, and the king’s will was that Scotland should be independent, Lancaster declared that this ‘shameful peace’ was none of his will. Mortimer stood firm, knowing Edward could not oppose him. As everyone was in some way compromised by, or afraid of, Mortimer, no one else followed Lancaster’s lead. Edward was forced to ratify the treaty. Parliament broke up, and Edward had to acknowledge he had lost a part of his kingdom. Once more he had failed to live up to his responsibilities. Once more he had been publicly humiliated.37
*
It is easy to dismiss Mortimer’s role in 1328 as that of a self-interested dictator. But even Edward would have acknowledged that his adversary was more than that. Mortimer believed he had relieved the country of a tyrant, and was now acting in the manner of a benign governor. He had done so before – quite legitimately and successfully – in Ireland in 1317–20. However, now his position was complicated by his illegal appropriation of royal authority. Even if his actions had been enlightened they would never have been agreeable to Edward. Mortimer’s mere existence was a blow to royal authority, for it prevented him from ruling in the proper capacity of a monarch.
As a result, the strains on the relationship with his mother and Mortimer were felt most acutely by Edward. After Northampton, Mortimer and Isabella dragged Edward and Philippa to Hereford, there to attend the double wedding of two of Mortimer’s many daughters and the post-nuptial tournament. This was another opportunity for Mortimer to spread his largesse, and to be seen as rich and powerful. But simply by being there, at Mortimer’s beck and call, was a humiliation for Edward. And so it went on, day after day. From Hereford the royal party slowly made their way to Mortimer’s castle at Ludlow. After two days hawking and jousting, they made their way back south to Worcester. There they waited for Henry of Lancaster, so Mortimer and Isabella could discuss the war with France. It might have been Edward’s inheritance they were discussing, but it was Mortimer, Isabella and Lancaster who were doing the talking.
Faced with such humiliations, we might wonder why Edward did not speak out more often against Mortimer and Isabella. He probably did, but his opinions rarely reached the distant chroniclers. Also he was still young, only fifteen, and relatively insecure. He did not yet have the circle of determined supporters of later years; his contemporaries were relatively young. We must also remember that he was fond of his mother. And as for Mortimer, he did have his uses. At least he acted as a protection against Lancaster. At Worcester it became clear to Edward that, while Lancaster might argue with Mortimer about France and Scotland, what Lancaster most wanted was to control the king. Lancaster realised that Mortimer had outwitted him; he had to diminish or destroy Mortimer if he wished to take his place.
Mortimer’s and Lancaster’s arguments at Worcester were met with an outburst by Edward himself. In defiance of his two over-mighty magnates, Edward tried to impose his own will, to resist the demands on him to attend the marriage of his sister Joan with the son of Robert Bruce.38 Mortimer and Isabella in turn countered that these matters had already been agreed at Northampton. But this time Edward did not back down. People had already cruelly renamed her ‘Joan Makepeace’, as if she were just a diplomatic tool. He refused to attend the wedding. He would stay in England while they went north. It was argued that this would damage the value of the alliance; but in Edward’s eyes there was no alliance, for there was no peace. Seeing that there was nothing they could do to force him to come with them, his mother and Mortimer had no choice but to leave him behind.
*
In August 1328 Edward’s brother, John, turned twelve years of age. Like Philippa, he was a natural ally against the growing oppression of Mortimer. Having been raised as a prince under the guardianship of a king, John could see the situation entirely from Edward’s point of view. He was now being ruled by a baron. This led to what was probably Edward’s next stand. When Mortimer demanded that, at the forthcoming Salisbury parliament, he be given the hugely significant title of Earl of March, Edward countered by pushing his brother forward to receive the rich earldom of Cornwall.
By this stage relations between Mortimer and Lancaster, and between both men and Edward, had reached a new low. On 7 September, Lancaster had threatened Mortimer and the king with an army at Barlings Abbey, near Lincoln. Edward was clearly shocked. A London rebellion was being planned also, and Edward was again dependent on Mortimer to send men to eliminate opposition from that quarter. Lancaster issued a whole string of accusations against Mortimer. As the date for the Salisbury parliament approached, it looked as if only pro-Mortimer supporters would attend. Lancaster’s faction were preparing not for discussion but for war. That Edward was personally in danger was not in doubt. At the end of September Lancaster sent an armed force to capture him in East Anglia. It was only Edward’s speedy reaction – forcing the court to travel 180 miles westwards in six days, towards the relative safety of Mortimer and Isabella at Gloucester – which saved him from falling into Lancaster’s hands. If that had happened, Mortimer and Isabella would have lost their royal power, and Lancaster would have gained it. Civil war would have ensued.
Lancaster failed to arrive at the Salisbury parliament. The agenda was thus Mortimer’s. No statutes were enrolled. The main items of business were the civil disturbances, the likelihood of war, and Mortimer’s title. On the last day of October Edward ceremonially strapped the sword on to his mother’s lover, and exchanged the kiss of peace with him, and in so doing created him earl of March. It must have been a far greater pleasure for him to do the same for his young brother, John, and the twenty-three-year-old James Butler, whom he created earl of Ormond.
Mortimer’s title only infuriated Lancaster more. Throughout the latter part of 1328 it looked as though a great battle would be fought to establish who had the right to rule in Edward’s name. At Winchester, Lancaster was persuaded to retreat at the very hour that Mortimer’s vanguard arrived in the city. Skirmishes took place, but the two armies narrowly avoided one another. In London, Mortimer harangued the citizens who had dared to take Lancaster’s side. Finally, at the end of December, Mortimer declared war on Lancaster in Edward’s name. The young king could not have known what to think as his mother also donned armour and took part in a sudden overnight charge which resulted in Lancaster’s capitulation near Bedford.
*
The year 1328 had seen Edward being fought over by Mortimer and Lancaster, like a wounded gazelle being trapped between two lions. Victory for Mortimer hardly made Edward’s sleep any easier. The real danger for the gazelle begins when one lion has defeated the other and may safely consume its prey.
Edward’s uncles, the earls of Norfolk and Kent, had initially sided with Lancaster. They had deserted him at the last, rather than take arms against the king. Like Edward himself, they saw no victory in Lancaster’s defeat. Kent in particular wanted to see Mortimer removed from power: that was why he had sided with Lancaster in the first place. And in his opinion Edward was too young and inexperienced to throw off the irons of Mortimer’s authority. In spring 1329 Kent took matters into his own hands. He planned a mission overseas to see Pope John XXII and began his arrangements for the rescue of Edward II.
Edward was also planning an overseas trip; or, rather, Mortimer and Isabella were planning one for him. Isabella had been persuaded to relinquish her claim to the French throne on Edward’s behalf, largely because the risk of civil war made an overseas expedition impossible. Instead she had been persuaded reluctantly to recognise Edward’s cousin, Philip de Valois, as king. But this rankled with her, as indeed it did with Edward himself. When Philip had demanded that Edward come to France to do homage for his French possessions, Isabella retorted that ‘the son of a king would never do homage to the son of a mere count’. This infuriated Philip. He confiscated the revenues of Gascony and sent envoys to demand that Edward do homage as initially stated. Edward could see his French possessions slipping from his grasp as quickly as his Scottish ones. Mortimer agreed that he should do what was required of him, and perform homage. After a flurry of diplomatic missions, Edward appointed his younger brother, John, custodian of the realm during his absence. He said farewell to him, his mother, and Mortimer at Dover at the end of May.
Edward had many men with him, including Hugh Turpington and John Maltravers, Mortimer’s most loyal knights. He also had close friends in William Montagu, Thomas West, Geoffrey le Scrope, Pancio de Controne and Robert Ufford. Montagu, now aged about twenty-seven, had been at court since his father’s death in 1319, when he had become a royal ward. Thus he had known Edward since the age of six. Thomas West was one of Montagu’s retainers.39 Ufford was thirty years old, and had known Edward as long as Montagu. The Italian de Controne was Edward’s personal physician. Le Scrope was the prominent lawyer who had assisted in Edward’s household many years earlier. With the possible exception of le Scrope, all these friends of Edward’s had seen their hopes for the future threatened by Mortimer. To them Mortimer represented the traumas of the old reign. And they knew Edward needed their help. He had already lost his rights to Scotland, and was on the verge of surrendering his rights to France. His royal power had been held from him, his father held prisoner, his uncle Kent alienated from court. We do not know when Edward began to confide in Montagu and Ufford, but we might assume from their presence on this trip that they were there at Edward’s insistence, and that Edward was already closer to them than he was to Mortimer’s henchmen.
Edward and his men landed at Wissant on 26 May, after a two-day crossing. They made their way via Crécy and Montreuil to Amiens, where on 6 June, in the choir of the cathedral, Edward swore homage to Philip. Something about the ceremony, however, was not right. Various writers later postulated that Edward had not put his hands between Philip’s when swearing the oath; others thought that he had not sworn fealty, and thus refused to serve Philip in war.40 One thought Philip was planning to arrest Edward after the ceremony.41 Another story was that Isabella summoned him to return immediately.42 Whatever the truth of what happened, Edward left France in a hurry. He did not beg leave of the French king; he simply left. Within six days he was back on English soil. Two days later he was at Canterbury.
Why did Edward depart so suddenly? So many problems were billowing like smoke out of England that it is difficult to know which was the most important. One is the possibility that Isabella was pregnant, with Mortimer’s child.43 This would have threatened Isabella especially, and it may be that she and Mortimer immediately sought Edward’s acquiescence, if not his approval. However, it is unlikely that Isabella would have upset a diplomatic agreement for the sake of not telling Edward such news for a few more days. It is more probable that something directly threatened Edward as well as Isabella and Mortimer. This is very unlikely to have been a French plot to arrest him. The message would have been poorly directed if it had reached him having travelled via England. Also, on his return to England, Edward authorised the negotiations for a marriage between his brother John and a daughter of the king of France. The most likely explanation is that this was the point at which Mortimer and Isabella discovered the nature of Kent’s plot to rescue Edward II.
Historians have traditionally assumed Edward II had been dead for the last two years. If any acknowledged that this was not certain, they still assumed that Edward II had disappeared from English politics altogether, and that he may as well have been dead.44 But it has become clear that this was not the case: Edward II’s shadow haunted Edward III far more than has hitherto been realised. Edward was a nervous young man, beset by troubles. And the knowledge that his father was alive, and that he himself, through his royal position, had helped create the lie of his father’s death, troubled him mightily. In later years it became usual for members of the royal family to be buried with their faces exposed, precisely to avoid the confusion which now beset Edward and his contemporaries.45The news that Kent had gone to the pope to inform him that Edward II was still alive must have alarmed Edward as much as it did Mortimer and Isabella.
Kent had been planning his trip for several months, since at least April if not earlier.46 But he was still in England in May, and seems not to have left until early June.47 It seems that Isabella may have ordered Edward to hurry home in the fear that Kent, after his support for Lancaster, might himself have sought to kidnap Edward while in France, possibly to stage his own coup d’état. Kent was no fool, despite often being referred to as one, and he too could have used custody of the young king to steal power in England, just like Mortimer or Lancaster.48 All we know for certain is that, as Edward was swearing homage to King Philip on 6 June, his uncle was crossing or about to cross the Channel with a view to taking action against Mortimer and Isabella’s regime by replacing Edward on the throne with his secretly imprisoned father.
The situation would have been made clear to Edward on his arrival back in England. If we are right in thinking that Isabella was pregnant at this time, Edward would have been forced to grapple with that fact also. Problem after problem seemed to loom before him. And Mortimer, the architect of so many of these problems, seemed more confident than ever. That autumn he held a great feast at his newly rebuilt castle of Wigmore, at which he (Mortimer) played the part of King Arthur in the king’s presence. The symbolism was unambiguous. Mortimer was playing the king himself in front of Edward, the real king. This was more than mere play-acting.
Although not yet seventeen, Edward realised he had to take steps to reclaim power. He decided that his first move must be to convince the pope of his integrity. A week after the tournament at Wigmore, he sent William Montagu to Avignon. The mission was secret: ostensibly Montagu was to see Otto, lord of Cuyk, whom Edward said he wished to employ.49 But Mortimer was quick. On learning of Montagu’s trip, he instructed his own man, Sir Bartholomew Burghersh, to accompany Montagu. Undaunted, Montagu did what Edward had bade him, and saw Pope John XXII. On the journey he may have been able to persuade Burghersh to change allegiance, at least tacitly, for he was able to see the pope and tell him of the plight in which Edward found himself, and how the country was being run against his wishes by Mortimer and Isabella. Pope John told Montagu to return to England and let Edward send him a secret letter bearing a sign or cipher by which he could discern which letters to him came with Edward’s blessing and which did not.
Sending Montagu to Avignon meant Edward was temporarily without his most trusted friend. But others were beginning to rally to his cause. Most important of these was Richard Bury, Edward’s old tutor, whom he had managed to keep with him. Bury had been a cofferer in 1327, and keeper of Edward’s wardrobe from August 1328. On 24 September he was raised to the position of keeper of the privy seal. This was crucial: it meant that one of Edward’s trusted servants had custody of the means by which his personal instructions could be authenticated. It marked a distinct setback for Mortimer and Isabella, and the best-informed chronicles begin to note that at this time Mortimer was beginning to perceive Edward as a threat.50 In particular, when the pope asked Montagu to arrange the means by which he could distinguish between Edward’s and Mortimer’s written intentions, Bury wrote a letter which Edward himself signed with the words ‘Pater Sancte’ (Holy Father).51 This is today the earliest surviving writing in the hand of an English monarch.
Everyone was playing a deadly game. Mortimer could see his influence waning. But as the basis for his confidence diminished, Edward saw him growing more arrogant and more dangerous. The child which may have been born to Mortimer and Isabella at Kenilworth in December 1329 would have made nothing easier for any of them. Isabella too was vulnerable. Lancaster, only superficially forgiven for his rebellion, was out of the country, on a diplomatic mission, possibly coordinating activity from France. To make matters more dangerous still, rumours about Lancaster’s return, or Kent’s return, with an army of mercenaries were circulating. On 7 December 1329 Mortimer and Isabella issued a warrant to arrest anyone spreading such rumours.52 Feelings were running high, and, at the height of these feelings, Kent returned. The man with the knowledge and power to blow the whole situation sky high was back in England.53
No one knew quite what to expect at the beginning of 1330. Edward now learnt that Philippa was pregnant, and expecting their first child. Mortimer, fully aware of the danger to them all, was plotting. So too was Kent. They all came together for the coronation of Queen Philippa at Westminster Abbey on 18 February.54
The records do not show how tense the situation was. The only documents which shed any light on that day are those which show what the queen was wearing. The fantastic ostentation is worth quoting, for it contrasts so completely with the antagonisms at court. It was almost as if Edward was ordering Philippa to spend as much as she possibly could in order to emphasise his right to empty the royal purse. For her journey from the Tower of London to Westminster on the eve of her coronation, Philippa wore a tunic comprising nine-and-a-half ells of green velvet cloth; for the cape she wore on the same occasion ‘three of the very best red cloths of gold spinet’, along with a selection of miniver furs.55 The next day – the day of her coronation – she wore, in the morning, a robe of seven cloths ‘of green gold spinet of the very best quality’; a fur hood and fur cap. Then she changed, and wore a lined tunic and a lined mantel of red and grey samite for her anointing and coronation. This took place before the high altar of Westminster Abbey, Philippa being crowned by the new archbishop of Canterbury, Simon Meopham. She changed again for lunch, and wore a tunic and a mantel ‘of the very best purple cloth of gold spinet and a hood of miniver fur’. For supper she changed again, and wore a robe of the very best gold spinet, a miniver fur and a miniver hood and fur cape. Finally, after her coronation, she dressed in a robe of the very best cloth of gold, and yet more furs, this time of ermine. According to the annalist of St Paul’s, there was a great procession, and the queen rode between Edward’s two uncles – Kent and Norfolk – who dressed as pages and rode on palfreys with her to the abbey. One wonders at the pleasantries which passed, the conversations which bubbled over the deep anxiety felt by Kent, Edward, Philippa, Mortimer and Isabella.
In fact the situation was worse than any member of the royal family could have guessed, including Kent. Mortimer now had the means to bring the crisis to a head. He had managed to obtain from his agent, John Deveril, at Corfe Castle, written proof of the earl of Kent’s plot to release Edward II and dethrone Edward III. The incriminating letter had been written by Mortimer’s own cousin, Margaret Wake, Kent’s wife. Mortimer had to respond. His response would be cold and severe. He would have to betray the continued existence of the old king, but that perhaps was not such a bad thing for him, as he would thereby undermine Edward’s authority. Either way he could not delay. Kent’s plot was about to spring Edward II from Corfe. The archbishop of York had even written to the mayor of London to arrange for the delivery of clothes for the old king after his release.56 The rumours were rife, incriminating letters were being passed from hand to hand. Mortimer must have considered this might be his only chance to save himself and Isabella, and perhaps to stave off a civil war between his own faction, fighting in the name of Edward III, and those who, like Kent, wished to see Edward II restored.
*
At Winchester, on 13 March, Mortimer made his move. In the hall of the castle, in the king’s presence and with the lords all assembled, he announced that he had arrested the king’s uncle, the earl of Kent, on a charge of treason.
The stakes could not have been higher. Calculations had been piled on calculations; risks on risks. Edward probably trusted Mortimer to keep his father’s survival secret, even at this stage, even though many of those attending parliament knew the truth. If the ex-king’s survival became an open matter for debate, then he, Edward, could be accused of breaking the terms of Magna Carta, and keeping a man wrongly imprisoned. His uncles had, in fact, already accused him of exactly that crime.57 If his father were to be released and restored – and such was the opposition to Mortimer now that many thought this an appropriate course of action – Edward would find himself dethroned. Mortimer would be hanged and quartered, Isabella divorced and sent to a nunnery. Edward himself might even be arrested for treason. He might very easily find himself in Kent’s place. All the key personalities had much to lose, and for once Mortimer was not an exception.
What Edward was probably only just beginning to understand was how far the information about his father had gone. Kent had been very successful in attracting support. The pope had promised unlimited funds. The archbishop of York had offered £5,000. Sir Ingelram Berengar had discussed the plan with Kent several times, the last in Kent’s room above the chapel at Arundel Castle. Sir Fulk Fitzwarin said it would be the ‘noblest deed ever accomplished’. Lord Beaumont was deeply implicated, so too was Sir Thomas Roscelyn. Kent’s brother-in-law, Lord Thomas Wake, another of Mortimer’s cousins, was an accomplice. So were Lady Vesci, the Scottish earl of Mar, and Sir John Pecche. Add to these Lord Zouche, the bishop of London and the earl of Lancaster, and things began to look very grave for Edward indeed.
Mortimer proceeded undaunted. He himself acted as the prosecutor, in a court specially arranged for the purpose of trying Kent. He made no attempt to cover up the secret of the ex-king’s survival and custody.
Sir Edmund, earl of Kent, you should understand that it behoves us to say, and principally unto our liege lord, Sir Edward, king of England – whom Almighty God save and keep – that you are his deadly enemy and a traitor and also a common enemy unto the realm; and that you have been about many a day to make privily deliverance of Sir Edward, sometime king of England, your brother, who was put down out of his royalty by common assent of all the lords of England, and in impairing of our lord the king’s estate, and also of his realm.58
If Kent had harboured an illusion that rescuing a wrongly imprisoned kinsman was in some way not a crime, then it was shattered instantly. He falteringly replied: ‘In truth, Sir, understand well that I never assented to the impairment of the state of our lord the king, nor of his crown, and that I put myself to be tried before my peers.’ But he must have known that no plea could save him from Mortimer’s judgement. And Edward too must have realised that Mortimer was going to push all the way: there would be no pretending that Edward’s father was dead. If Edward himself openly denied it, then Mortimer could denounce him there and then, and reveal all. The whole royal family was on trial.
Edward kept silent. Mortimer continued. He held up a letter which, he explained, had been handed to his agent at Corfe Castle. It bore a seal. To Kent he showed the letter and said: ‘Sir Edmund, do you not know this letter that you sent to Sir John Deveril?’ The earl’s seal was clearly visible, and he agreed it was his, but it was of no value, he protested, as he had sent many letters. Perhaps Kent genuinely did not know what this particular letter said. But Mortimer knew. He began to read the letter aloud:
Worshipful and dear brother, I pray heartily that you are of good comfort, for I shall ordain for you, that you shall soon come out of prison, and be delivered of that disease in which you find yourself. Your lordship should know that I have the assent of almost all the great lords of England, with all their apparel, that is to say with armour, and with treasure without limit, in order to maintain and help you in your quarrel so you shall be king again as you were before.
There was no denying this evidence. Edward could see that his uncle was damned. Worse, he himself was demonstrably guilty of keeping his father hidden, and of having given orders for, and attended, a fake royal funeral. Could he plead ignorance? Would anyone listen if he did? His confidence had been broken, and broken again, so that many of the men now present suspected that he himself may have led Kent into this trap, and here, almost crowing, was Mortimer, who was setting his father and uncle against him.
Still Edward kept silent. The sentence was read out. Kent was told that:
the tenor of this your letter is that you were on the point of rescuing that worshipful knight Sir Edward, sometime king of England, your brother, and to help him become king again, and to govern his people as he was wont to do beforehand, thus impairing the state of our liege lord the present king . . . The will of this court is that you shall lose both life and limb, and that your heirs shall be disinherited for evermore, save the grace of our lord the king.
The sentence resounded around the hall. Edward heard the words ‘save the grace of our lord the king’ and knew he could no longer keep silent. The moment had come to decide. Kent, having heard that he was to die, in tears began to plead for his life. He admitted he had not considered the king in all his plotting, and he wholly submitted to him. He promised, if the king so desired, that he would walk through the streets of Winchester, or even all the way to London, barefoot, with a rope around his neck, in atonement. The man was terrified and humiliated, and begged Edward, his nephew, for his life.
‘Save the grace of our lord the king.’ Edward’s kingship had crumbled into disaster. Everything – loyalty, affection, kinship, pity – suggested that he should save his terrified uncle, who had acted only out of love for his brother. But in Mortimer’s open assertion that Edward II was still alive, Edward could see that he himself was under threat. Mortimer claimed descent from Arthur: the line which, it had been prophesied, would one day rule all England and Wales. Mortimer had presented his sons as earls; he had claimed the premier earldom in the kingdom; he had defeated his only rival, Lancaster, and was speaking and acting as if he, not Edward, was king. He had already once put himself forward as a possible monarch. This trial was not about the earl of Kent, it was about Mortimer’s power. Mortimer was the enemy here, not Kent. The prosecutor was the guilty party. But there was nothing Edward could do to stop him. Nor would he ever be able to stop him if men like his uncle saw his father’s restoration as the best way to prevent Mortimer from achieving the throne. Edward realised he had to demonstrate to all those who knew that his father was still alive that he would never give up his right to be king. With a pitiful heart, he understood what he had to do.
He sentenced his uncle to death.
*
On 19 March 1330 the earl of Kent was led out of prison, his hands bound. He was to be beheaded. Bravely, the captain of the guard declared that his men had refused to carry out the sentence. This embarrassed Mortimer, but the captain was steadfast, and so were his men. Mortimer and those who had gathered for the execution waited. Eventually Mortimer ordered the gaols to be searched for a man prepared to do his bidding, and a latrine cleaner, himself sentenced to death for murder, agreed to kill the earl in return for his life. He was brought out to confront his royal victim. So the blow was wielded by a criminal. And thus Edward sacrificed his uncle.
The fall of the axe meant one thing was certain: Edward would avenge his uncle’s death. From that moment on there could be no drawing back from his determination to put an end to Mortimer’s rule.
Mortimer was not unaware of the changed situation, but he was too involved to be able to extricate himself. How could he? He had kept Edward II alive – perhaps out of consideration for Isabella’s wishes, perhaps out of his own desire to control the young king, perhaps both – and now he was guilty of having kept an anointed king hidden, illegally, for more than two years. If he withdrew from court now, Edward III would surely come after him and seek revenge. Besides, he would lose Isabella if he withdrew, or went into exile; and he may well have been devoted to her emotionally, even beyond the limits of his excessive ambition. From Mortimer’s point of view, all he could do was to keep his nerve, to use his wits to keep in control, for as long as possible.
From the day of Kent’s execution, Mortimer had exactly seven months of freedom left. In that time he certainly used his wits. He rallied troops, he appropriated lands and wealth, and he did all he could to keep Edward in his place. A plot arranged by Richard Fitzalan, heir to the earldom of Arundel, was discovered by Mortimer and foiled.59 But Mortimer’s authority was diminishing by the day. Magnificent he may have been, feared he certainly was; but the young generation of knights at court were of a mind to fight for their king. Long before 19 October Edward knew whom he could trust. William Montagu had returned from Avignon, and he was willing to take action. It did not matter how many troops Mortimer inspected in his show of strength. The revolution would not be an invasion, it would come from within. The only question for these young knights of St George was how to strike the dragon, and avoid being scorched in its dying fire.
The politeness continued. Edward had learnt how to play the games of diplomacy. As late as 28 July Edward included Mortimer amongst those to whom he gave elaborate Turkish clothes for the summer season, along with his mother, his wife and his sister, Eleanor.60 They were still at Woodstock then, where Edward learned he had become a father. Philippa had given birth to a son, Edward – the future Black Prince – on 15 June. Edward was ecstatic, and gave the valet who brought him the news forty marks yearly for life.61 Maybe this was why his mood was light enough for him to give Mortimer presents of Turkish cloth that summer. Maybe these were the last attempts to cover up the plots being hatched. Either way, it is much easier to give gifts to a mortal enemy knowing you have marked him down to die.
The third day of the parliament held at Nottingham Castle was 19 October. Tempers had flared in the days before, the hatred and fear on all sides had become obvious. Mortimer had arrived to find that Lancaster had been given rooms in the castle. He flew into a rage and demanded to know who had dared house so great an enemy of the queen so close to her. On his orders the earl was directed to be removed and lodged at a merchant’s house in the town. Mortimer also gave orders that the men of the garrison were to obey his orders, and not the king’s. This was utterly outrageous. Just as shocking was his confiscation of the keys to the castle, which he handed to Isabella.
The king’s friends were near to taking action. They hesitated at this last violent outburst from Mortimer, not quite knowing what he was planning. Some urged Edward to accuse Mortimer openly of murdering Edward II, and to arrest him.62 That way, even if the king’s father were to appear in public, he could be declared an impostor and set aside. But Edward was reluctant to follow this path: it held too many pitfalls. Besides, he now knew that his secret information was being passed directly to Mortimer by John Wyard. As first Montagu, and then Humphrey and William Bohun, Ralph Stafford, Robert Ufford and John Neville of Hornby, were each led before Mortimer and interrogated, Edward realised that a more immediate and complete strategy was required.
At this point William Eland changed the course of history. Eland was the man who told the plotters about the secret passage which led from the riverbank up into the queen’s apartments. It seems that he told Edward first, and the king sent him to Montagu with orders to give him the same information. This is the most likely sequence of events given the wording of Montagu’s charter of reward. Edward states clearly that he revealed his own secret design for the arrest of Mortimer and his accomplices to Montagu, and that Montagu was ‘strenuous’ in carrying out the plan.63 Sir Thomas Gray, writing twenty years later, tells us that the king instructed Montagu to order Eland on pain of death to leave a postern gate to the park open, which suggests that, until that moment, there was some doubt over Eland’s loyalty. This postern may have been at the bottom or the top of the secret passage, or possibly both. The chronicle known as The Brut relates a conversation between Montagu and Eland in which Montagu asked Eland for the keys of the castle that night, and Eland pointed out that Isabella kept them under her pillow, but told him about the secret passage. Edward saw his opportunity to seize Mortimer without alerting his troops.
We cannot know the precise movements of each person that night, but some things are clear. The lower entrance to the passage was left unlocked by Eland or on his instructions, and perhaps an upper door was unlocked by one of Edward’s accomplices within the castle. Eland himself was with Montagu. From the inclusion of certain non-combatants among those rewarded for assisting in the coup, especially Pancio de Controne and Robert Wyville, it would appear that these men also helped in the operation, very probably assisting in the entry of the armed men.64 As de Controne was a physician, it is possible that his role was to support Edward’s alibi of ill-health, as Edward would not have wanted to be with Mortimer and Isabella when the fight to arrest them broke out.
According to Sir Thomas Gray, after ascending the stairs from the tunnel, Montagu and his accomplices were undetected as it was ‘mirk night’.65 The followers of the nobles had left the castle and returned to their lodgings in the town. Isabella, Mortimer, his sons Geoffrey and Edmund Mortimer, Simon Bereford, Sir Hugh Turpington, and Bishop Burghersh were in the hall of the queen’s lodgings discussing what action was to be taken against the plotters. Various other esquires and men-at-arms stood guard, but they were few. Most of Mortimer’s men were billeted in an outer ward of the castle, at a considerable distance, or on watch on the outer walls. As steward of the household, it was Turpington’s responsibility to make sure that the servants and guards were attending to their business. He was probably in the course of a routine check about the castle when he saw the armed group advancing up the stairs to the queen’s apartments. Had he withdrawn at that moment he might have saved himself, but Turpington had fought alongside Mortimer since at least 1310, and his response was unquestioning and immediate. Turpington’s dying shout alerted everyone within the hall, and, in the next few moments, as Montagu, Neville and the other assailants rushed to the door of the hall, the household esquires ran to defend the entry. In the struggle which followed, several esquires were injured and two were killed: Richard Crombek and Richard Monmouth. As they fought, Mortimer left the hall and went into the queen’s chamber to seize his sword. Bishop Burghersh followed him, not to fight but to try and escape. But Montagu had enough men to capitalise on the surprise of his attack. Within a short while Mortimer had been disarmed, and his sons Geoffrey and Edmund had been arrested, along with Simon Bereford. Isabella, inviolable as the king’s mother, simply screamed despairingly at the door of the chamber into the dark corridor beyond, suspecting Edward to be present.
All the prisoners were marched down to the basement of the queen’s apartment, and down the spiral staircase into the secret passage, down to the riverbank and through the park. They were taken to Leicester. Such was Edward’s fear of Mortimer that he rode with the men who removed him, and ordered them to hang him as soon as they reached Leicester. But Lancaster, who had also ridden with Edward and his knights, urged him to use parliamentary approval for Mortimer’s execution. A show trial was needed, if only to reinforce the idea that Edward II was dead, and that Mortimer had killed him. Lancaster – who had now become reconciled to Edward, and clearly must have apologised for his earlier behaviour – persuaded the king. Mortimer was taken to the Tower of London.
Just as the execution of his uncle had been a pivotal moment in Edward’s development as a man, so now the destruction of Mortimer’s authority was a pivotal moment in his development as a king. Having accompanied Mortimer all the way to London, Edward ordered him, his son Geoffrey Mortimer and Simon Bereford to be walled up in one of the rooms.66 The doors and windows were accordingly filled in by a mason. Six royal sergeants-at-arms under the command of two knights of the royal household, Robert Walkefare and Arnold Duroforti, were stationed around the room to make sure Mortimer did not repeat his 1323 escape.67 There, in the darkness, Mortimer waited for a month before he was sentenced. Perhaps Edward ordered this in reflection of the conditions in which his father had been held.68 On this we can only speculate. But one aspect of the incarceration is very interesting: it was not just any room into which Mortimer was sealed. It was the one next to Edward’s own.69