Authors: Thomas B. Costain
A state of war developed immediately. The old archbishop, who had once been the stoutest supporter of Edward while his father was alive, now went over to the other side. He excommunicated Gaveston for breaking his oath by returning. The barons began to arm their adherents and to gather at strategic points. Lancaster was chosen general of the people’s army. Edward had no course left but to return to the north, hoping to stalemate the barons again by leaving them unopposed. Although the queen was heavy with child, he took her with him and wrote to Philip of France to explain the situation. “She is in good health,” he set down, “and will (God propitious) be fruitful.”
Isabella accompanied him without protest, although she must have realized the seriousness of the situation. There is nothing on record to let any light into the working of her mind at this stage. It seems likely, however, that she still entertained the hope that the king would see reason and strive to correct the errors of the past. It is certain that she had no real love for him. Her heart may have fluttered slightly when she first saw her tall and blond bridegroom at Boulogne, but lasting attachments are seldom formed at the age of thirteen. Before she had reached a stage where a permanent romantic interest might be found, the eccentric behavior of the king had alienated any hint of tenderness between them. As for Edward, it was only too clear that he had never felt any affection for his young bride.
It may be accepted, in spite of the breach between them, that the queen was still ready at this point to do everything to assist in settling the trouble.
The royal party went first to York and then to Newcastle, where Master Piers became very ill. The king was so alarmed that he summoned the best man of medicine in the north, one William de Bromtoft, to attend his friend. When Gaveston recovered, Edward paid the physician the sum of two pounds, a truly royal fee.
As soon as the Gascon was well enough to travel, the king took him on a boat for Scarborough, leaving the queen behind with the people of her household at Tynemouth Castle. The royal lady was both hurt and angry at this desertion, which made it only too clear that he cared nothing for her comfort or safety. She protested tearfully at being left, but the king had only one thought in his mind, to get his friend to a place of safety before the baying hounds of the baronage closed in about them. As it was, the army of Lancaster entered the day after the departure of the royal fugitive.
In view of what would happen later, history has blackened the character of the queen. But she was not wholly bad. While she stayed at
Tynemouth Castle, alone and ill, this story is told in the form of a brief item in the household books:
October 9. To little Thomeline, the Scotch orphan boy, to whom the queen, being moved to charity by his miseries, gave food and raiment to the amount of six- and six-pence.
Little Thomeline made a good impression on the queen, apparently, for she decided a permanent home must be found for him. Here is a later item from the household books:
To the same orphan, on his being sent to London to dwell with Agnes, the wife of Jean, the queen’s French organist; for his education, for necessaries bought him, and for curing his maladies, fifty-two shillings and eight-pence.
There were many homeless children all through the northern counties of England and the Lowlands of Scotland as a result of the continuous warfare, the never-ceasing raids and burnings. The orphan in question was perhaps one of thousands. Lucky little Thomeline that he caught the eye of the queen!
Edward had chosen Scarborough as their sanctuary ahead of Bamborough for several reasons. Bamborough, like an eyrie on its impregnable rock, offered no manner of escape. Beyond it, less than twenty miles, lay Berwick and the Scottish border. It was a
cul-de-sac
and there was little chance of getting a boat there if a quick departure became necessary. Scarborough, on the other hand, was an active shipping port with boats plying both north and south. A peninsula of the general shape of a blacksmith’s hammer ran out into the sea, cutting the harbor in two. On the highest point of this rocky arm of the land stood the old Norman castle which had been built in the time of Edward the Conqueror. It lacked the isolation of Bamborough, but it was well fortified and could be held indefinitely by an adequate garrison. Edward, who still believed he had friends who would rally to his banner, considered Scarborough the best base of operations. He was guided also by the knowledge that the baronial army had been behind him at Newcastle by a very few hours. A wily fox will often double on its tracks when the hounds come too close.
So the king and the fully recovered Gascon arrived at Scarborough and took possession of the castle. The trip had taken longer than they had expected, and reports reached them that the forces of Lancaster were marching down the coastal roads. The garrison was not large and it was of dubious loyalty, and so Edward was sure they could not hold out long. To
go farther by water was out of the question, for that would take them to London, the very heart and soul of the anti-royalist cause. Edward decided that the only course open to him under these circumstances was to leave his friend in sanctuary at Scarborough and strike across country to York. Here he hoped to rally forces and return to the aid of his friend. He was sadly disillusioned to find that the royal city of the north had already welcomed the barons and that sentiment in his favor was slight indeed. Hearing that Lancaster had sent the earls of Pembroke and Warenne to take Scarborough, the king proposed to his opponents that Gaveston be brought to him so that an understanding for the future might be reached. This was agreed to. In the meantime, after two days’ resistance, Gaveston had given himself up on promises that he would see the king and that he would have a fair and legal trial.
It developed that most of the barons were against the proposed meeting between king and favorite, feeling certain from experience that no good would come of it. But the Earl of Pembroke had given his word and, like Brutus, he was an honorable man. It had been arranged that Parliament was to meet at Wallingford in August, and so the earl proceeded in that direction with his prisoner. Gaveston had surrendered on May 19, and it was nearly a month later that Pembroke and his armed escort passed through Northampton and came to the Cherwell. He crossed that pleasantly meandering river with the intention of following it to its junction with the Thames. At twilight on June 19 they came to Deddington, where the earl left his prisoner under guard in a house in town while he went to spend the night at a nearby castle.
The stage was now set for tragedy. The violent Earl of Warwick, still smoldering from the favorite’s impudence to him, came to Deddington with a number of other magnates. That so many of the baronial leaders were in the party makes it clear that this was not a matter of chance, that Warwick and his friends had been waiting for just such an opportunity as this. Learning where Gaveston was being held, they roused him out of his bed and took him forcibly from the town. They first ransacked his belongings and found evidence to fan the flames of their grim resolution. One of the acquisitive Gascon’s weaknesses was a passion for fine jewelry, and it was now revealed that he had employed his hold over the king to get his hands on many of the crown jewels. In addition he had in his possession much gold and silver plate from the royal table and a great many necklaces and rings and chains which had been presented to Edward at various times by the queen and other members of the royal family.
The feeling against Gaveston was so violent that the barons could not wait to have him tried by a proper court; and yet it was not so much because of his interference in state matters as it was resentment over smaller things: his wealth, his insolence, his disregard of their rights and privileges, the names he had coined for each of them. What followed the
forcible removal of the Gascon is not very clear. One version has it that he was taken to Warwick Castle and that Lancaster and several other noblemen arrived soon after. A consultation was held and it was decided to put him to death without more ado. He was taken to Blacklow Hill the next night and beheaded there. According to another version, the judging occurred on the hillside at Blacklow and the evidence against the prisoner was discussed at some length. He was charged with having an evil influence over the king, and it was even claimed that he had practiced sorcery to gain it. In support of this charge it was advanced that he was the son of a witch who had been burned at the stake in Guienne for sorcery. This, unfortunately for Gaveston, was true.
There is no evidence to prove either version right, but it seems certain that all of the barons who had taken part in the decision were present at his death. There was clearly a desire for anonymity in everything they did: in their choice of so late an hour and so isolated a spot as Blacklow Hill, in their reliance on the moon and the stars for light. There was surreptitiousness in the manner in which they sat closely together on the damp sod, knee to knee, hats drawn down low.
How did the once gay Gascon behave during these grim proceedings? Did he strive to prove himself innocent? Did he let his high temper flare in a reiteration of his contempt for them? Or did he lose his courage and beg abjectly for mercy? Nothing is known of his attitude.
The sentence was carried out at once. There had been such haste about everything, it may be taken for granted that the proper equipment for an execution had not been provided. No doubt a battle-ax in the steady hands of a man-at-arms was the means of carrying out the sentence. The stump of a tree may have served as the block.
One of the charges brought against Gaveston had been that during the time he was entrusted with the custody of the Great Seal of England he had stamped a large assortment of charters and papers which he could fill in later according to his fancy. This was a particularly heinous offense. The Great Seal was an essential part of the machinery of government. No charter, no declaration, no letter of appointment, no official decision was legal unless it carried the imprint of the Great Seal. For that reason the Seal was never supposed to leave the possession of the king. If affairs of state took him overseas, it was necessary to appoint a regent and to entrust the Seal to him until the monarch returned. There was, in fact, an official at the chancellery called the Keeper of the Seal whose chief duty seemed to be to stamp all the documents prepared and then get the instrument back into the king’s hands late in the day. If this symbol of royal
power was lost or mislaid, a state of paralysis set in at Westminster. Documents would pile up in the chancellery and the justiciary which could not be sent out, royal officials would gnaw their fingernails in perplexity and whisper together in white-faced groups; a truly Gilbertian state of affairs.
To avoid this dire possibility, a small seal was kept as a substitute. Once, when Edward II was going to France to do homage for the duchy of Aquitaine, he was asked to hide the Great Seal in some very secret place, and the small seal was brought out for the use of the master of the rolls while he was away. It was during this visit that a fire broke out in the middle of the night at the castle at Pontoise, where the king and queen were staying. They had a narrow escape, getting out at the last possible moment in their nightgowns. When word of this reached Westminster there was much shaking of heads. Does anyone know where the Seal is? they asked one another. No one did. It had been a narrow escape indeed.
On another occasion, when Edward was going to Scotland, he gave the Seal, carefully locked in its velvet purse, to Richard Camel, his chamberlain, with instructions to deliver it without delay to the queen. The queen was to give it in turn to Lady Elizabeth de Montibus, her lady of the bedchamber, who would place it in a casket, lock the same, and give the key to the queen. In the morning the queen would give the key to the Lady Elizabeth, who would unlock the casket while her royal mistress watched. The queen would then deliver the purse into the hands of the Keeper of the Seal. He in turn would take it to the Exchequer, summon the superintendents who had put their seals on it, have them break the seals and produce the Great Seal. After the day’s work had been done, the same procedure would be followed.
The Great Seal had been in the keeping of Gaveston on many occasions, but he did not believe in such tiresome precautions. He carried it about as openly as a drummer with his stick.
That it had been entrusted to him was one of the kingly lapses which the barons found hardest to condone. It was a symbol of power almost on a par with the crown, for without it business came to a halt.
Three centuries later, when James II was running away from his Dutch son-in-law, William of Orange, he paused long enough to scoop up the Great Seal. As he crossed the Thames, he tossed it into the water with an ill temper which expressed the thought, “Now, how will you run your country?”
King Edward was prostrated with grief and rage when he heard of the execution of Gaveston. He wept openly and shouted threats of retaliation.
After a time he gained sufficient control of himself to take the body for burial to King’s Langley, where they had lived as boyhood friends. Later he established a chantry where prayers were to be said perpetually for Gaveston’s soul.
The favorite’s death proved a great boon for the king at a time when the whole country seemed against him. The bad faith of the leaders in thus illegally committing the Gascon to the block divided the baronial strength in two. The Earl of Pembroke, who was a man of high honor, as already stated, would not forgive Lancaster and Warwick for breaking the pledge he had given the Gascon. With the Earl of Warenne he went over to the king’s party and almost immediately the complexion of things changed. With Gaveston out of the way, public sentiment turned back to the king. Cousin Lancaster found himself the leader of a minority party instead of dictator of the country.
And then an event occurred which has been the prime resolver of troubles throughout the ages, the most certain method of solving marital difficulties, the healer of wounds, the patcher of family solidarity. At Windsor, where the disconsolate king had gone to be with the queen, Isabella took to her bed on the twelfth of November and at forty-five minutes after four the following morning was delivered of a child. It was a boy, a healthy, handsome specimen, whose first cries had a lustiness which seemed to promise that he had no intention of yielding to the infantile weaknesses which had carried off so many royal heirs. The next King of England had been born. No one had any doubts of that: not the queen, who was now eighteen and close to the peak of her great beauty; not the father, who became so intensely proud of his son that, for the time being at least, he forgot the fate of his favorite and was happy beyond measure; not the holders of hereditary posts at court, nor the French noblemen who had been sent over in anticipation of the happy event; and most certainly not the good citizens of London, who received the news by the queen’s own hand and celebrated feverishly for three days.