Queen Isabella: Treachery, Adultery, and Murder in Medieval England

by Alison Weir

  Mortimer, on the other hand, was more preoccupied with self-aggrandizement, building himself a vast power base in the Marches, and accumulating great wealth. Wider issues did not concern him so greatly, unless they interfered with his own ambitions. It was ambition that drove him—that and the need to maintain his position.

  Isabella’s secret peace negotiations with Robert the Bruce had ended in deadlock, and on the day of the coronation, the Scots attacked Norham Castle in Northumberland.45 Thereafter, there were unnerving reports that Bruce, despite encroaching old age and a disease that many thought was leprosy, was building up his forces, and on 4 March, the Queen sent a second set of commissioners to negotiate a peace.46 On 22 February, she had also opened peace negotiations with France,47 in an attempt to resolve the problem of Gascony. These were successful to a degree, and on 31 March, a peace treaty would be signed in Paris, providing for the restoration of part of Gascony on payment of a war indemnity of 50,000 marks. The treaty was unpopular in England, however, because it left Charles IV in possession of the Agenais.48 But Isabella knew she was in no position to contemplate a war with France, nor did she want one. Her policy for the period of her rule would be pro-French.

  During these early months of the year, Isabella was still writing charming and flattering letters to Edward II, inquiring after his health and comfort, and preserving the fiction that she would be happy to visit him if only Parliament had not forbidden it. She also sent him gifts of fine clothes, linen, edible delicacies, and other little luxuries49 and in so doing displayed her essential thoughtfulness and perhaps a sense of guilt. But her husband’s pitiful requests to see her and their children50 were ignored. Baker claims that Edward was suffering “so much for love”—which is surely a gross exaggeration—that Lancaster took pity on him and sent a message to Isabella, “whose heart was harder than stone, to tell her that the noble knight was languishing for love of his wife. But that woman of iron was moved not to love but to anger.” If this story is true, her reaction would be entirely understandable, for Edward had shown no love or concern for her when Despenser was wrecking their marriage and depriving her of her income, her liberty, and her children. Moreover, “as she turned the matter over in her mind, she began to be fearful lest the Church might compel her to return to her repudiated husband and share his bed.” This was a very real concern, and one that was to surface in April at a council meeting.

  Baker says that Isabella, “that fierce she-lion of a woman,” asked advice of “that priest of Baal,” Orleton, who recommended that Edward be removed from Lancaster’s care. This is pure fantasy, for, as we will shortly discover, there would soon emerge far more pressing reasons for effecting this. But of course, Baker was writing many years later, at a time when attempts were being made to canonize Edward II and tales of his sufferings could invest him with an aura of sainthood.51 Baker was to make up other lies about Orleton, who emerges in his history as even more of a villain than Mortimer, and this story is almost certainly another fabrication, designed to show the Bishop and Isabella in the worst possible light.

  It is easy to see why Baker should have a low opinion of Isabella, who had left her husband for her lover, overthrown that husband, and then, Baker believed, ordered his ill-treatment and murder—assumptions that, as will be shown, have no basis in fact. But why the savaging of Orleton? The answer perhaps lies in the attitude of Baker’s patron, Sir Thomas de la More, who had witnessed, and possibly been shocked by, Orleton’s harshness toward Edward at Kenilworth and perhaps later jumped to the false conclusion that the Bishop was responsible for the other miseries that befell the fallen King.

  There can be little doubt, though, that Isabella did not wish to return to Edward. Her reluctance was compounded by her very natural fears: fear of his anger and coldness, fear of being deprived of her lover and the company of her son, and fear of living in isolation and virtually losing her liberty. And it is certain that Mortimer had a say in her refusal to see Edward. Mortimer had already proved himself to be a jealous man and would have welcomed another chance to have his revenge on Edward.

  If the poems that are attributed to Edward II, which are believed to have been written at this time, are genuine, he apparently saw through Isabella’s duplicity. Written in Norman-French, they are bitter reflections on the vicissitudes of Fortune and the perfidy of his wife, and they speak volumes about his state of mind at this time.

  One is entitled “The Song of King Edward, that he himself made” and, loosely translated, reads:

  My winter has come; only sorrow I see.

  Too often, too cruel, Fortune has spoken.

  Blow after blow she rains upon me,

  Heart, hope and courage, all, all she has broken.

  Be a man fair or be a man wise,

  Perfect in courtesy, honoured in name,

  If Fortune forsake him, if his luck flies,

  To the blast he stands naked, a fool come to shame.

  The greatest grief my heart must bear,

  The chiefest sorrow of my state

  Springs from Isabeau the Fair,

  She that I loved but now must hate.

  I held her true, now faithless she;

  Steeped in deceit, my deadly foe

  Brings nought but black despair to me,

  And all my joy she turns to woe.

  In his grief and isolation, the King apparently sought solace in religion. Concluding the poem, he dwells upon his sins and expresses his hopes for redemption:

  To Him I turn my contrite heart,

  Who suffered for me on the Cross.

  Jesus, forgive my baser part,

  Bend Thou to me in my dire loss.

  For all my sins and treacherous deeds…

  That she beseech the Child she bore,

  The Son that on her knee she sat,

  His tender grace on me to pour

  And grant me mercy yet.

  Another poem laments that, in adversity, the writer is losing his looks and his courtly accomplishments:

  On my devoted head

  Her bitterest showers,

  All from a wintry cloud,

  Stern Fortune pours.

  View but her favourite [i.e., himself],

  Sage and discerning,

  Graced with fair comeliness,

  Famed for his learning;

  Should she withdraw her smiles,

  Each grace she banishes,

  Wisdom and wit are flown

  And beauty tarnishes.

  In winter, woe befell me,

  By cruel Fortune threatened.

  My life now lies a ruin.

  But once I was feared and dreaded,

  But now all men despise me

  And call me a crownless king,

  A laughing stock to all.52

  Around the first week of March, a plot to free the former King Edward from Kenilworth was apparently uncovered. Inquiries were ordered into affrays caused by several men, namely, Stephen Dunheved, a Dominican friar; William Aylmer, parson of Doddington and a former trusted clerk of Despenser; another William Aylmer, parson of Beadwell; William de la Russell; Thomas de la Haye; Edmund Goscelyn; William atte Hull; and John Norton.53 Since these same men would be indicted in July for another conspiracy to liberate the King, it is reasonable to conclude that these inquiries concerned an earlier attempt that proved abortive.

  Stephen Dunheved, who appears to have been the driving force behind these plots, was particularly dangerous. He had loyally served Edward II as his confessor and had been an adherent of the Despensers. It was he who had been sent to Avignon by Despenser to procure an annulment of the King’s marriage to Isabella. For this, as much as his close association with Despenser, he was a marked man, but he had gone to ground after the Queen’s invasion.

  Knighton says simply that this plot was organized by some who privately favored the former King, but the author of the Annales Paulini specifically states that Dunheved was supported by some of the magnates. In view of his later
defection, and the fact that he unquestionably felt guilty about his betrayal of his half brother, it is possible that the unstable Kent was one of them. It is perhaps too much of a coincidence that Stephen Dunheved was to be involved, three years later, in Kent’s own conspiracy against Isabella and Mortimer.54

  After all that had happened, Isabella apparently felt the need to visit once more the shrine of Becket at Canterbury, and on 13 March, the court left London to travel down through Kent, arriving in Canterbury the next day. On the fifteenth, the King and the Queen Mother went to Rochester, where they were entertained by Bishop Hethe, who presented Isabella with expensive gifts.55 Mother and son returned to Canterbury the following day and, on 21 March, were back at Westminster, where they stayed for nine days,56 addressing concerns that had arisen in the wake of the conspiracy to free Edward II.

  Security at Kenilworth was immediately tightened, but Lancaster made it clear that he did not relish the responsibility of guarding the former King while there were plots to free him,57 and there were fears that Edward had too many partisans in Warwickshire. Isabella and Mortimer therefore decided to relieve Lancaster of his duties as jailer and move their prisoner some way south, to Berkeley Castle, which was situated near Mortimer’s Marcher estates. On 21 March, Thomas de Berkeley, now restored as Lord Berkeley, and John Maltravers were appointed Edward’s new keepers, with equal liability;58 both were members of Mortimer’s affinity, and Berkeley had served in his household. This all suggests that it was chiefly Mortimer who was responsible for these appointments and Edward’s change of prison.

  Thomas de Berkeley was Mortimer’s son-in-law, having married the latter’s daughter Margaret in 1319. Berkeley had no reason to love Edward II, having suffered under the Despensers’ regime. He and his father had been imprisoned for four years as supporters of Thomas of Lancaster, and his father had died in captivity.

  John Maltravers, who came from a wealthy Dorset family and was married to Berkeley’s sister Ela, was aged about thirty-seven. He had served under Mortimer in Ireland and Scotland59 and had also fought for Lancaster at Boroughbridge. After the Earl’s defeat, he had fled the country in fear of his life and attached himself to Mortimer, whose trusted captain he became. Later, he joined the group of exiles who had surrounded Isabella in France. In February 1327, his lands had been restored to him by Parliament. Like Berkeley, he can have felt little affection for the former King.

  Now that Edward III was established on his throne, the Queen and Mortimer turned their attention to fulfilling the treaty made with Hainault for his marriage. In the last week of March, Orleton and Burghersh (who now replaced Orleton as Treasurer) were chosen by the council to go to Count William to ask formally for the hand of one of his daughters; once he had consented, they would then travel south to Avignon to seek a papal dispensation, which was necessary as the mothers of the bride and groom were first cousins. The embassy finally left England in late April.60

  Isabella took all her children with her when the court set out on 30 March for Stamford, where a council was to be held to decide how to tackle the Scots.61 She was at Ramsey in the Fens on 4 April62 and probably lodged in the guesthouse of the great Saxon abbey there.

  That month, Lancaster was formally reinstated in much of his inheritance, although Isabella still retained the de Lacy estates that had been granted to her on coronation day,63 which was a matter of some grievance to Lancaster. Then there was a serious riot at Abingdon, followed by more bad news from Scotland, where Bruce was assembling an army for a new offensive into Northumberland: this was in actuality a tactical exercise to force the English to accept his sovereignty. Isabella and Mortimer responded on 5 April by ordering a general muster against the Scots,64 which proved a popular move with both King and people, who hoped that the new reign would afford an opportunity to reverse the ignominious defeat of Bannockburn and reestablish English sovereignty over Scotland. However, given the number of attempts she made to forge a peace settlement, this was not a view shared by Isabella, who regarded the Scottish war as already lost, as well as being an unnecessary drain on finances. In her view, the sooner these facts were recognized and a peace concluded, the better it would be for both sides. Several northern barons were of like mind, for they owned estates north of the border and hoped to recover them by means of a peace treaty. But Isabella was aware of the necessity of not only defending England’s borders but also of maintaining the popular appeal of her regime and realized that, at this point, a war would meet with far greater public approval than a peace. It might also serve to demonstrate that finding a peaceful settlement would be an infinitely preferable alternative.

  The custody of Edward II was formally transferred to Lord Berkeley and Sir John Maltravers on 3 April.65 That night, they escorted the former King from Kenilworth. Accompanying them was a third custodian, Sir Thomas Gurney (or de Gournay), a Somerset knight of Mortimer’s affinity who had been in prison with him in the Tower.66 One of the guards who accompanied the ex-King was William Bishop, who had served as a soldier under Mortimer in 1321.67

  On the day after the King was moved, Berkeley and Maltravers were assigned the princely sum of £5 a day from the Exchequer for his keep and the expenses of his household, which implies that he still had servants in attendance.68 They took their prisoner on a circuitous route to Berkeley, initially heading westward; on the night of Palm Sunday, 4 April, the little party stayed at the remote Augustinian priory at Llanthony in Monmouthshire, then traveled southeast and crossed the Severn, arriving at Berkeley Castle on 5 or 6 April.69

  Murimuth and Baker both assert that Edward’s captors took him on an even more roundabout route, as far south as Corfe Castle in Dorset and then back to Gloucestershire via Bristol. Here, says Baker, the citizens made plain their intention of delivering the King from his captors, so Maltravers and Burney hurried him on to Berkeley. This is all pure fiction. Traveling from Kenilworth via Llanthony to Corfe, Bristol, and Berkeley would not have been possible in three days, the longest time the journey could have taken. Nor would it have been worth the security risk to have moved the ex-King so far, giving more people the opportunity to see him and learn of his whereabouts.

  Baker, who says he got his information from William Bishop after the Black Death of 1348–49, also claims that the former King was subjected by his jailers to many indignities on the way from Bristol to Berkeley. He states that they would only travel at night and would not let him sleep when he was weary, and that, despite the cold, he was left to shiver in flimsy garments; they also gave him poisoned food that made him ill. They contradicted him, made out he was mad, and jeered at him, Gurney mockingly crowning him with straw. Then, so that he should not be recognized, they made him shave off his beard, forcing him to sit on a molehill in a field and to use cold, muddy ditchwater from an old helmet. Weeping, he is said to have retorted, “Whether you will or no, I will have warm water for my beard,” referring to the tears that were streaming down his face. But again, Baker is apparently guilty of resorting to lurid fabrication, for, as we have seen, Edward could not have gone to Bristol at this time, which casts doubt on the whole story, a story that is not corroborated by any other source. Nor would Berkeley have sanctioned such ill-treatment, for we know from other evidence that he behaved well toward his prisoner. Furthermore, Baker says that Edward’s jailers subjected him to these cruelties because they were hoping he would “succumb to some illness and thus languish and die,” but Isabella and Mortimer had gone to great lengths to ensure that Edward’s abdication and the establishment of their rule were attended by a semblance of legality and the maximum of publicity, so it is hardly likely that they would now try to kill the former King by such clumsy and ill-thought-out methods. Furthermore, it would take three rescue attempts before any move was made to dispose of Edward. It is possible that Bishop colluded with Baker in fabricating a tale that would show Edward II in a more saintly light or that Baker just made it up for propaganda purposes.

  Berkeley Castle
, which commanded the main Bristol-to-Gloucester road and the Severn estuary, had been built in the twelfth century by one of Thomas de Berkeley’s ancestors and is still owned by the family today. In the middle of the fourteenth century, it was much improved and altered. The domestic ranges and remodeled great hall that we see today are largely of that period. When Edward II was there, Berkeley consisted mainly of the mighty Norman keep with rose stone walls fourteen feet thick, towering on a high mound, inner and outer baileys encircled by high curtain walls that were bisected by towers and a gatehouse, and a moat.

  Edward was apparently lodged in one of the keep towers, the Thorpe Tower. The cell he is traditionally said to have occupied, which is now known as “the King’s Gallery,” is still shown to visitors today. Just outside it is a well-like shaft, twenty-eight feet deep, which extends down to the level of the courtyard below; this shaft was originally in the corner of the cell and is nowadays linked to one of Baker’s more inventive tales, as we shall see.

  Baker says that Edward II “was welcomed kindly” at Berkeley “and treated well by Thomas, Lord Berkeley.” Murimuth corroborates this, stating that Berkeley treated the King well but that Maltravers behaved toward him with much harshness. It may have been during a period when Maltravers was in charge that a workman in the castle heard Edward moaning and groaning, although this story, which comes from an unnamed chronicle, may be spurious.70 Both Berkeley and Maltravers were often away from the castle on official business in the western shires, so they shared custody of their prisoner or delegated their custodianship to others. The evidence of Froissart, who visited Berkeley in 1366 in the hope of finding out more about the fate of Edward II, corroborates that of Murimuth. He says that Lord Berkeley “was ordered to serve the King and look after him well and honourably, with proper people in attendance on him, but on no account to let him leave the castle. Those were his orders.” This is in keeping with Lancaster’s treatment of Edward at Kenilworth, and, as has been noted, Edward’s daily allowance was for the maintenance of such “proper people in attendance on him.” Furthermore, the Berkeley accounts show that plenty of victuals, including capons, beef, cheese, eggs, and wine, as well as other necessities were purchased for the former King,71 which corroborates Baker’s statement that his jailers gave him delicacies. It seems, therefore, that we may discount claims that Isabella deliberately ordered that her husband be ill-treated at Berkeley. On the contrary, it appears that he was honorably housed and served there.