Authors: Thomas B. Costain
And now on this warm day of September 27, with his few remaining adherents about him, sticking like limpets to the only rock in sight, he received the news that the queen had landed. He had been hoping against hope that she would decide at the last minute against taking such a great risk, but it had come to pass and he must meet the threat without an army back of him and small chance to raise one.
There was still one course open to him. He could send the Despensers into permanent exile, demand the seal from Baldock and discharge that worthless official, and then ride out to meet his wife and son to discuss terms. But he had one vice so strongly bred in him that it had become almost a virtue: he would not give up his worthless friends even to save his crown or his life.
He had passed his forty-second birthday and the years seemed, on the surface, to have treated him well. Because of his ceaseless addiction to the chase, his tall frame had not broadened perceptibly. There was a cheerful ruddiness in his cheeks. Nor did age show in his face; instead he looked carefree and blandly unconcerned. Had all the worries and defeats and heartbreaks of his ill-spent life passed him by lightly? There was even a hint of boyishness about him still, as though he had not in reality grown up; and a look in his eyes as though he realized this and wondered about it.
But the passing of the years was suggested in one respect: there was a definite trace of carelessness in his dress. The days were long since gone when he and Brother Perrot had strutted about in the very latest clothes from Paris, the multicolored tunics and tabards in red and yellow or blue and gold, and the smartly fitted hose in checkered designs; yes, those days were gone and would never come back. Nor would Brother Perrot.
An observant eye would have noted a suspicion of bagginess at the knees, and his plain gray coat, ending just below his waist (in Paris they were now being worn much longer), showed unmistakable wrinkles.
The first moments of panic passed and he became somewhat optimistic. What were the people of England going to think of the “she-wolf of France” landing on English soil with foreign troops? Were they not certain to ask themselves what promises she had made to her Low Country volunteers? Was it not clear that she had guaranteed rich English estates to them as William the Conqueror had done with his Normans? Under the circumstances he believed that no Englishman would join the she-wolf and that deluded young cub of a son and—here the Plantagenet violence showed in his face—that murderous thief, that black traitor, Mortimer. If only he could win London over!
If he could win the support of the great city! If the apprentices would bring their weapons out from where they slept under the counters so he
could make the trained bands the nucleus of an army! If he could use great London Town as a base!
Despite the bad conditions which prevailed throughout the country after twenty years of misrule, London had gone on growing in population and wealth. The stretch of river front which ran from Ludgate Hill to Westminster was being rapidly filled with the London houses of the great nobles. But they, the nobility, did not constitute London. The real London lay in the city, that close huddle of small parishes where the tradesmen had organized themselves into guilds on such a broad basis that each guild had its own hall, its own church, its own streets, its own laws and regulations, its own ceremonial uniform. Some had their own patron saint, as for instance St. Crispin, to whom the shoemakers bowed.
It had all started in London with the weavers. Then the goldsmiths had followed suit, then the saddlers, the fishmongers, the bakers, the cordwainers, the lorimers, even the law clerks. In France the law clerks were called the Basoche and were so powerful that most lawyers graduated from their ranks. The worthy burghers deserved the prosperity which had followed the careful cultivation of their respective fields. Proverbs 22:29 tells the story in a few words:
Seest thou a man diligent in his business: He shall stand before kings
. There was an anecdote that was often repeated with great pride when they met in their halls. It came from the Welsh
Red Book of Hergest
and was in dialogue form.
“Open the door.”
“I will not open it.”
“Wherefore not?”
“The knife is in the meat, and the drink is in the horn, and there is revelry in Arthur’s Hall, and none may enter therein but the son of a king of a privileged country,
or a craftsman bringing his craft
.”
In addition to the guilds and the wealth they produced, London was the great port of the islands. The wool and tin, which constituted the greatest part of the country’s exports, came down the river to be shipped overseas from London. It was no wonder that London could lend the most effective support to king or popular leader or general of an army. It was not as fully recognized then as it became later that in all civil conflict the side which London took became the winning side. The kings of the red rose, Charles I, the exiled Stuarts, would all learn the strength and stubbornness of London.
It was not surprising, therefore, that Edward entertained the hope that London could be won over, even though he expressed it with a dubious frown. He knew how partial London had always been to Isabella.
The first step he took in this crisis was to issue a proclamation that
all who had taken part in the invasion would be treated as traitors, save the queen and his son Edward. A price of one thousand pounds was set on the head of “the black traitor” Mortimer. Then he summoned to the Tower a party made up of the mayor, the aldermen, and the heads of the guilds. It was in his mind clearly that he would have one advantage in his dealings with them. Hamo de Chigwell, who was serving his sixth term as mayor, had always been favorably disposed to him.
The king raised the point of the dangers which might be expected from the presence of foreign troops and asked, Would it be a case of the Norman invasion over again? This did not carry as much weight as he had hoped. The Flemish people were the natural allies of London because they bought practically all of England’s wool. They had always been found honest and fair in their dealings.
The result was a compromise. The citizens agreed that no foreign force would be allowed to enter the city, but they stipulated also that no London troops would be permitted to serve more than a mile from the city walls. In reality, this was a defeat for Edward, who needed active support.
The king made up his mind to retire into the west, where he believed the sentiment of the people was more favorable to him. Leaving the Tower and his second son, John of Eltham, in the hands of the wife of the younger Despenser, he betook himself to Bristol.
The Londoners dropped the mask of neutrality at once. Bishop Stapledon of Exeter, the stout prelate who had come back from Paris to warn Edward of the queen’s designs and of her conduct, had remained in the city. He was seized by the mobs and beheaded. His body was buried under a pile of rubbish and his head was sent on to Gloucester, where it was presented to Isabella as evidence that, in spite of everything, the heart of London was still with her. Lady Despenser, alarmed by the rioting in the streets, surrendered the Tower to the mobs.
Queen Isabella had shown great courage in bringing her small army across the North Sea. The baronial strength had been crushed before she left England and there was no evidence that it had been reviving. She had been in correspondence with some of the barons and could count on the aid of a few. Would there be enough to give her the strength to meet the king’s army?
She was not left long in doubt. The landing had been made on the domain of Thomas of Brotherton, half brother to the king and her own blood cousin. He greeted her with bells ringing and bonfires blazing. The
common people turned out in cheering mobs to welcome back the injured wife and queen. Women strewed her path with flowers.
Henry of Lancaster, called Wryneck, came galloping down from the north with a body of men. He was the brother of Thomas, who had been so summarily disposed of, and had succeeded to the huge family estates. Burning with the desire for vengeance, which he had been compelled to suppress for four years, he threw in his lot with the invaders. The army grew with every mile as baron after baron appeared to join them. Three bishops came as well, Ely, Lincoln, and Hereford. By the time the invaders reached Wallingford, the queen’s confidence had grown so great that she issued a declaration, setting forth the mistakes the king had made and the iniquities of the favorites, and incidentally putting an offer of two thousand pounds on the head of the younger Despenser, twice the amount that Edward had offered for Mortimer.
When they reached Oxford, the Bishop of Hereford preached an incendiary sermon from 2 Kings 4:19,
My head, my head acheth
. It may be in order to pause here and have something to say about this bitter and savage churchman. He has already been mentioned, Adam of Orleton, as having aided Mortimer in his escape from the Tower. If Mortimer is the villain of this story, the bishop must be considered as second in that category. He had been advising Isabella from the beginning, it is believed, and it was always the violent course he proposed. In his sermon on the Bible story of Elisha and the woman whose son had died, he drew this conclusion, “When the head of a kingdom becometh sick and diseased, it must of necessity be taken off.” It was evidence of the high feeling in the land that the sermon was received with approval.
In the meantime, the king, finding that no one came to join him, had been retreating toward the west. It was his intention, if his fortunes took no better turn, to hide among the Welsh people who had always displayed affection for him. He paused at Gloucester to summon all loyal men to his banner, getting no response whatever. Then he spent a day in the Forest of Dean, where in the shadow of the great oaks he could commune with his inner being and take stock of his resources. The result was a temporary gain in resolution and the sending of the elder Despenser to Bristol in the hope that he could hold that strong city in the king’s interest.
But Bristol was filled with fervor for the cause of the queen and, when the invading army arrived before the gates, they surrendered the castle and everything in it, including the senior Despenser. Isabella’s two young daughters had been sent to Bristol for safety, and the queen had an affectionate reunion with them. After embracing them, Isabella turned to sterner matters. Despenser, clad in his armor, was brought before her. The doddering old man realized that there was no hint of mercy in her handsome eyes. He had still enough courage to say to her, “Ah, Madame, God
grant us an upright judge and a just sentence.” His sentence may not have been just, but it was exceptionally speedy. He was immediately taken out and hanged in his armor.
It is said the two young princesses were allowed to look at what was happening from a window of the castle and were frightened almost into hysterics by the sight of the steel-clad figure turning slowly at the end of a stout rope.
The king’s party continued to dwindle until he was left with no one but the younger Despenser and Chancellor Baldock and, of course, some servants. They took ship for Lundy Island, to which supplies had been sent; an indication that it probably had been Lundy where Nephew Hugh had served his brief second exile in piratical operations. The winds made it impossible for them to reach this notorious isle and they had to put back to land. Edward is next heard of at Caerphilly Castle, where he again endeavored, with no response, to set up his standard and summon all loyal men to his aid. By November 10 he was at Neath Abbey and still seemed to have some small remnants of hope left, for he again sent out commissions of array. From Neath, where his standard had flapped in the wind as dismally and as unnoticed as everywhere else, he sent a company with the old Abbot of Neath to start negotiations in his behalf with the queen. It is not likely that they secured an audience with her; at any rate, nothing came of it.
There are stories told of some adventures the king was supposed to have had on his wanderings. Leaving Caerphilly at night in the disguise of a peasant, he is said to have reached a farmhouse where he was put to work at digging. He proved so clumsy with the spade that his identity was discovered and he escaped with considerable difficulty. This anecdote, a favorite one, can be discarded. He had some of his company still with him at Caerphilly, and his handling of a spade would have deceived the most critical eye. Edward, in fact, was skilled with tools and was always happy when working on the land.
On November 16 the king was captured with the sorry remnants of his following and conducted to the castle of Llantrissant. Nephew Hugh and Baldock were taken to Bristol and surrendered into the hands of the queen.
Through the earlier stages of the history of these violent days it has not been difficult to regard Isabella with some favor. Considered the most beautiful princess in Europe, she had been married for reasons of state and for nearly twenty years had been subject to her husband’s abnormalities and eccentricities. But now a different Isabella appears. She shows that
she is indeed her father’s daughter, that implacable monarch who trampled the Templar order into dust like a flesh-and-blood golem. Flushed with her success, she proceeded to give full rein to a lust for power as well as an appetite for revenge. Later she would display other serious flaws of character and, moreover, would demonstrate an inability to wield the responsibility she was so determined to possess.
With victory in her hands and her husband safely locked up in Llantrissant, Isabella collected her people about her and led her army to London. It was a triumphal procession. All the young knights-errant from the Low Countries were with her, including Sir John of Hainaut. Mortimer was more in evidence than before, and Adam of Orleton was also much in the fore. The head of Walter Stapledon was still in the queen’s possession, but she had a praiseworthy object in keeping it: she wanted it honorably buried in his own cathedral with the rest of his body, which had been rescued from under a pile of rubbish in London.