* * *
Edmund Earl of Kent was twenty-nine years old. He had been six years old when his father, Edward the First, had died. He had seen very little of that great warrior who was always away from home on some military enterprise and he and his brother Thomas of Brotherton, Earl of Norfolk, who was just one year older than he was, had been brought up by their gentle French mother Marguerite.
It was only natural that when the new King, Edward the Second, married a French wife that he should be drawn to her. She was beautiful and gracious and everyone said what a good and docile wife she was to a husband who was far from admirable.
When Edward had become so unpopular through his association with the Despensers Edmund had become a member of Lancaster’s party to stand against them, which meant being opposed to the King. He had been on an unsuccessful mission in France when Isabella had visited her brother’s court and he had joined the malcontents who gathered round her. Thus when she came to England with her army he was with her; and he had been faithful to her cause until now.
Mortimer however was becoming intolerable. There was murmuring against him all through the country just as there had been with Gaveston and the Despensers in the previous reign. This Marcher Baron had set himself up as a king and even had he been a rightful king he would have caused discontent by his behaviour. Moreover he was Isabella’s paramour and, although none would have raised any great objection if the liaison had been carried on with discretion, it was intolerable that Mortimer, freshly risen from Isabella’s bed, should strut about as few kings had ever had the temerity to do.
It had to stop.
He had conferred with Henry of Lancaster, his cousin, and his brother, Thomas Earl of Norfolk, and they had agreed with him. At that same time they had reminded him that the King was very much under his mother’s influence and that meant Mortimer’s. The situation was full of dangers and they all agreed they must go warily.
It was at this time that a Friar called at the house of the Earl of Kent in Kensington and he asked for a private audience with the Earl for he had something to tell him which he was sure would be of the greatest interest.
As soon as they were alone together the Friar said: ‘My lord, this seems incredible but I know it to be true. Edward the Second is not dead. He still lives.’
Kent was speechless and the Friar continued: ‘I can tell you where he is, my lord. He is in Corfe Castle. The Governor of the castle is well known to me and I have his word for it that the King still lives. He is kept a prisoner there and he longs to be in touch with those whom he can trust. He looks to you, my lord, as his brother.’
Kent spluttered: ‘I ... I cannot believe this to be true. I must go to him at once.’
‘My lord, forgive me, but you must act with the greatest care. The Governor goes in fear of his life. He regrets already having let me into the secret. If you did go to Corfe it would have to be with discretion.’
‘Of course, of course,’ cried Kent. ‘What is their motive?’ ‘It is to tell the world that he is dead that they may rule through the young King as they wish.’
‘But Edward gave up his throne to his son.’
‘Yes, but young Edward was loth to take it and he could not happily wear the crown while his father lived. So ... they devised this plan ...’
‘Isabella ... and Mortimer
The Friar nodded.
‘I will set out for Corfe without delay,’ said the Earl.
‘I will accompany you, my lord, but you will understand that our mission must be entirely secret.’
The Earl promised this should be so and did not even tell his wife where he was going.
During the journey the Friar told Kent that Edward was a prisoner and that Mortimer’s idea was to get rid of him as soon as he could conveniently do so.
The Earl of Kent was a simple man. He had swayed from side to side during the troubles which had beset the country during the reigns of Gaveston and the Despensers. He had always been gullible and it might have been that was why Mortimer had selected him to be his example rather than his elder brother, Thomas of Norfolk. Norfolk had never been so embroiled in conflicts. Although he had supported Isabella on her return to England he had soon retired to his estates and had not taken a great part in the struggle. Kent was different : he was all enthusiasm one day and doubts the next.
Now he was ready to believe this story of Edward’s captivity in Corfe, though when he arrived at the castle the reception he received would have warned any other man that there was something contrived about the whole matter.
At first the Governor did not wish to let him in and he reproached the Friar for having brought him, but at last after a great deal of talking the visitors were allowed inside.
‘Is it true that you have my brother here?’ demanded Kent.
The Governor floundered, stammered and looked down at the floor, up at the rafters and anywhere but at the Earl of Kent.
‘I cannot believe it,’ said Kent. ‘There has been some mistake.’
‘It is not so,’ declared the Friar.
‘It is all very strange,’ said the Earl. ‘Until I saw my brother here I would not believe it.’
‘My lord,’ cried the Governor, ‘I dare not ... I could not ... I do not know whether ...’
‘You must tell me the truth,’ cried the Earl.
The Governor at length said: ‘If you would communicate with the King you must do so by letter.’
‘So you admit that he is here.’
‘I say that if you wrote a letter and it was delivered to the one for whom it is intended then you would know for yourself whether the prisoner here is the King.’
‘So you admit to having a prisoner.’
The Governor was silent.
A warning flashed into the Earl’s mind. They were making such a mystery of this. Why? Of course they were making a mystery. The matter was mysterious. But he was not putting anything into writing until he was certain.
He said as much.
‘My lord, I dare not take you to the King. He has refused to see anyone. He thinks all who come are his enemies, sent from the Earl of March.’
‘I know,’ said the Friar, ‘that the King will see no one but would it be possible for my lord Earl to see the King ... perhaps from some point where he himself would not be observed.’
‘I will consider whether this could be possible,’ said the Governor.
Edmund spent a restless night in the castle. It was all too involved and mysterious for comfort and he did not greatly care for the Governor.
At dusk the next day the Friar said that if he looked through a peep-hole above the room where the King was lodged he would see him for himself.
‘Why should I not visit him?’
‘My lord, the King has moments of desolation when he is not quite lucid. This matter of a rescue will have to be broken to him gently, by letter preferably. Come with us and assure yourself that it is your brother who is lodged in this castle.’
It was very strange, but the Earl told himself that if he could see Edward he would believe the story. He was conducted up a spiral staircase and taken to a room. Here a hole was revealed in the wall. It was small, just enough for an eye to peer through, and looking in the Earl saw a room with bed, table and a chair. On the chair sat a man. Although he was seated it was easy to see that he was exceptionally tall and his greying hair had been very fair. The resemblance was strong, but the light was feeble. However the Earl of Kent was very ready to be deceived.
He left Corfe Castle the next day to consider what he had seen, and thoughtfully returned to Kensington. He wondered whether he should tell his brother. Could he really have been the King, that man who was seated in the chair at the table in the room at Corfe Castle? But why should anyone want to deceive him?
For a few days he pondered and then he received another visit from the Friar.
‘I have had a message from the Pope, my lord Earl,’ he said. ‘He has commanded me to tell you tha
t he wishes the King to be rescued from Corfe Castle.’
‘Then the Pope believes this story.’
‘It is no story, my lord. Your brother lies in Corfe Castle, a prisoner of Mortimer. There are plans to remove him altogether. This is what the Pope fears will happen and he has commanded me to put this matter to you and to beg you not to delay.’
The Earl was thoughtful.
‘First,’ he said, ‘I must write a letter to my brother.’
‘That would be an excellent plan,’ replied the Friar. ‘If you will tell him that you are his friend as well as his brother and will rouse others to his aid. If you will tell him that you are determined to expose the wickedness of Roger de Mortimer you will put new hope into the King, my lord. Aye, and Heaven will praise you, as the Pope implies, for what you have done.’
Edmund glowed with enthusiasm.
He would write immediately and the Friar should take the letter to Corfe. Could he be sure of getting it into the hands of the King? Indeed he could. The Governor would not be averse to passing on a letter.
Kent wrote at great length and indiscretion, explaining that he was at his brother’s service and would raise an army to fight for him and against his enemies. He could, if he wished, be set back on the throne for it seemed as though he had given it up under duress.
The Friar took the letter and rode back to his lodging where he discarded his friar’s habit. He would be well rewarded he knew. All had worked out according to their plans. He had the letter which was clear treason against the King if anything ever was. Who would have thought a man in the Earl of Kent’s position would be so easily misled,by a man who happened to bear a faint resemblance to the late King. The Friar set out for Winchester where a Parliament was sitting and Mortimer received him immediately.
He laughed as he read the letter.
‘Well done, erstwhile Friar. Silly Kent has written enough to put a rope round his neck. He has been well deceived.’
‘It was no hard matter, my lord, to deceive him. I never knew a man more eager to fall into a trap.’
‘It will be the last time he shall fall,’ said Mortimer fiercely. ‘I have made up my mind to that. You have done well and shall not be forgotten.’
Now to it, he thought. I will summon the Earl of Kent to Winchester.
* * *
The King and Queen were at Woodstock. They were as devoted as ever and they were especially happy at this time because the Queen was pregnant.
Edward was determined that the utmost care should be taken of her and he said he could trust her to no other than himself and in spite of pressing state matters he would not leave her.
Shortly before, she had been crowned. He had been so proud of her. He often thought how fortunate he had been. How many kings married women with whom they were already in love? How many secured such a woman as Philippa? She was loving, tender and good. His people appreciated her worth as he did. And when she gave him a son ... She had admonished him a little, fearful of course that the child might not be a boy. But although he wanted a boy he would not care so very much if it proved to be a daughter. They were young in love and would have a host of children—many boys among them.
The coronation had not been as splendid as he would have liked. The exchequer was very low and he was beginning to feel very uneasy. His mother and Mortimer were taking too much of money and treasure which was needed for other things. He must examine these matters. He was concerned about his mother, though, and hated to upset her and she could be so easily upset nowadays. Any word of criticism however faint directed at Mortimer and she was ready to fly into one of those moods when she talked incessantly and sometimes not very coherently, and that worried him.
He was at Woodstock to forget such matters. He and Philippa could walk together and he could cosset her and they could talk of the baby which was due in June.
Messengers came from Winchester. There were alarming reports of treason, and his uncle the Earl of Kent was involved.
Oh not seriously, he thought. Uncle Edmund could never be really serious. He thought he was, of course, but he could be so enthusiastic about some plan and a few words could alter the course of his excitement completely. He did not take Uncle Edmund entirely seriously.
He would not go to Winchester. He was not going to leave Philippa. She was very young but then she was strong and so far she had had an easy pregnancy. He wanted to stay here and talk of the coming child for nothing could seem of any importance beside that.
The days were growing warm. Philippa was growing larger. Each day brought the arrival of that blessed infant nearer. Who could think about what was happening at Winchester?
* * *
The Earl of Kent was shown the letter he had written to the dead King. Was it in his handwriting? It was, he answered. There was no point in denying it. He had believed the dead King was alive and indeed had been shown a man in Corfe Castle who greatly resembled him.
‘Did he tell you he was the dead King?’ he was asked. ‘I had no speech with him,’ replied the Earl.
‘Yet you believed he was the dead King and you wrote this letter to him. Do you know that this letter is treason. Do you know that your offers of service were to a man not our King whom you are proposing to set up against our true King ... do you realize, my lord Earl, that this is treason?’
He knew enough to recognize that it was.
He also knew the penalty for treason.
Isabella and Mortimer talked of it when they were alone. ‘You cannot sentence him to death, Mortimer,’ said Isabella. ‘He is the King’s uncle.’
‘I can and I will,’ cried Mortimer. ‘He has written this letter. He has condemned himself to death. He should not complain if the sentence is carried out.’
‘You are forgetting he is royal.’
‘Royal or not he goes to the scaffold. There is none who thinks himself so high that he cannot be brought low.’
‘The King must be told.’
‘My love, do you want to ruin our plan? You know what Edward would do. He would pardon his dear kinsman.’ ‘What then, Mortimer?’
‘Execution,’ replied Mortimer. ‘Immediate execution.’
* * *
They had sentenced him to death and the sentence was to be carried out without delay. They had taken him into the courtroom presided over by the coroner of the royal household, Robert Howel, and he had been clad only in his shirt with a rope about his neck.
He pleaded for mercy. He wished to see the King, he said.
His accusers regarded him coldly. It was too late to think of repentance, they told him. He was a traitor to the King; he had committed treason; he had tried to arouse others to share his disloyalty; he had planned to raise an army against the King. What did it matter if he were closely related to the King? He was a traitor and deserved his punishment the more for being royal.
On Mortimer’s orders he was taken through Winchester to a spot outside the walls. There the axe was awaiting him.
It was early morning for Mortimer had wished the deed to be done before the town was astir. He guessed that the execution of such a well-known man would attract crowds and there might be some to disagree with the verdict.
Half an hour passed and the headsman had not arrived. A messenger came from him. He had run away because he was afraid to do it, he had said, for the Earl of Kent was royal; he would not behead such a person. Who knew he might be blamed for it later.
Mortimer who was there in person to witness his enemy’s end was furious.
‘The knave! ‘ he cried. ‘Send for another. Anyone. But let there be no delay. The headsman had an assistant had he not?’
He had, was the answer, but hearing what his superior had done he himself had acted similarly. He also had decided that he would not take responsibility for beheading a member of the royal family.
Mortimer was fuming with rage. It was as though they were defying him, as though they said: ‘Edward the King would not wish this deed to be done.
’ Of course he would not. That was why it had to be done with all speed.
‘Find me a headsman,’ cried Mortimer; and although one was sought none could be found. His knights and squires cast down their eyes lest he should command them to do the deed. He could not do that, for if he did it could be said that one of his men had murdered the Earl of Kent. It must be done by a man whose business was with prisons.
Noon had come and the Earl still lived. He was praying to God, telling himself that this was divine intervention. He was going to be saved because God would allow no one to behead him.
The afternoon wore on and still no one could be found to do the job. Then Mortimer had an idea. ‘Go to the prison,’ he said. ‘Find a man who is condemned to die. Promise him freedom if he will act as headsman to the Earl of Kent.’
That was the end of the quest.
Life was a reward too great to be missed.
At five o’clock on that March day Edmund Earl of Kent laid his head on a block and that head was severed from his body.
* * *
The King was at Woodstock when he heard the news.
He could not believe it. His own uncle. To have been executed without a word to him!
A traitor they said. He was plotting to raise an army against his King.
* * *
It was the end of March and the child was due in June. Edward must leave Philippa and ride to Winchester to hear for himself what had really happened.
She did not want him to go, of course, nor did he wish to. She wanted to come with him, but he would not allow that. True the winter was over but the roads were rough. How would she travel? Carried in a litter. That would not be good for the child.
‘Must you go?’ she asked.
‘He was my uncle,’ he answered.
‘And a traitor to you.’
‘Somehow I cannot believe that of my uncle.’
‘You always thought he was not very clever.’
‘Not very clever but he would not rise against me.’
The Vow on the Heron Page 8
