by Ian Mortimer
This move bought Mortimer time, but that was all. The Scots' reply was calculated to enrage Edward even further. 'The king of England can see we are in his land, and he can see we have burnt and pillaged wherever we have been. If the king is displeased, let him come and seek redress."2 Edward's response was to camp exactly where they were. Although he could not go forward because of Mortimer, he would not retreat on account of the Scots. The English nobles spent an uncomfortable night in the open, in their armour, while the Scots banged drums and kept them awake, to demoralise them.
So began a long stalemate. Edward wanted to attack. Mortimer would not let him. The English lords were set to besiege the Scots in their well-defended position. This stalemate was only broken to be replaced by another, when the Scots suddenly left their camp to take up position in an even better-defended spot. The siege began again: the English weary with the wait, and Edward frustrated that he was being denied a battle in which to prove himself a man.
It was at this second site, still on the banks of the River Wear, that the Scots made their move. On or about 3 August, the English had placed their guard for the night as usual. But unknown to them, Black Douglas - the famous Sir James Douglas who was to die in Spain, flinging the heart of Robert Bruce into the midst of the enemy that was pressing his men on all sides - took two hundred men along the river bank and crossed quietly in the moonlight. The English camp was quiet and unsuspecting. Most Englishmen were asleep. Suddenly the Scots rushed in, slashing the ropes of the tents and thrusting down with spears on the sleeping men caught beneath the tangled canvas, ropes and poles. The leaders were sleeping in their armour, and were quickly awake, but they could do little to organise resistance, and many men were slain. Edward himself was badly shaken, for as he slept, Black Douglas cut the ropes supporting his pavilion. The plan had been to capture the young king, but one of his chaplains within his tent managed to conceal him, saving him from a terrible humiliation. All through the camp the cries of A Douglas! A Douglas! You shall all die, English thieves!' rang out and caused terror. Then, as quickly as they had arrived, Douglas and his Scotsmen left the English to tend to their wounded men as they lay screaming, dying of their wounds, in the night.
The next few days were unremarkable in terms of military encounters. Black Douglas had made his point well: the Scots were in the ascendant because the English had too much to lose. Even the English and Hainaulters marvelled at the Scots' audacity. But for Edward it was a startling introduction to war. He had come close to being killed. He had seen and heard men butchered around him. He had seen the dead, their lifeless flesh, the grass soaked with blood. The sight was hideous, but in his comprehension of war and his duty, what he perceived to be required was not a man who would shrink from the sight of death but a man who would lead his men despite such horrors. So completely did Edward believe in his duty to lead a fighting nation, that he saw himself as the failure of Stanhope Park, and Douglas as the victor, even though the English generally saw themselves as the army which forced Douglas to retreat. When a few days later the Scots once more tricked the English, and escaped by night, leaving their leather cauldrons bubbling with stewed meat in a final insult to the army of King Edward, the young king broke down and wept. The tension had been great; the stakes had been high, and in all the suddenness of the Scots' departure it became clear to Edward that he had lost in every way. The Scots had succeeded in harassing the English and getting away without a battle. Mortimer had succeeded in stopping them invade England further, and in protecting the king. And Edward was as powerless as ever.
There was one small consolation in the failure of the attack on the Scots: Edward had at last been able to speak out against Mortimer openly and in full view of the leading nobles of England. They had all cowered under Mortimer's reply — Lancaster included - but just by speaking his mind Edward had distanced himself from the growing authority of this dictatorial Mortimer. When the court was informed in September 1327 that there was a rebellion growing in South Wales and Mortimer declared that he would leave court to attend to it in person, Edward can only have been relieved. He could not possibly have foreseen the depths to which he would shortly be plunged.
The court travelled from York to Nottingham, and from Nottingham to Lincoln. There, on 15 September, parliament assembled. Mortimer still had not returned, and Edward was able for several days to imagine that he was king in practice as well as in name. Many issues were raised -charters were confirmed, pardons were issued, terms of military service were established, taxation was discussed, the debts of the Crown were negotiated, and the franchises of cities reaffirmed - and no fewer than seventeen Acts were passed. Mortimer only returned on the fifth or sixth day. At the end of the parliament on Wednesday 23 September Edward could reflect that at last his authority was growing, and that perhaps soon he would be king de facto as well as de jure. But late that night a messenger, Thomas Gurney, arrived from Berkeley Castle. He was carrying two letters: one for the queen and one for Edward. His father, the late king, was dead.
Although Edward's relationship with his father had been difficult, it was not the man but his unsuitability as a king which had come between them. Had his father not been a monarch - if he had been a minor lord - he would have been able to enjoy a much simpler life, and he would have been far happier. But as a king, unloved as a child, expected to be a warrior and a leader against his temperament, and placed in a position of responsibility which he simply could not understand, his unhappiness and the unhappiness of his family had been guaranteed. Edward had witnessed the arguments at court and fully comprehended the depth of his father's failures of responsibility. But did these failures deserve to be punished with loss of royal status, liberty, and life? Edward did not think so. He wrote to his cousin, the young earl of Hereford, the next day, with the principal purpose of giving orders for the reinforcement of the northern border against a possible further Scottish attack, but he was unable to refrain from passing on the news that 'my father has been commanded to God'.
Edward could not have helped but dwell on his father's death. Natural causes? It must have been an illness brought on by grief, some said.'6 But the man was strong, forty-three years of age. Edward dared not repeat a suspicion that his father had been killed, but it probably occurred to him. On die other hand, his mother did not appear particularly grief-stricken even though she had been fond of her husband, and had sent him presents in his captivity at Berkeley. But since her liaison with Mortimer, Edward was not sure how to interpret her reaction. Mortimer himself gave nothing away. He gave permission for the abbot of Crokesden to commemorate the old king's death annually on 21 September, and allowed the prior of Canterbury to do likewise. But he refused permission to the monk Robert Beby to receive Edward's body in order to bury him with his father, mother and grandfather in the church of Westminster Abbey.
From the 24th or 25th messengers carried the news that Edward II was dead across the country. Lords and knights leaving Lincoln after the parliament took the news with them on their return journeys. A huge canopied hearse was ordered for the late king, to be sent to Gloucester Abbey. Various knights and priests were detailed to join the bishop of Llandaff in the continual watching of the shrouded body from the time of its delivery to Gloucester until its burial. Eight hundred gold leaves were purchased for gilding a leopard onto the cover placed over the body. Knightly robes and tunics were commissioned for the attendants.'8 Four great lions were made by John Estwyk, the king's painter, who gilded them and covered them with draped garments adorned with the royal arms, to be placed at the four corners of the late king's hearse. Four images of the Evangelists were also built by Estwyk to sit on top of the hearse. Eight incense-burners in the form of angels with towers of gold, and two rampant leopards, were made for the exterior of the hearse. A wooden effigy of the dead king was carved, dressed in his robes and given a gilded copper crown. Oak beams were supplied to keep the crowds away from the hundreds of candles which were to be placed on and aroun
d the hearse. Armour, including two helmets, was purchased for the deceased king. Everything was packaged and transported by road to Gloucester, ready for the funeral, which was scheduled for 20 December.
In the meantime, Edward was jousting. At first, this seems incongruous, and somewhat disrespectful. The young king, having just lost his father, continued to follow his favour-ite pastime. But we must remember that Edward was no ordinary young man, and martial prowess was a duty which consumed him completely. Jousting was part of his education as well as a pastime. One can read just as readily that Mortimer ordered the tournaments to take place, to divert Edward's attention. It was a full three months between receipt of the letters announcing Edward II's death and the funeral. Life, with all its demands on the young king, had to continue.
On the day of the funeral, Edward, his mother, his uncles, and Mortimer were among the several hundred mourners who gathered for the late king's obsequies. Hundreds of candles burned on and around the magnificent hearse. High within its structure the crowned wooden effigy of the king was clearly visible, lying on top of the sealed wooden coffin, which encased the lead coffin in which the embalmed body lay. Isabella was given a silver vase with the man's heart inside, in accordance with her long-stated wish to bury his heart with her. As the monks of the abbey sang a mass, the royal family watched the coffin taken from the hearse and lowered into the tomb on the north side of the nave. The monks carried on singing for the soul of the departed man and the royal party withdrew. They stayed only for one night in Gloucester, and then left, travelling to Worcester, which they reached the following day.
Over the last three months Edward had come to terms with his father's death. He still must have felt a sense of loss, and not just on personal grounds, for his father was the only other man in England to have borne the burden of kingship. In those three months too he had grown more wary of Mortimer, who, if he had murdered his father, might equally turn against him. Mortimer had, after all, demonstrated how he could use parliament to remove a king, and then how he could have that ex-king buried without anyone publicly asking questions as to the manner of death, or even seeing the corpse. In this mixture of personal loss, fear, and growing responsibility, the next development in Edward's reign must have been utterly devastating He must have felt his whole world shaken. Shortly after the funeral, probably while journeying to Worcester, he was told that his father was not dead. The whole episode had been a fabrication. The letters sent by Lord Berkeley announcing the death had been false. Edward had been tricked.
Although we may now piece together the process whereby Edward, parliament and the rest of the country had been misled (see Appendix Two), we cannot know what the young king thought in the days and weeks after receiving this shocking news. However, it is reasonable to suggest that, along with the resentment towards Mortimer, he felt an element of self-recrimination. Mortimer had set the trap, but he (Edward) had walked blindly into it. As soon as he had been informed of his father's death, he had started circulating the news. On the very next day, in fact. Why did it never occur to him to check the identity of the corpse, to insist on seeing his father's face? But Edward was intelligent enough to realise that his mother and Mortimer between them would have prevented him from making sure. And his mother may well have suggested that it was in all their best interests that his father lived out the rest of his days in obscurity. It had been already agreed that the man should be kept perpetually in prison. But any relief Edward felt in knowing that his father was alive would gradually have been eroded by the disturbing implications of this news. Mortimer had power over his father. His father had been forced to abdicate. What if Mortimer were to turn against him? Edward would be exposed as having officially announced his own father's death and having subsequently attended the funeral, when a false body was lowered into a royal grave. How on earth could he, Edward, do anything but support this upstart monster, Mortimer? He had not only been tricked, he had been trapped. And his mother was part of the plot. There was no one to whom he could turn.
On Sunday 24 January 1328 Edward met Philippa of Hainault, his bride, at the gates of York. It had been more than a year since he had last seen her, at Valenciennes, but the kind and pretty Philippa was a most welcome sight. She was practically the same age as Edward, probably eighteen months his junior. She was of the same blood, being his second cousin on his mother's side. Most important of all, she was temperamentally his ideal companion. She had a sense of humour, loved romances, and displayed a sympathetic understanding of people. Her wedding present for her husband was an illuminated collection of texts for aspiring rulers, including the 'Book of Julius Caesar' and the 'Government of Kings', and a book of statutes and music, with an illuminated picture of Edward in his favourite pose, holding a falcon: altogether a well-considered gift. Side by side they rode into the city, with the crowd celebrating in widespread and heartfelt joy at their union. Either the next day or on Tuesday 26th they were married in the cathedral by the archbishop, William Melton, with Bishop Hotham of Ely in attendance, watched by Mortimer and Isabella and thousands of lords, knights, esquires, priests and citizens of York. The Hainaulters were as fervent in their celebrations as the English. Count William of Hainault, struggling with gout, had accompanied his daughter and his brother, Sir John, bringing a large contingent. Of course there were tournaments. Philippa watched as Edward fought, with the pennons of his chosen protector, St George, flying above him.
For Edward the wonderful thing about Philippa was that, for the first time, he had someone totally loyal in whom he could confide. Isabella could read his letters and Mortimer could spy on his conversations, but neither of them could come between him and his wife. She very quickly became his support in his struggles with the leaders of the regime. Although Edward could not reduce Mortimer's authority, he could obstruct his plans. Also with Philippa came a number of young pages and Hainaulter servants who owed no allegiance to anyone but her. One, Walter Manny, would prove a lifelong friend to Edward. When Edward's household officers were appointed by Mortimer, and when he had to entrust his secret business to men like John Wyard - a man who would one day betray him - he needed all the friends he could get.29
Before the end of the wedding festivities, dark news was received in York. King Charles of France, Isabella's last brother, had died, leaving no heir. Since females were barred from inheriting the French throne, Isabella had no claim herself; but she could pass on her claim to her son. Indeed, with all her brothers dead, if Isabella wanted her dear father's dynasty to continue to occupy the French throne, she had no alternative but to make a claim on behalf of Edward.
As far as Edward was concerned, the French claim only added to his problems. In the parliament which met at York directly after the wedding, it became clear that Mortimer and Isabella were preparing to give up his sovereignty of Scotland. This would alienate his northern barons, and lose Edward part of his inheritance. More personally, his grandfather, Edward I, had fought long and hard for control of Scotland; it should not be given up without a fight. To Edward, Scotland symbolised everything that was ignoble about the government exercised in his name. He also knew that unless he made it clear that he personally did not agree to giving up Scotland, a large contingent of English lords would blame him, for not standing up to Mortimer.
Mortimer and Isabella were unassailable. On i March letters were issued in Edward's name which outlined the terms of the permanent peace. Edward had to renounce all his claims and those made by his ancestors. The borders of the time of Alexander III (d.1286) were to be recognised. All English lordships in Scotland were to become Scottish lordships. All English actions against the Scots at the papal curia were to be dropped. Most personal of all these insults to Edward's status was the clause about a royal marriage. One of his sisters would be forced to marry the heir to the kingdom of Scotland, David, the eldest son of Robert Bruce, a man whom most Englishmen held to be a traitor.3" To agree publicly with any of these terms would be humiliating. Edward began
thinking about how he could make his disagreement publicly known.
Edward's quiet planning was given an unexpected boost a few days later. For the first time since the invasion, his mother, Mortimer and Lancaster all left him. On 2 March he issued a writ urging the sheriffs throughout the kingdom to assist his mother wherever she went on her pilgrimage. On 5 March the next parliament was summoned to meet at Northampton at the end of April. And then they began to depart. Mortimer disappeared off to Wales, probably with Isabella. Lancaster and his kinsman, Thomas Wake, remained with Edward until 8 March and left shortly afterwards. Edward was left in the keeping of the bishops of Lincoln and Norwich, Gilbert Talbot, John Maltravers (then steward of the household), William Zouche, and John Darcy.34
This unprecedented departure prompts us to wonder what was going on in March 1328. And we might well wonder, for one of the reasons why Mortimer left court was to attend to his business in secret. We might say that, if contemporaries did not know what he was up to, what hope have we seven hundred years later? It is like trying to find where a needle was in a long-since vanished haystack. But the problem is potentially very important. For another of the characters who disappeared from court at this time was the earl of Kent, Edward's uncle. He was away for the same period as Mortimer, and returned to court at the same time as him. This is interesting because these two men seem to have fallen out at this point. They had been close in France in 1325-26, and Kent had married Mortimer's cousin, Margaret Wake. Kent had urged a gift of a manor to be given to Mortimer after the invasion; Mortimer had responded on 3 March 1328, offering Kent some of Hugh Despenser's old lands. But thereafter there is no evidence of closeness between them, and later there was great hostility. The reason this is relevant to Edward III is that, at some point in 1328, almost certainly before March, Kent discovered that Edward II was still alive.
