The Follies of the King

by Jean Plaidy

  He was to die the traitor’s death, that horrible one, which had now become the custom— hanging, cutting down alive and burning the entrails after which the body was cut into quarters and distributed for display.

  But in the case of noblemen the sentence was diverted to death by beheading, and as Lancaster was royal this should be done to him.

  They put him on a grey pony, and thus he rode through the town where the people came out to jeer at him and throw at him anything they considered disgusting enough. Stones cut his face and he turned neither to right nor left and it was as though he was completely unaware of the blood which ran down his face.

  ‘King Arthur,’ cried the mob, ‘where are your knights, eh? Why don’t they come and rescue you? Let them take you back to your round table.’

  He looked straight ahead. Gaveston had suffered a similar fate to this ten years before. Was this why they were taking him to the hill? Was this why they made him ride on the little pony, why they sought to rob him of his dignity?

  All men must die at some time, but it was sad that a royal earl should come to it this way. Then suddenly the enormity of what was happening to him seemed too strong for him.

  ‘King of Heaven,’ he murmured, ‘grant me mercy for the King of Earth has forsaken me.’

  They reached St Thomas’s Hill outside the city of Pontefract. He saw the block. He was aware of the watching faces avid for blood, eager to see the ignoble end of one who had not long before been the most powerful man in the land.

  He turned his face to the east.

  Someone cried: ‘Turn to the north, man. That’s where your friends are.’

  He was roughly pushed. Now he was looking ahead to where beyond the border was the land of the Scots.

  He knelt and placed his head on the rudely constructed block.

  The axe descended and Lancaster was no more.

  * * *

  Warenne brought the news to Lancaster’s wife.

  Alice de Lacy looked at him with disbelief.

  ‘‘Tis so,’ said Warenne. ‘He was found guilty of plotting with the Scots and that has been his undoing. He was sentenced to the traitor’s death but because of his noble birth he was not hanged drawn and quartered but taken to St Thomas’s Hill near Pontefract where they cut off his head.’

  ‘Pontefract,’ she murmured. ‘It was his favourite spot.’

  ‘Well, it is over, Alice. What now?’

  ‘I am free,’ she said. ‘It is what I and Ebuio have longed for. But I wish it could have come about in a different way. Poor Thomas, he was so proud― and clever in a way, but he did not understand how to treat people. It has been his downfall.’

  ‘There is no longer the need for you to remain in hiding.’

  ‘I have so much to thank you for.’

  ‘Lancaster was my enemy, you know. It was my pleasure to disconcert him.’

  ‘I think you had a certain kindness in your heart for a woman placed as I was.’

  ‘It could be so,’ he answered. ‘And now?’

  She answered: ‘I am going to Ebulo. We shall be married.’

  ‘The daughter of the Earl of Lincoln, the wife of royal Lancaster to marry a humble squire!’

  ‘Even the daughters and wives of earls have a right to marry for love,’ she answered.

  Very shortly afterwards the nobility was astonished to learn that the Countess of Lancaster had married Ebulo le Strange, a squire who was not only far below her social standing but who was also lame.

  THE LOVERS IN THE TOWER

  THE lust for power had now seized Edward. It was as though with Lancaster’s death he himself had taken on new life. Moreover the truce with Scotland had come to an end and Robert the Bruce was celebrating this by attacking the English towns in earnest. When he came as far south as Preston it was decided that it was time to attempt the invasion of Scotland once more.

  Everyone was astonished by the change in Edward. The Londoners were with him to a man. He had avenged the insult to Isabella and they liked him for that. The Despensers were banished. A plague on them. Now perhaps the King had outgrown his follies and was going to show them that he was a true son of Great Edward.

  At one point the English crossed the border into the Lothians. They reached Holyrood House and took it. They should have been astonished by the lack of resistance of a commander like Bruce. It was too late when they realized that he had crossed the border and had come as far as Yorkshire, his object being to attack Edward’s army from the rear.

  Isabella was travelling with the army and was staying outside the town of York. She was in a pensive mood. Events were changing her outlook rapidly.

  Edward was winning the confidence of the people. For him the affair at Leeds Castle had been a blessing in disguise. By avenging her, he had won general approval and particularly that of the Londoners and was enjoying a popularity which he had never known before.

  Whatever happened now she did not want Edward. The plan which had been forming in her mind for some time was not yet fully developed, but nothing Edward could do now would make her want to change it. In brief it was that Edward should be deposed and their son Edward take the crown, with his mother beside him as Regent. But if Edward was going to reform his ways? If he was going to be a victorious king and a faithful husband, what then?

  I shall never forgive him for the humiliation I have suffered at his hands, she thought.

  Even as she sat brooding she heard the sound of arrivals and there was an urgency about those sounds. She rose and went down to the great hall to see what was happening.

  At the sight of her one of the men who had just come cried out: ‘My lady, make haste. We must go from here. The King’s army is routed and the Scots are on their way to take you prisoner.’

  It was the old pattern. Why had she thought for a moment that Edward would become a successful general?

  No, he had failed once more.

  Never mind. That made it all the easier for her to continue with her plan.

  Hastily she prepared to leave. After the gallop to Tynemouth she boarded a boat. It was a rough passage but she did not care.

  It could not be long before events began to go her way.

  There was despair in the north among those who had been loyal to Edward for it was clear that he was no match for Robert the Bruce. Once again he had been put to flight and had narrowly escaped. He was not meant for battle.

  England’s tragedy was that the old King had borne such a son and had himself died before he had been able to complete his task.

  Edward was impatient. He wanted no more war with Scotland. He disliked war. Only briefly had he had good fortune and that was when he had attacked Leeds Castle which was held by a woman.

  There was disillusion and it was disconcerting that his supporters in the north were now beginning to realize the futility of depending on him.

  They were actually attempting to come to private terms with the Scots because it seemed likely that the harrying of the border would continue for a very long time.

  The Bishop of Durham and the monks of Bridlington sent their valuables south and were attempting to make a treaty with Bruce, a fact which showed clearly that they had no confidence in Edward and were looking out for themselves. Edward was deeply shocked when he heard that Andrew Harclay, the Earl of Carlisle, had actually travelled to Dumfries and held a conference with Bruce in which he offered to recognize him as King of Scotland in return for peace between them and security from attack for his own property.

  Isabella heard the news and said to herself that this man of the north showed good sense. Anyone who relied on Edward was a fool. They had at last learned the lesson. Let the whole country learn such lessons. They would be all the happier to see him go.

  She had many friends to support her. The chief of these and the one in whom she placed most reliance was Adam of Orlton. He hated the Despensers as much as she did and had rejoiced to see them banished. Since the arrest of the Mortimers he had been i
n some danger, for now that Lancaster was dead and the Mortimers imprisoned people were looking to him as the most important man in the party which had stood against the Despensers. Edward hated him and had wanted him out of the way, and had even managed to bring him before a lay tribunal— the first time this had ever happened to a Bishop. He might have been condemned to death if he had not been under the protection of the Archbishops of Canterbury and York who must naturally protect their Bishops— for they commanded that violent hands should not be laid on a man of the Church. The King, however, insisted on the trial’s proceeding and Adam was found guilty and although he could not be condemned to death, his possessions were confiscated. He was at this time protesting to the Pope and was living in the Tower, not exactly a prisoner but as one who would have been, but for the influence of the Church.

  Isabella often visited the Tower and stayed in the apartments where her daughter Joanna had been born. She was in constant communication with Adam.

  In spite of what was happening in the north Edward could have changed the whole course of his life at that time. His enemies were either dead or imprisoned. The chief of these were Thomas of Lancaster who was dead and the Mortimers who were in the Tower, though with his usual lack of vision he underestimated Roger de Mortimer the younger. Edward could have had him executed and given the traitor’s death instead of which, in his usual dilatory manner, he allowed him to remain a prisoner in the Tower.

  Poor Edward, thought Isabella. He would never learn from his mistakes.

  One would have thought that having seen the country brought almost to civil war through Gaveston and then through the Despensers, he would have recognized the signs of danger.

  But it seemed he could not. The small success which had brightened his career of failure had blinded him to facts. He recalled the Despensers.

  Alas, there was no one now to stop him. He was no longer merely the King in name. Lancaster was dead and it was he, Edward, who now gave the orders.

  The Despensers responded with alacrity, and it was not long before they were flaunting their authority as blatantly as they had ever done.

  It was they who ordered a friend of Harclay’s to call on him at his castle and when he arrived, to arrest him in the name of the King. Thus this brave soldier, who would have served the King if he had not seen the hopelessness of such service, after a brief trial suffered the agonies of the traitor’s death.

  It was with the Despensers’ help that Edward obtained a thirteen-year truce with Bruce and congratulated themselves on having won the peace, forgetting that it was the state of Bruce’s health— the dreaded disease of leprosy was now apparent to all― which had been the main reason for his agreement.

  Then it was a return to the old ways. The Despensers must be placated at all costs. The King was beside himself with joy to have his dear Hugh back with him. He was never, never to go away again, declared Edward.

  The Queen had taken up temporary residence in the Tower. She liked, she said, to be near her good friends the people of London. In truth, now that the Despensers had returned, she was getting impatient for action and she wished to have secret conferences with her good friend, Adam of Orlton.

  A gloomy place, the Tower of London. Strange that it should contain a prison and a palace. Here many prisoners had lain in despair. At night, the fanciful believed they could hear the moans of those long dead. It was said that on the winding staircases and in the cold dank rooms ghostly figures appeared, men and women who would never rest until they had restitution from those who had given them a life of hell-on-earth in these dark walls. There was no place in the country which was so haunted.

  William the Conqueror had ordered it to be built and Gundulf, the Bishop of Rochester, had designed it. It had stood a symbol of the Conqueror’s power to a conquered people. Of course it had been added to since then and was no longer the bleak fortress it had been in the days of William. It had been surrounded twenty years after the first fortress had been erected with an embattled stone wall and a deep ditch. Then that inveterate builder Henry the Third, the King’s grandfather, had built the Lion Tower and added to the improvements to the White Tower. The moat had been enlarged by Edward’s father. It seemed that every King must make his mark on the Tower of London. Not the present one though, thought the Queen grimly; Edward was too indolent. The Tower to him was just a strong fortress to which he could retire when his subjects were in revolt against him.

  There was a melancholy about the place but there was something which excited her too. From the narrow windows she could look out on the river and see the good merchants going about their business and it comforted her to realize that they were her friends.

  There was no reason why anyone should speculate because of her presence there. It was after all one of the most important of the royal residences. Young Edward was in the good hands of Richard de Bury who had been appointed his tutor and guardian; the other children were at Pleshy in Essex in the household of the Earl of Hereford who was their guardian. She was not exactly a doting mother and made no pretence of being. It was true that she kept a firm hand on young Edward and saw him frequently. She was eager that he should feel dc.

  pendent on her and she was careful to do everything to win his devotion.

  From her window she could see one of the small gardens of the Tower shut in by tall pales and one day there appeared there a tall dark, somewhat emaciated, man in the company of Gerard de Alspaye whom she knew as the sub-lieutenant of the Tower. There was something about the manner in which he held himself which attracted her attention. She thought: He is obviously a prisoner but he walks like a king.

  She watched for him and saw him on another occasion and on impulse she sent for Alspaye and asked him who the distinguished-looking prisoner was.

  Alspaye looked confused and she guessed that it was against orders that the prisoner had been given an airing.

  ‘You need have no fear,’ she said. ‘I’ll swear this man is one of the King’s prisoners, and I know that you made sure no harm could come of his taking the air.’

  ‘That is so, my lady. He has just become bereaved. His uncle who shared his dungeon has died.’

  ‘Of what did he die?’

  ‘The rigours of prison, my lady. Lack of food. The dungeon is airless, without one window; the walls run with damp; it is stifling in summer and bitterly cold in winter.’

  ‘What was the crime of these men?’

  ‘They were captured in battle.’

  ‘By the King?’ She could not keep the note of contempt from her voice but Alspaye did not seem to notice.

  ‘In the Marcher country, my lady.’

  ‘Then he is―’

  ‘Roger de Mortimer, my lady, Earl of Wigmore, and his uncle recently dead was the Lord of Chirk.’

  ‘I have heard much of these Mortimers,’ she said. ‘I can remember the surprise when they were taken.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘I should like to speak with this man. Do you take him into the garden again soon?’

  ‘I would take him there when you wished, my lady.’

  ‘Walk there with him tomorrow and I will join you. Do not let him know that I have mentioned this. Let it be as if by accident.’

  ‘It shall be as you wish, my lady.’

  She was filled with an unaccountable excitement. Ideas flashed into her head and were discarded almost before they came. Roger de Mortimer, one of the great Marcher barons! She had heard Edward talk of the Mortimers with something like fear in his voice. Yes, he had certainly regarded the Mortimers with awe. The uncle and the nephew. They lived as kings in their territory.

  Edward had said it was a mistake to allow those not royal to hold such power.

  And now, one of them was dead and the other, this emaciated prisoner, still held himself like a conqueror.

  The next morning she took a ride through the streets of London— always a heartening experience. She had taken great pains with her appearance. It was gratifying to hear the shout for Isabe
lla the Fair. Whatever happened, she thought, the people of London would be on my side.

  In the afternoon she went to the garden. True to his word Alspaye was there with Roger de Mortimer.

  The Queen stood looking at them, her eyebrows raised as though in surprise.

  Roger de Mortimer stepped forward and bowed low. ‘Pray tell me who you are,’ she said regally.

  ‘Mortimer at your service, my lady.’

  Alspaye had taken a step backwards and she turned to him. ‘One of your prisoners?’ she asked.

  ‘My lady, the Earl of Wigmore has recently suffered a great bereavement.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ said the Queen, ‘the Lord of Chirk. The rigours of prison were too much for him.’

  ‘He was an old man, my lady,’ said Mortimer.

  She nodded. ‘And you are being given a little exercise in case you too should succumb. Is that so, my lord Lieutenant?’

  ‘It seemed a merciful thing to do,’ was the answer.

  ‘It was so. My lord Mortimer, take a turn with me.’ She glanced at Alspaye who withdrew a few steps. Then to Mortimer: ‘Come, my lord.’

  ‘You have been here some time, I believe,’ she said.

  ‘Some two years, my lady.’

  She looked at him closely. The pallor of his skin accentuated the fierce dark brows; and she thought how handsome he was in spite of the privations he had suffered.