by Alison Weir
Why should Edward II choose these places for a refuge? First, they were remote and a long way from England. Second, he may have heard of them from Fieschi when he visited Avignon, probably in 1331. Or third, the Pope might have suggested that he go there.
It is noticeable that Fieschi does not say whether Edward II is still alive, only that he had been in the last hermitage for two years. Possibly he was still there when the letter was written, for in the penultimate paragraph, the text could be translated either as “he remained in this last hermitage for two years” or as “he has remained,” etcetera. A local tradition persists that an English king sought refuge at Cecima and was buried in the nearby abbey, but it cannot be traced back further than the nineteenth century. In the church of Sant’ Alberto di Butrio, there is an empty tomb carved out of rock that is alleged to be Edward’s. A modern plaque above it proclaims that this was
THE FIRST TOMB OF EDWARD II, KING OF ENGLAND. HIS BONES WERE TAKEN BY EDWARD III AND TRANSPORTED TO ENGLAND AND REBURIED IN THE TOMB AT GLOUCESTER.
However, the carvings on the tomb that gave rise to this identification, which are said to depict Edward II, Isabella, and Mortimer, have been proved to date from the early thirteenth century or earlier, and the tomb itself is probably eleventh-century.154 This is not to say, however, that it did not at one time hold the body of Edward II.
Of course, if Edward II was buried in Italy, who, then, was buried in his tomb in what is now Gloucester Cathedral? The obvious candidate, as Fieschi says, was the porter he slew on his way out of Berkeley Castle. How did Edward know about the substitution of the porter’s body? He probably guessed, for he surely would have got to hear of the inspection of a body by local officials and its burial at Gloucester. The tomb there was opened for two hours in October 1855. Immediately below the base of the chest, there was an outer wooden coffin, “quite sound.” This was partially opened, revealing an inner one of thick lead, encasing a body, which was left undisturbed, so that the body was not seen.155 There were no signs of any earlier interference with the tomb, but that does not rule out the possibility of its having been opened before, to facilitate yet another substitution of a body. The likelihood of this having happened will be discussed in due course, in chapter 11.
What do we know of Fieschi? A scion of a powerful Genoese family and a career clergyman, he was a distant but acknowledged relative of the English royal House, had long enjoyed close links with England, and held several English benefices. He was known to, and was perhaps a friend of, Richard de Bury, Edward III’s former tutor. Fieschi was granted his first benefice, at Salisbury, in 1319156 and another, at Ampleforth, in June 1329. Soon afterward, he became a canon of Liège in the Low Countries. In December 1329, he was appointed a canon of Salisbury Cathedral and Archdeacon of Nottingham. By August 1330, he was working at the papal Curia at Avignon and at some stage served as the Pope’s collector of taxes in Lombardy. In December 1331, he exchanged his archdeaconry at Nottingham for a more lucrative benefice in the diocese of Lincoln. His attestations of letters of attorney show that he was in England from 1333 to 1335, when he returned to Italy. In April 1342, Edward III authorized his retention of the benefices at Salisbury and Ampleforth. In 1343, the Pope appointed Fieschi as Bishop of Vercilli in northern Italy, which gave him ecclesiastical jurisdiction over the region in which Melazzo and Cecima were situated. He died in 1348. Given his distinguished career, and the positions of trust he occupied, he does not appear to have been the type of man who would fabricate such a story, nor the kind of person who could have been deceived by an imposter or madman, however extraordinarily well informed.157
Tout, who could detect in the Fieschi letter none of the usual characteristics of a medieval forgery, suggested that it was an attempt on the part of a Francophile clergyman to discredit Edward III after he had scored victories over France in the Hundred Years’ War. But if the letter was written in early 1337, Edward III had yet to claim the French Crown, and he would win no victories until 1340.
Doherty points out that Fieschi received three of his church appointments from Isabella and Mortimer but asks why they should show such exceptional favor to a foreign clergyman. The answer probably lies in Fieschi’s ties of kinship to Edward III and in the Queen’s desire to maintain her good relations with the Papacy. I am not convinced that these appointments were bribes to persuade Fieschi to support Isabella and Mortimer’s case against Kent at the papal court, as Doherty suggests, because when Ampleforth was granted to Fieschi in June 1329, Kent’s conspiracy was several months in the future, and no one could have predicted the outcome. Furthermore, Edward III continued to patronize Fieschi after he assumed power in 1330, although that patronage ceased after there was an outcry over the granting of benefices to absentee foreigners, which is probably why Fieschi left England in 1335. Doherty has suggested that Fieschi’s letter was an attempt to blackmail Edward into restoring his revenues: if he did not pay up, Fieschi would make public the contents of Edward II’s confession.
But his letter, sent “in the name of God,” does not read like a blackmail threat. Nor did Edward III apparently respond to it as such, for there is no record of Fieschi’s receiving any further church appointments in England in the years left to him; all Edward did, in 1342, was confirm him in the two benefices he already held. The evidence we have looked at, and some that will be scrutinized later, overwhelmingly suggests that the Fieschi letter was written in 1337. So if it was an attempt at blackmail, why did Edward III wait five years before responding? And what did Fieschi gain from it?
It is significant that Fieschi had lived in England and had actually seen Edward II, his kinsman. Had they met in Italy, he would surely have recognized the King. Edward III was also his kinsman, and Fieschi would have been ideally placed to be chosen by the father as an emissary to the son. His background and the blood tie were impeccable credentials. These are compelling reasons for believing that the Fieschi letter was genuine, and we should not discount the possibility that it was sent simply because Edward II wanted his son to know that he was alive and was praying for him, and had therefore forgiven him. It was in no way a threat to Edward III’s security as King.
All things considered, we cannot just dismiss the evidence in the Fieschi letter as being of no consequence, because so many factors point to its being genuine that there must therefore be a strong possibility that it is. In which case, there can be no question of Isabella’s being held responsible for the murder of her husband, because no murder actually took place. And, as we will discover in due course, there is even more evidence to support this theory.
From 21 September until its burial on 20 December, a man called William Beaukaire watched over the body at Berkeley.158 This suggests that the corpse was eviscerated, embalmed, and wrapped in waxed linen cerecloth within hours of the death. This task was carried out not by a royal physician or apothecary, as was usual, but by a local wise woman, probably a midwife—who was perhaps the only person available, and who would probably not have recognized Edward II if she saw him. The heart was removed and placed in a silver casket costing 37s.8d., which would be sent by Berkeley to the widowed Queen as a memento mori, a practice that was by no means unusual in those days. Berkeley charged the cost of the embalming and the casket to the Royal Wardrobe.159 Once it had been cered, the corpse was probably laid on a bier in the tiny chapel of Saint John within the castle, where Berkeley, on his return, arranged for Masses to be sung for the soul of the departed.160
William Beaukaire was a royal sergeant at arms who had been an adherent of the Despensers and had helped to defend Caerphilly Castle against Isabella’s forces. After its fall, he had become reconciled to the new regime, and, perhaps because of his earlier affiliation to Edward II, and the fact that he had yet to prove his loyalty to Edward III, he had been chosen to watch over the body to ensure that no one inspected it too closely for marks of violence. What is remarkable about this is that Beaukaire was at Berkeley on the day of the murder, whic
h suggests that Mortimer had sent him there, knowing that Edward would be killed that day. Beaukaire had probably accompanied Ockle and been furnished with instructions to guard the body and let no one inspect it until the embalming process had been completed.161
Assuming that Edward II had escaped, and that Maltravers and Gurney knew about the substituted body, how did they hoodwink Beaukaire? They may have risked taking him into their confidence, for Beaukaire had once been Despenser’s man and might have rejoiced to learn of Edward’s escape. Or, more probably, they made sure that the body was embalmed and wrapped in cerecloth before he saw it. There was, however, to be no rush to bury the body with unseemly haste. As was normal when a royal personage died, there would be a considerable time lapse between the death and the funeral.
Of course, when Lord Berkeley returned—and there is no record of when this was, although he was probably summoned urgently—he must have been told by Maltravers what had happened, since he was later to deny all knowledge of Edward II’s having died.162 Because the escape of his important prisoner reflected so badly upon him, and would probably have led to severe reprisals if discovered, he kept quiet.
Although “friends and kin of the dead King were kept well away” from Berkeley,163 Murimuth states that “many persons—abbots, priors, knights, burgesses of Bristol and Gloucester—were summoned to view the body, and indeed superficially examined it, standing far off.” There has been much speculation as to what the word superficially indicates. It may mean that these people were not allowed to get close enough to the body to see it properly. Or, which is more likely, it meant that the body had already been embalmed and, as Ian Mortimer convincingly argues, even had its face covered with cerecloth, as Edward I’s was proved to have had when his tomb was opened in 1774.164 We do not even know how long after the death this inspection took place. Whatever the truth, it is certain that no one who “inspected” that body would have been able to pronounce definitively on the cause of death and likely that few of these local dignitaries would have been able to recognize the dead man, even if his face had been exposed. “Nevertheless,” continues Murimuth, “it was commonly said that [Edward II] was cunningly slain as a precaution by the orders of Sir John Maltravers and Sir Thomas Gurney.”
Edward II’s murder or escape must have taken place in the early hours of 21 September, because less than three days later, during the night of 23 September, Sir Thomas Gurney arrived at Lincoln, 130 miles away, and privately informed Edward III and Queen Isabella that the former King had died.165 Isabella probably received the news with mingled sadness, regret, and overwhelming relief, for any threat to her son’s rule and her own power had now been removed, as well as the fear that public opinion might one day force her to return to her husband.
We have no means of knowing whether she asked herself how a strong man of forty-three had so conveniently died, and who might have been responsible. If so, she did not voice any of these concerns in public. Yet there is some evidence, which will be examined in the next chapter, that she was perturbed about the nature of her husband’s death. It is very unlikely that Mortimer would have entrusted to a messenger or letter details of his plot to murder the King, so the Queen would have had no means as yet of knowing what was supposed to have happened at Berkeley. Nor is it certain that Mortimer ever did reveal to Isabella his part in Edward II’s fate. There was undoubtedly a conspiracy of silence surrounding the events of 21 September, and he certainly felt that the fewer people who knew about it, the better. Edward had been the father of Isabella’s children, and there was always the risk that she might feel that Mortimer had gone too far this time. Regicide was a terrible crime, and the knowledge that Mortimer had committed it might conceivably serve to alienate Isabella from him.
Soon after hearing the news of his father’s death, Edward III wrote an unemotional letter to his cousin, John de Bohun, Earl of Hereford, stating only that Edward II had been “commended to God.”166 We may infer from later evidence, however, that he was shocked and horrified to hear of his father’s death and that he immediately suspected that the absent Mortimer had in some way been responsible.167
Gurney was sent back to Berkeley with instructions to withhold any information about the fate of Edward II until 1 November.168 This in itself suggests that Isabella wanted time in which to establish what had really happened. Had Mortimer found some way of informing her, they would surely have had a strategy planned already. In the meantime, Edward III was allowed a few days to grieve in private while the Queen debated what to do next. It was not until 28 September, the last day of the Lincoln Parliament, that the former King’s death was publicly announced; it was claimed that his demise was “an accident destined by fate”169 and that he had died on the feast day of Saint Matthew the Apostle and Evangelist, 21 September. This may have been as much as Mortimer was prepared to tell Isabella, at least in a message carried by a third party. The last day for which Berkeley and Maltravers claimed the daily allowance for Edward’s maintenance was 21 September. Thereafter, until 21 October, they were allocated the same amount for taking care of the corpse.170
On 28 September, after Parliament had adjourned, the court left Lincoln for Nottingham, arriving there two days later.171 The next day, 1 October, Edward II’s death was officially proclaimed. Mortimer had rejoined the court before 4 October, when he witnessed a charter at Nottingham.172
In October, the envoys arrived back in England with the papal dispensation. Orleton returned to a row with Isabella and Mortimer, because, in defiance of their orders, he had accepted from the Pope the vacant See of Worcester, for which they had already approved a candidate. Orleton seems to have presumed on their friendship and gratitude but been sadly mistaken. For several months, he was to be out of favor.
On 8 October, a new embassy headed by Roger Northburgh, Bishop of Lichfield, was sent to Hainault to draw up the marriage contract and perform the proxy ceremony.173 The Bishop was also empowered to inform Count William officially of Edward II’s demise and to assure him that he had “died naturally.” Throughout October and November, Isabella and Edward III were busy making preparations for Philippa’s arrival. Edward commanded “his beloved Bartholemew de Burghersh, Constable of Dover, to receive and welcome into his kingdom that noble person, William, Count of Hainault, with the illustrious damsel Philippa, his daughter; and he charges all and singular his nobility and people of the counties through which [they] may pass, to do them honour and give them needful aid.”174 Several modern historians assert that the marriage had been arranged to divert the young King and his subjects from dwelling on Edward II’s murder, but of course, it had been arranged long before September. Certainly, the prospect of welcoming his bride would have helped to ease Edward III’s grief and, perhaps, his conscience.
On 9 October, a fourth set of commissioners was appointed to negotiate a peace with the Scots. Robert the Bruce was dying, and he knew it. His heir was a child of three, and he feared his kingdom would descend into anarchy after his death. He therefore needed to make peace with England on terms favorable to Scotland, and on 18 October, he responded positively to the overtures made by Isabella and Mortimer but stipulated that any settlement would depend on the English recognizing him as King of Scots “without any kind of subjection.” He also demanded that Isabella’s daughter Joan be married to his heir, David; that no Englishman lay claim to any land in Scotland; and that England would give military aid to Scotland if another country attacked her. In return, he offered £20,000 as compensation for his raids in the North, and Scottish aid against any enemy of England except France, his ally.175
These were draconian terms, and totally unacceptable to Lancaster, Henry de Beaumont, Lord Wake, and many of the anti-Scottish Lancastrian faction, who regarded them as being utterly dishonorable and humiliating to the English Crown. And while Isabella was concerned about the loyalty of these and other lords who stood to lose their Scottish lands, the young King was unhappy about the sovereignty issue; yet he appr
oved of the offer of compensation and the marriage proposed for his sister, and on 20 October, the Queen sanctioned further peace talks with the Scots at Newcastle. Between November and the following February, both sides worked hard at hammering out a treaty that was mutually acceptable.
We have an insight into Isabella’s state of mind at this time in a letter that she wrote on 10 October to John de Bohun, which is preserved in the Public Record Office. Bohun had evidently responded to the King’s missive of 21 September with letters of condolence to both Edward and Isabella. The Queen’s reply reveals that she had been deeply affected by her husband’s death:
Most dear and beloved nephew,
We have well understood what you have sent us word of by letter, and as to our estate, we give you [to] know that we are even in great trouble of heart; but, considering the condition we are in, we were in good health of body at the setting forth of these letters, which Our Lord ever grant to you.
Dearest nephew, we pray you that you will leave off all excuses and come to the King our son in the best manner you can, and as he commands you more fully by his letters. For you well know, dearest nephew, if you come not, considering the necessity that now exists, it will be greatly talked of, and will be a great dishonour to you. Wherefore, make an effort to come at this time as hastily as you can, and you well know, dearest nephew, that we shall ever be ready to counsel you as well as we can in all things that shall be to your honour and profit.
Most dear and beloved nephew, Our Lord have you in His keeping.
