The Greatest Traitor

by Ian Mortimer

  Herein lay Roger’s mistake. He was not a member of the royal family and his attempts to appear as such seemed perverse. His elaborate and ‘wondrously rich’ clothes, which were strange in style and colour,23 were particularly remarked upon. His jewellery attracted envy. His casual manner with the king offended everyone, for he walked alongside him and sat in his presence. People were shocked at his temerity. It did not help that the size of his personal household was vast – nearly two hundred people – as many armed men as the king himself maintained. And inviting comparisons with King Arthur was more than just faintly ridiculous. His grandfather might have got away with a Round Table tournament fifty years earlier, at the end of his illustrious career, but Roger compared unfavourably with the peerless Arthur of the Round Table myth, a man who had supposedly fought giants, won all his battles, conquered France, saved ravished maidens, and led a glorious band of knights. How could Roger compare with ‘the most worthy lord of renown there was in all the world’?24

  Roger’s self-creation of chivalric magnificence and power had become over inflated. He was surrounded by royal people and all the trappings of courtly magnificence, all the ancestry, wealth and power; but he and everyone else knew that he was a mere baron’s son from the Welsh Marches. He had not won glory like his hero William Marshal, Earl of Pembroke, he had cheated his way to it. His power had been achieved not through wisdom but through cunning. Only one person was courageous enough to stand up publicly and tell Roger to his face that he was ridiculous. At Wigmore, Sir Geoffrey Mortimer, Roger’s favourite son, declared him to be ‘the King of Folly’.25 It was a telling phrase. Roger had foolishly come to confuse his proximity to royalty with being royal himself and, equally foolishly, he had lost his ability to gauge and control public opinion. He had grown too mighty.

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  In the wake of the Wigmore tournament the conflict at the heart of government became more heated. Edward had not reacted well to Roger’s display, and now he took his first steps towards regaining his royal power. On 12 September he sent abroad his trusted friend Sir William de Montagu. His mission was ostensibly to visit Gascony but he had secret instructions to go to the Pope in Avignon to let him know what was happening in England.26 On hearing that Montagu was going abroad Roger became suspicious and insisted that he be accompanied by Sir Bartholomew de Burghersh, brother of the Bishop of Lincoln. But at Avignon, Montagu managed to evade Burghersh and was granted a private audience with the Pope. He brought back a message that the Pope wished to have some sign by which he could distinguish the king’s own letters from those Roger issued in his name. Edward wrote back early the following year, signing the letter with the words ‘Pater Sancte’ in his own hand, the earliest extant autograph of an English king.27

  The court moved on. At Gloucester on 16 September the king was successful in replacing Roger’s appointed Treasurer, Thomas de Charlton, with Robert Wodehouse, formerly Keeper of the King’s Wardrobe. A week later Edward forced the appointment of his personal secretary, Richard de Bury, as Keeper of the Privy Seal. The writing was on the wall: Edward was slowly increasing his influence. Roger and Isabella were having to balance a possible secret pregnancy and the secret existence of the ex-king at Corfe against the growing enmity of the nobility and the powerful ambitions of the seventeen-year-old king. In addition there may have been an attempt to free Edward II in August 1329.28 At the end of September, Roger appointed John Maltravers the official custodian of Corfe Castle, to protect his royal prisoner.29

  In early October the court was at Dunstable for a tournament.30 Immediately afterwards it moved north, directed by Roger and Isabella, to Kenilworth. If Isabella was pregnant by Roger, this was where she was going to give birth to their child. Being a castle of the Earl of Lancaster, it might seem an odd place to choose. But there were several good reasons. One was Roger’s sense of history and individual destiny, linking his family stories of Kenilworth and his grandfather’s victories with the destiny he imagined for his unborn child. Another was more pragmatic. Roger’s estates on the Welsh Marches were not far away. In addition, Henry of Lancaster was in France, acting on the king’s behalf in negotiations with King Philip about the imperfect homage Edward had performed in June for Gascony.31 Thus in that vast castle, surrounded by Roger’s bodyguard of nearly two hundred men-at-arms, they were relatively safe.

  If Isabella gave birth in December 1329, it was probably at the very beginning of the month. Roger was still at Kenilworth on 3 December, but then left for a short visit to his estates on the Welsh Marches. On the 5th he was at Ludlow, where he made a grant of land to one of his retainers (Walter le Baily of Leinthall), and to the man’s wife and first heir.32 Three days later he was at Clun. The business which we know he conducted there was very minor – about fishing rights, for which he merely ordered an inquiry to be made – and was probably incidental to the real purpose of his visit, which is not recorded.33 But Clun was close to Montgomery Castle and the hundred of Chirbury, the lands which Isabella had settled on him in case of her death and which thus presumably she intended to be settled on their child. The route also took him through Leintwardine, where he could have explained the intended extension of his grant. By 12 December he was back at Kenilworth, administering royal business.

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  For the last couple of months Roger had been relatively cautious and quiet. Now he went back on the offensive. It was only nine months before Edward turned eighteen, and as the young king grew in age and stature, so he grew in authority. Roger realised that it would only be a matter of time before he and the king clashed openly.

  In January the court returned to the capital, to stay at Isabella’s palace at Eltham. Roger granted himself all the possessions of Hugh Despenser which had been concealed from the king in Pembrokeshire. At the end of the month he further granted himself custody of lands of the earldom of Kildare, together with the right of the heir’s marriage. In February the court moved to the Tower, to prepare for the coronation of Queen Philippa, now heavily pregnant. This required Isabella to relinquish lands and castles destined to be granted to the new queen, for which, of course, she sought even greater grants in compensation.34 But opposition forces were once more growing. In late January Hamo de Chigwell had been released from custody by the Bishop of London, and the Londoners were beginning to voice openly their support for merchants who had suffered under Roger’s judges a year earlier.35 The Earl of Kent was also back in the country, and he was scheming.

  Two days before Hamo de Chigwell’s release Roger issued summonses in the king’s name for a parliament to be held at Winchester. Kent and his brother, the Earl of Norfolk, played their part at the coronation of Queen Philippa on 18 February, dressed as simple grooms and riding alongside the queen as she made her way to Westminster from the Tower. None of this pageantry was of importance to Roger. His plan was set. He had proof that Kent had hatched a plot to free Edward II, written in the hand of Margaret Wake, his own cousin, the earl’s wife.

  As the lords gathered for the parliament, Kent was quietly arrested, along with certain of his followers. A few days later, Roger announced the news to the lords. The charge was treason.

  Kent had attempted several times to gain access to Corfe Castle: he had written to two men of the castle garrison, Bogo de Bayeux and John Deveril, seeking access, but had been refused. However, these two men, who were either Roger’s or Maltravers’ agents, agreed to pass a letter to Edward II on the earl’s behalf. Trusting them completely, Kent persuaded his wife, Margaret, to write a letter to the ex-king. Deveril and Bayeux received the letter and, after the earl had returned to his estates, dutifully took it to Roger. Roger read the letter. It showed that the earl had attracted considerable support in his plot to free Edward.

  This placed Roger under huge pressure. Secrets that would ensure that he went to the gallows were being passed around among his enemies. He could deny the accusation, of course, but his credibility depended entirely on Edward III’s support. This was excee
dingly dangerous, as the king was anxious to oust him from court. Roger had to trust in the protection afforded him by his secret custody of the ex-king.

  It was a tense situation for all concerned. Roger was relying on the king to condemn his own uncle rather than admit his father was still alive. No doubt Isabella repeatedly reminded her son of the danger they would all be in if it were widely known that Edward II lived. For his part, Roger once more choreographed proceedings. He convened a court specially for the purpose of trying the earl, presided over by the coroner of the household, Robert Howel.36 Roger himself acted as the prosecutor. The author of the longer Brut chronicle seems to have been close to someone there that day, and reports that Roger addressed the accused as follows:

  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 his 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.

  Kent is supposed to have 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 by my peers.’ But Roger paid no attention to the earl’s plea. Instead he produced the letter which Kent had sent to the deposed king by way of Bogo de Bayeux and John Deveril. He held it up, with its seal, for all to see. ‘Sir Edmund, know ye not the print of this letter that you took unto Sir John Deveril?’ The earl, not knowing which letter it might have been, as he had sent several, agreed on inspecting the seal that it was one of his, but he claimed it was of no consequence. Roger asked him again if the seal was his, and the earl said he would not deny it. And then, in the words of the chronicler, ‘with that word the wily and false Mortimer began to undo the letter and started to read it in the hearing of all the court’.

  Worships and reverence, with a brother’s liegeance and subjection. Sir knight, worshipful and dear brother, if you please, I pray heartily that you are of good comfort, for I shall ordain for you that soon you shall 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 number, in order to maintain and help your quarrel so you shall be king again as you were before, and that they all – prelates, earls and barons – have sworn to me upon a book.37

  The implications did not need to be spelled out to those in the court. This was proof that a number of lords were plotting against the government, and thus against the king. More importantly, Kent would be forced to name names, and to implicate these lords, great and small, including some lords present. If the king’s own uncle could be charged in this way, no one was safe.

  It was Robert Howel who delivered the final judgement:

  Sir Edmund, since you have admitted openly in this court that this is your letter ensealed with your seal, and the tenor of the letter is that you were on the point of delivering the body of 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, whom God keep from all disease … the will of this court is that you shall lose both life and limb, and that your heirs shall be disinherited forevermore, save the grace of our lord the king.

  The court was horrified. The Earl of Kent was to die for the crime of trying to rescue his own brother. And all his family were to be disinherited. It was incredible. Everyone presumed that this was an anomaly, that the earl would appeal to the king, and that the king would spare the earl’s life. Edward II had lost his crown because of such acts of tyranny; surely his son would not uphold the death sentence on his own uncle for a crime fabricated by Roger.

  But this extraordinary charade was not yet over. On 16 March a fuller confession was extracted from the earl, and it was read aloud in Parliament. It was declared solemnly that the Earl of Kent had acknowledged that the Pope had charged him to deliver Edward II from prison, and had promised to fund the plot. Many lords and prelates were implicated, including the Archbishop of York, Sir Ingelram de Berengar and Sir William de la Zouche, who had all promised to help rescue Edward II from Corfe. It was confessed that the archbishop had pledged £5,000. Sir Fulk FitzWarin was accused, so too were Sir John Pecche, Sir Henry de Beaumont, Sir Thomas Roscelyn, the Scottish Earl of Mar, Lady Vesci and the Bishop of London. The earl implicated certain Dominican friars, claiming they had informed him his brother was at Corfe. He gave everything away; everything, that is, except the real source of his information. Instead he told the story about the friar who had summoned up the devil. This suited both Roger and the king: if Kent had admitted he had heard of Edward II’s existence from the present king his testimony would confirm to everyone that Edward II was alive.

  Having confessed so much, and so wholeheartedly, the earl threw himself on Edward’s mercy. He admitted that he was guilty, and that he had borne himself badly towards the king, and wholly submitted himself to him. He promised, if it was the king’s will, to walk in his shirt through the streets of Winchester or even all the way to London, barefoot, with a rope around his neck, or wherever the king pleased, in atonement for his offence. The picture of the earl is that of a sincerely contrite, terrified human being, begging for forgiveness with all his heart, not fully able to grasp that he was to be executed for trying to free his brother.

  He was right to be terrified. Roger was unmoved by his pleading. To the earl’s horror and the astonishment of all present, Roger boldly urged that the death sentence be upheld. Edward, seeing that Kent had betrayed him by trying to restore his father, thereby jeopardising his life, had no choice but reluctantly to assent to the earl’s death.38

  It was the most profoundly shocking act of tyranny that anyone could remember. There was no evidence against Kent apart from his confession and his letter. Roger himself had been forgiven far worse in 1322 by Edward II. But Roger knew that his life and Isabella’s life were at risk, and he was ruthless. There could be no half-measures. He ordered the arrest of Kent’s pregnant wife and their children. Like Hugh Despenser before him, he was locking up whole families and confiscating their estates. That Kent and his wife had both once been in exile in France with Roger simply made matters worse: as with Roscelyn, Beaumont and Wake, he had trusted these people implicitly. To be betrayed by them was an act of personal enmity, and he could not bear such betrayal.

  The day before Kent’s execution Roger ordered about forty men to be arrested. Every layman mentioned in the earl’s confession was proscribed, as well as many others. He used the moment to take action against everyone whom he wanted behind bars.

  The Earl of Kent was led out of his cell to be beheaded on the morning of 19 March 1330. There he waited, in the midst of a crowd. The man appointed to wield the axe refused to do so. Men-at-arms were ordered to cut the earl’s head off, but none dared. Their captains sympathised. And so the earl stood there, for several hours. The crowd grew restless. Furious with the delay, Roger offered a pardon to anyone in the local prison who would cut off the earl’s head. At last a latrine cleaner, facing the death penalty himself, was found and he agreed to kill the earl in return for his life being spared. The axe came down, the blood spurted on to the ground, and the earl’s head was lifted to the traditional shout of ‘behold the head of a traitor’. But the crowd was silent. The earl had not been a popular man but he was undoubtedly a victim of Roger’s tyranny, ensnared in his misguided search for his brother. Roger had taken advantage of his fraternal honour. His judicial execution amounted to murder.

  *

  There could be no significant p
arliamentary business after the earl’s death. No one had the stomach for it. Roger had called for a parliament with the intention of impressing everyone with a demonstration of his power, which he had very effectively done. But while the lords were frightened, as he intended, they were also appalled. They were more determined than ever to remove him from power. But as long as the king kept silent, as long as he tolerated Roger, they could do nothing.

  For the forty men whose names were on the list which Roger issued the day before the execution, the king’s position was an irrelevance. They were preoccupied with trying to save their own lives. Most fled the country as quickly as they could, before Roger closed the ports. Those who managed to escape joined Roger’s other enemies on the Continent. Many others did not wait for the next list, which was issued at the end of the month, or for the list after that. Thomas Wake, for example, fled long before his arrest warrant was issued. Like most sane men, he realised that Roger was now acting without any limit on his power, and without any regard to the destruction he was causing. Throughout the country commissioners were appointed to arrest political opponents and agitators. Despenser’s brutal tyranny had been reborn.