by Alison Weir
We can be almost certain that, given this evidence, and the obvious flaws in the red-hot-spit story, Edward II did not perish in this dreadful manner. If he was murdered at all, he was probably suffocated.
It is worth noting at this point that not one chronicler accuses Isabella of being an accomplice in the murder of her husband, nor is there any other evidence to link her to it. As to her being an accessory after the fact, that is another matter that will be discussed later.
None of the above accounts is entirely reliable because what happened at Berkeley Castle that September remained shrouded in secrecy, and very few people would have known the truth. However, the truth may not be concerned with a murder, for there is dramatic evidence that Edward II was not murdered but managed to escape from the castle.
It was probably in early 1337 that a Genoese priest, Manuele de Fieschi, who was a senior clerk or notary to Pope John XXII, sent Edward III a long, undated letter, written in Latin, from Italy, where Fieschi was then living. The letter contained a startling, and very convincing, account of how the King’s father had escaped from Berkeley Castle,144 which reads:
In the name of the Lord, amen.
Those things that I have heard from the confession of your father I have written with my own hand, and afterwards I have taken care to be made known to Your Highness.
First, he has said that, feeling England in subversion against him after the threat from your mother, he departed from his followers in the castle of the Earl Marshal [Norfolk] by the sea, which is called Chepstow. Later, driven by fear, he boarded a barque together with Lord Hugh le Despenser and the Earl of Arundel and several others, and made his way by sea to Glamorgan on the coast. There he was captured, together with the said Lord Hugh and Master Robert Baldock, and they were taken by Lord Henry of Lancaster. And they led him to Kenilworth Castle, and the others were taken to various other places. And there, many people demanding it, he lost the crown. Subsequently, you were crowned at the feast of Candlemas next following.
Finally, they sent him to the castle of Berkeley. Afterwards, the servant who was guarding him, after some little time, said to your father, “Sire, Lord [sic] Thomas Gurney and Lord Simon Barford, knights, have come with the purpose of killing you. If it pleases you, I shall give you my clothes, that you may better be able to escape.” Then, wearing the said clothes, at twilight, he [Edward] went out of the prison. And when he had reached the last door without resistance, because he was not recognised, he found the porter sleeping, whom he quickly killed. And, having got the keys out of the door, he opened it and went out, with his keeper.
The said knights who had come to kill him, seeing that he had thus fled, and fearing the indignation of the Queen, for fear of their lives, thought to put that aforesaid porter in a chest, his heart having been extracted and maliciously presented to the Queen, as if they were the heart and body of your father; and, as the body of the King, the said porter was buried at Gloucester.
After he [Edward] had escaped from the prison of the aforesaid castle, he was received at Corfe Castle together with his companion, who had guarded him in prison, by Lord Thomas, the castellan of the said castle, without the knowledge of Lord John Maltravers, lord of the said Thomas, in which castle he remained secretly for a year and a half.
Afterwards, hearing that the Earl of Kent, for maintaining that he was alive, had been beheaded, he took a ship with his said keeper and, with the consent and counsel of the said Thomas [de Berkeley], who had received him, crossed into Ireland, where he remained for nine months. Afterwards, fearing lest he be recognised there, and having taken the habit of a hermit, he came back to England and proceeded to the port of Sandwich, and in the same habit crossed the sea to Sluys.
Afterwards, he turned his steps in Normandy, and from Normandy, as many do, crossing through Languedoc, he came to Avignon, where he gave a florin to a Papal servant and sent, by the same servant, a note to Pope John. The Pope summoned him and kept him secretly and honourably for more than fifteen days. Finally, after various deliberations, all things having been considered, and after receiving permission to depart, he went to Paris, and from Paris to Brabant, and from Brabant to Cologne, so that, out of devotion, he might see the [shrine of] the Three Kings. And, leaving Cologne, he crossed over Germany and headed for Milan in Lombardy.
In Milan, he entered a certain hermitage in the castle of Milasci [Melazzo], in which hermitage he remained for two and a half years; and because war overran the said castle, he moved to the castle of Cecima in another hermitage of the diocese of Pavia in Lombardy. And he [has] remained in this last hermitage for two years or thereabouts, always the recluse, doing penance or praying God for you and other sinners. In testimony of which I have caused my seal to be affixed for the consideration of Your Highness.
Your Manuele de Fieschi, notary of the Lord Pope, your devoted servant.145
The authenticity of the Fieschi letter itself is not in doubt, but that of its contents has been disputed by many historians, even though they can find little to say to discredit them. Yet its veracity is crucial in determining whether or not Isabella was a party to the murder of her husband. If Edward II was not murdered, then posterity has wronged her, which would allow us to judge her in a very different light. It is therefore necessary to scrutinize Fieschi’s account in detail.
The letter begins very abruptly, as if there had been some previous communication informing Edward III that his father was alive and living in Lombardy and offering him proof that this was no imposter. The phrase “In the name of God, amen” is a customary salutation in ecclesiastical letters of the period and an implied assurance that what follows is the truth. The information divulged to Fieschi was given in the form of a confession, but Fieschi does not say that Edward had given him permission to reveal it, either because that is perhaps implicit in the letter anyway or this was not a sacramental confession. As Doherty points out, there is nothing very sinful in this confession apart from the murder of the porter, and that, surely, would have been confessed by Edward long before this. The letter would certainly have been sent by a messenger who could verbally furnish the King with any sensitive details that Fieschi had not seen fit to commit to paper. Who this messenger was will be discussed shortly.
A strong argument in favor of the letter’s authenticity is the accuracy and authenticity of the narrative that takes us from the King’s flight from Chepstow up until his alleged escape from Berkeley. It corroborates the known facts and reveals details that very few people could have known other than those who actually shared Edward’s flight to Wales. As has recently been noted,146 no single chronicle written before 1343 (the latest date for the Fieschi letter to have been written) contains all these details, and not one refers to Edward’s putting to sea from Chepstow and landing in Glamorgan; this information was recorded only in the chamber accounts, which Fieschi could not have seen.147 Whatever else may be said about the letter, no satisfactory explanation has ever been advanced to show how he came by this information, apart from his having heard it from Edward II himself or from one of those who had accompanied him. But Despenser, Arundel, and Baldock were dead, so whom did that leave—royal clerks? Men-at-arms? Is it likely that Fieschi would really have got his facts from such lowly sources or would have known whom to question?
There are errors in the letter, such as the reference to “Lord” Thomas Gurney, when it should be “Sir.” This can be put down to Fieschi’s lack of familiarity with English titles. “Simon Barford” is perhaps to be identified with Mortimer’s lieutenant, Sir Simon Bereford (or Beresford), who was later described as Mortimer’s accomplice “in all his crimes,”148 although there is no other evidence that he was at Berkeley at this time, and he was never specifically accused of regicide. Ockle is not mentioned, but then Edward might not have seen him, and even if he had, he probably would not have known who he was. He would certainly have known Gurney and Bereford, who are mentioned by name.
We do not know the name of the w
arder or servant who helped Edward and escaped with him, but he was apparently in the confidence of his superiors. The fact that he knew that they were planning to kill Edward suggests that the escape, if it happened at all, probably took place after Ockle had arrived with Mortimer’s instructions and Shalford’s letter. It is highly unlikely, in my view, that Edward escaped with Mortimer’s collusion, as has recently been suggested by Ian Mortimer.149 Roger Mortimer had no motive for keeping Edward alive, and every reason to want him dead; as had been made abundantly clear, living, the former King posed an ever-present threat, as the focus of plots to free him and restore him to his throne or as a potential figurehead for dissidents who opposed Isabella’s rule. While Edward lived, Mortimer, whose power depended on that of the woman who controlled the young King, could never feel secure. Should Edward ever return to power, Mortimer would face a bloody end.
It has been claimed that a change of clothes would not have disguised Edward II, but middle- and lower-class men of the period often wore brimmed hats, hoods, and/or coifs, which could completely cover the hair and, in some cases, shade the face. And if the warder had been of a similar height, few would have given Edward a second glance.
It is indeed difficult to believe that Edward got past his guards and as far as the porter’s lodge without being challenged; after all, there had recently been two more plots to free him, one of which had temporarily succeeded, and security had presumably been tightened. However, not only was he in disguise, but he had also probably been kept in such close captivity that few people in the castle would have seen or recognized him, and anyway, no one could have anticipated that he would just walk out of his prison. Anyone encountering him would simply have assumed he was the warder. Furthermore, the warder would almost certainly have had a set of keys. It is likely, too, that the escape took place at night, when there were fewer guards on duty, and that the warder went on ahead and left Edward to follow. Edward was perfectly capable of swimming the moat, and once outside the castle, the warder, who was probably a local man, would have known his way through the surrounding marshland and woodland.
A telling point in the letter is the reference to the jailers’ fear of Isabella’s reaction when she found out that Edward had escaped his killers. Edward himself could have had no means of knowing that the order to kill him had come just from Mortimer, and not from Isabella, who, far away in Nottingham, could not have known of the latest plot to free him—just as the person who gave Fieschi this information assumed that it had been Isabella who had ordered the murder. However, by the time this letter was written, it was common knowledge that Edward III held Mortimer responsible for his father’s murder.
If Edward had escaped, why did he not show himself and proclaim his restoration? First, he knew he could count on very little support, since most of his adherents had been seized. Second, very few people would believe his story, as the majority assumed he was dead and buried. Third, it had been proved to him just how ruthless Mortimer could be: were he to publicize his whereabouts, Mortimer would not hesitate to hunt him down and do away with him. Fourth, as Doherty suggests, he was a man broken in body and spirit, as had been made manifest at his abdication at Kenilworth in January. Since then, he had suffered the miseries of imprisonment. He had lost his throne, his wife, his children, and his liberty, and he was doubtless still grieving for Despenser. And last, in adversity, his thoughts may well have turned to the solace of religion, which perhaps prompted a desire to abandon earthly things and withdraw from the world. Support for this theory might be found in the poems attributed to Edward, which are preoccupied with contrition for his sins, the abandonment of a “baser part,” and the hope of redemption through Christ.
Fieschi is not the first writer to connect Edward with Corfe. Both Baker and Murimuth erroneously allege that the King was taken to Corfe on his way to Berkeley, and the Dunheved plotters are alleged to have installed him there after abducting him from Berkeley, while yet another plot, some way in the future, would also place him there. It is perhaps significant that Dorset was the first county on the list of those of which Berkeley and Maltravers were appointed commissioners of the peace.
Corfe Castle was a massive Norman fortress that commanded—and still commands—a spectacular position on a high ridge overlooking a ravine and valley. The Saxon King, Edward the Martyr, had been murdered there in 979, but the present castle had been built by the Normans and steadily enlarged over the centuries. It was a royal stronghold, technically under the control of Isabella and Mortimer, but the evidence we have suggests that it was a hotbed of dissidents who cared little for their oaths of allegiance and were affiliated to the Dunheved group. Furthermore, there is so much that links Edward II to Corfe that there is a strong possibility that he must have been there at some time, perhaps after his alleged escape in September.
However, the reference to “Lord Thomas,” the castellan of Berkeley, is puzzling. There is no record of any “Lord Thomas” being appointed the custodian of Corfe; a John Deveril held the post in 1329, but the date of his appointment is not known. It is likely, therefore, that Fieschi has confused him with Thomas de Berkeley. Maltravers was indeed appointed custodian of Corfe Castle, but not until 24 September 1329. Whoever the castellan was, he must have been a party to the escape plot, and he could easily have concealed Edward’s presence after Maltravers became custodian in 1329, because no one would have been looking for the former King, since most people believed him dead; anyway, who would have taken much notice of a lowly hermit, even if he did show himself in public?
If Edward did go immediately to Corfe and remained there a year and a half, he would have arrived probably in the late autumn of 1327 and left in the spring of 1329. But, according to Fieschi, he did not leave Corfe until after he heard that Kent had been executed, which was in March 1330. It is possible that either Edward or Fieschi got their dates or time spans wrong, or that Edward did not go directly to Corfe but remained in hiding in various places to begin with. His being at Corfe in March 1330 would account for Fieschi’s reference to Maltravers’s being its custodian.
If he left Corfe in the spring of 1330, then spent nine months in Ireland, Edward would have returned to England in the early months of 1331, at which time he would have known that it was now safe to do so. And if he arrived at Sluys in the spring of that year, then traveled down to Avignon via Normandy and the Languedoc, a distance of about 650 miles, the shortest time it could have taken him would have been just over two months, assuming that he traveled about ten miles each day and did not linger. He was therefore in Avignon in the summer or early autumn of 1331. He then traveled north to Paris, a distance of approximately 380 miles, and on to Cologne, another 250 miles. Given that travel in winter was very difficult in the Middle Ages, it would be safe to say that he did not reach Cologne until the early spring of 1332 at the earliest. Edward then traveled at least 375 miles south to Milan, arriving there perhaps in the late summer of 1332. He stayed in the first hermitage for two and a half years, until early 1336, and the second for two years, until early 1338. The timings given above for Edward’s journey are purely conjectural, of course, and do not allow for his staying for long at certain places or taking a more leisurely pace. They are merely to demonstrate that the earliest date on which the Fieschi letter could have been written was in early 1336.
The last dated document in the episcopal register in which the Fieschi letter was found is from 1337, and there are further undated documents that could belong to a later period, so it is perfectly possible for the Fieschi letter to belong to 1336 or later.150 Although it could have been written as late as 1343, the year in which Fieschi became Bishop of Vercelli, the likeliest date, as we will see, was early 1337.
Who brought Edward III this letter? In 1336, when Edward II could have been living at Melazzo, Cardinal Nicolinus de Fieschi, a kinsman of Manuele, brought the King letters from Genoa. One contained a request for compensation for the booty stolen by Despenser in his pirating days. The
Genoese had tried without success to obtain this in 1329, yet it may be significant that their request was now granted—Edward III paid out 8,000 marks in July 1336.151 Could it be that the Cardinal had also brought the King information as to the whereabouts of his father and the hope of making contact with him? This would account for the abrupt opening of the Fieschi letter and the lack of any explanatory preamble or attempt to convince Edward III that the man who had made the confession was really his father. And it may have been Nicolinus who came back early the following year with Manuele’s letter, after Manuele had had time to visit Edward II and hear his confession, which may have been divulged in the course of several meetings.
Why did Edward visit the Pope? Obviously, he would have wanted the spiritual leader of Christendom to know the truth, and he may well have sought spiritual guidance and advice as to his future.
The locations in Lombardy mentioned in the letter have been identified as Melazzo d’Acqui and Cecima sopra Voghera, and the second hermitage as the abbey of Sant’ Alberto di Butrio.152 The castle of Melazzo is a small, hilltop fortess forty-five miles north of Genoa, and modern plaques there record Edward II’s escape and Fieschi’s letter. Cecima is a walled Apennine village, about fifty miles northeast of Genoa. The Romanesque abbey of Sant’ Alberto, built around 1065, is nearby in an isolated spot,153 an ideal retreat for someone wishing to withdraw from the world and keep his identity secret. Sadly, most of its medieval records were lost before the sixteenth century.
