"Sir Edward of Caernarvon is dead."
"Dead--the King!"
"`The King' no longer," saith Sir Simon sorrowfully.
"O Sir Simon!" cried I. "How died he?"
"God knoweth," he made answer. "I misdoubt if man shall know."
"Or woman?" quoth Sir John, significantly.
"The schoolmaster learned me that man includeth woman," saith Sir Simon,
smiling full grimly.
"He learned you not, I reckon, that woman includeth man," saith Sir
John, somewhat after the same manner.
"Ah, _woe_ worth the day!" Sir Simon fetched an heavy sigh. "Well, God
forgive us all!"
"Amen!" Sir John made answer.
I think few men were in the realm that did not believe the King's death
was murder. But nought was done to discover the murderers, neither to
bring them to justice. It was not until after the Mortimer was out of
the way that any such thing was done. When so it was, mandate was
issued for the arrest of Sir Thomas de Gournay, Constable of Bristol
Castle, and William de Ocle, that had been keepers of the King at
Berkeley Castle. What came of Ocle know I not; but Sir Thomas fled
beyond seas to the King's dominions of Spain [Note 3], and was
afterwards taken. But he came not to trial, for he died on the way: and
there were that said he knew too much to be permitted to make defence.
[Note 4.]
The next thing that happed, coming under mine eyes, was the young King's
betrothal and marriage. The Lady Philippa of Hainault, that was our
young Queen, came over to England late in that same year, to wit, the
first of King Edward, and was married the eve of the Conversion of Saint
Paul, the year of our Lord 1327, after the computation of the Church of
England [Note 5]. Very praisable [lovely] and fulbright [beautiful] was
the said lady, being sanguine of complexion, of a full fair face, and
fair hair, having grey [grey] cyen and rosen colour of her cheeks. She
was the same age as the King, to wit, fifteen years. They were wed in
York Minster.
"Where hast reached to, Sissot?" saith Jack, that was sat by the fire,
as I was a-bending the tail of my Y in York.
"Right to the King's wedding," said I.
"How many more skins o' parchment shall I bring thee for to set forth
the gowns?"
"Dear heart!" cried I, "must I do that for all that were there?"
"Prithee use thy discretion. I wist not a woman could write a chronicle
without telling of every gown that came in her way."
"Go thy ways, Jack!" said I. "Securely, if I set down the King's, and
the Queen's, and thine and mine, that shall serve well enough."
"It should serve me, verily," quoth he. "Marry, I hope thou mindest
what manner of raiment I had on, for I ensure thee I do not a whit."
"Dost thou ever, the morrow thereof?" said I. "Nay, I wis I must pluck
that out of mine own memory."
The King, then, was donned of a robe of purple velvet, with a pair of
sotlars of cloth of gold of Nakes silk; the said velvet robe wrought
with the arms of England, of golden broidery. The Queen bare a robe of
green cloth of velvet, with a cape thereto, guarded with miniver, and an
hood of miniver; her hair falling full sweetly over from under her
golden fillet, sith she put not on her hood save to leave the Minster.
And at the feast thereafter, she ware a robe of cloth of samitelle, red
and grey, with a tunic and mantle of the same. [Note 6.]
As for Jack, that was then clerk of the Wardrobe [Note 7], he ware a
tabard of the King's livery [the arms of France and England] of mine own
broidering, and hosen of black cloth, his hood being of the same. I had
on a gown of grey cloth of Northampton, guarded with gris, and mine hood
was of rose-colour say [Note 8] lined with black velvet.
But over the inwards of the wedding must I not linger, for much is yet
to write. The latter end of February was the Lady La Despenser loosed
from the Tower, and in April was all given back to her. All, to wit,
that could be given. Her little children, that the Queen Isabel had
made nuns without any leave given save her own, could come back to her
never more. I misdoubt if she lamented it greatly. She was one from
whom trouble and sorrow ran lightly, like the water from a duck's back:
and I reckon she thought more on her second marriage, which had place
secretly about a year after her release, than she ever did for her lost
children. And here may I say that those sisters, coheirs of Gloucester,
did ever seem to me the queerest mothers I wist. The Lady Margaret
Audley gave up her little Kate (a sweet child she was) to the Ankerage
at Ledbury with scarce a sigh; and the Lady Alianora, of whom I write,
took but little thought for her maids at Sempringham, or I err. I would
not have given up my Alice after that fashion: and I did sore pity those
little barnes, of which the eldest was not seven years old. Folk said
it was making of gift to God, and was an holy and blessed thing.
Soothly, I marvel if God setteth store by such like gifts, when men do
but cast at his feet that whereof they would be rid! The innermost
sanctuary of the Temple, it seemeth me, is scarce the fittest place to
shoot rubbish. And when the rubbish is alive, if it be but vermin, I
cannot slack to feel compassion for it.
Methinks the Lady Alianora felt it sorer trouble of the twain, when she
suffered touching certain jewels reported to be missing from the Tower
during her governance thereof--verily a foolish charge, as though the
Lady of Gloucester should steal jewels! Howbeit, she was fined twenty
thousand pound, for the which she rendered up her Welsh lands, with the
manors of Hanley and Tewkesbury, being the fairest and greatest part of
her heritage. The King allowed her to buy back the said lands if she
should, in one and the same day, pay ten thousand marks: howbeit, one
half the said fine was after remitted at the intercession of the Lords
and Commons.
That autumn was the insurrection of my Lord of Lancaster--but a bit too
soon, for the time was not ripe, but I reckon they knew not how longer
to bear the ill thewis [manners, conduct] of the Mortimer, which ruled
every thing at his will, and allowed none, not even my Lord of
Lancaster, to come nigh the King without his leave, and then he had them
watched of spies. The Parliament was held at Salisbury that Michaelmas,
whereto all men were forbidden to come in arms. Thither, nathless, came
the said Mortimer, with a great rabble of armed men at his heels. My
Lord of Lancaster durst not come, so instead thereof he put himself in
arms, and sent to expound matters to the King. He was speedily joined
by all that hated the Mortimer (and few did not), among whom were the
King's uncles, the Bishops of Winchester and London, the Lord Wake, the
Lord de Beaumont, Sir Hugh de Audley, and many another that had stood
stoutly for Queen Isabel aforetime. Some, I believe, did this out of
repentance, seeing they had been deceived; other some from nought save
hate and envy toward the Mortimer. The demands they put forth were no
wise unskilwise [unreasonable]. They were chiefly that the King should
hold his revenues himself (for the Queen had so richly dowered herself
that scarce a noble was left to the King); that the Queen should be
dowered of the third part, as queens had been aforetime; and that the
Mortimer should live on his own lands, and make no encroachments. They
charged him with divers evil deeds, that he had avised the King to
dissolve his Council appointed of twelve peers, he had wasted the royal
treasure, he had counselled the King to give up Scotland, and had caused
the Lady Joan to wed beneath her dignity.
"Make no encroachments!" grimly quoth old Sir Simon, when he heard of
this; "verily, an' this present state of matters go on but a little
longer, the Mortimer can make no encroachments, for he shall have all
England to his own."
The Mortimer, that had yet the King's ear (though I think he chafed a
bit against the rein by now and then), avised him that the Lords sought
his crown, causing him to ride out against them as far as Bedford, and
that during the night. Peace was patched up some way, through the
mediating of Sir Simon de Mepham, the new Archbishop of Canterbury, my
Lord of Lancaster being fined eleven thousand pounds--though, by the
same token, he never paid it. [Note 9.] That same Michaelmas was the
King's uncle, the Lord Edmund de Woodstock, create Earl of Kent (marry,
I named him my Lord of Kent all through, seeing he should so best be
known, but he was not so create until now), and King Roger, that was
such, but was not so-called, had avancement to the dignity of Earl of
March. There was many a lout and courtesy and many a leg made, when as
my Lord's gracious person was in presence; and when as he went forth,
lo! brows were drawn together, and lips thrust forth, and words
whispered beneath the breath that were not all of praise.
Now, whether it be to fall into the Annals of Cicely or no, this must I
needs say--and Jack may flout me an' he will (but that he doth never)--
that I do hate, and contemn, and full utterly despise, this manner of
dealing. If I love a man, maybe I shall be bashful to tell him so: but
if I love him not, never will I make lout nor leg afore him for to win
of him some manner of advantage. I would speak a man civilly, whether I
loved him or no; that 'longeth to my gentlehood, not his: but to
blandish and losenge him [coax and flatter], and say `I love thee well'
and `Thou art fairest and wisest of all' twenty times in a day, when in
mine heart I wished him full far thence, and accounted of him as fond
and ussome [foolish and ugly]--that could I never demean me to do, an' I
lived to the years of Methuselah.
And another thing do I note--I trust Jack shall have patience with me--
that right in proportion as a man is good, so much doth an ill man hate
him. My Lord of Lancaster was wise man and brave, as he oft showed,
though he had his failings belike; and he did more than any other
against the Mortimer, until the time was full ripe: my Lord of Kent was
gent, good, and sweet of nature, and he did little against him--only to
consort with my said Lord of Lancaster: yet the Mortimer hated my Lord
of Kent far worser than my Lord of Lancaster, and never stayed till he
had undone him. Alas for that stately stag of ten, for the cur pulled
him down and worried him!
My Lord of Kent, as I writ afore, had dust cast in his eyes by the
Queen. He met her on her landing, and marched with her, truly believing
that the King (as she told him) was in thrall to the old and young Sir
Hugh Le Despenser, and that she was come to deliver him. Nought less
than his brother's murder tare open his sealed eyes. Then he woke up,
and aswhasay looked about him, as a man roughly wakened that scarce hath
his full sense. Bitter was his lamentation, and very sooth his
penitence, when he saw the verity of the matter. Now right as this was
the case with him, the Queen and the Mortimer, having taken counsel
thereon, (for they feared he should take some step that should do them a
mischief), resolved to entangle him. They spread a rumour, taking good
care it should not escape his ears, that King Edward his brother yet
lived, and was a prisoner in Corfe Castle. He, hearing this, quickly
despatched one of his chaplains, named Friar Thomas Dunhead, a
Predicant--for all the Predicants were on the King's side--to see if the
report were as it was said: and Sir John Deveroil, then Keeper of the
Castle, having before his instructions, took the Friar within, seeming
nothing loth, and showed unto him the appearance of a king seated at
supper in hall, with his sewers [waiters] and other officers about him.
This all had been bowned [prepared] afore, of purpose to deceive my Lord
of Kent, and one chosen to present [represented] the King that was like
enough to him in face and stature to pass well. On this hearing went my
Lord of Kent with all speed to Avignon, to take counsel with Pope John
[John Twenty-Two] who commended him for his good purpose to deliver his
brother, and bade him effect the same by all means in his power:
moreover, the said Pope promised himself to bear all charges--which was
a wise deed of the holy Father, for my Lord of Kent was he that could
never keep money in his pocket, but it flowed out of all sides. Then my
Lord returned back, and took counsel with divers how to effect the same.
Many an one promised him help--among other, the Archbishop of York, and
the Lord Zouche of Mortimer (that wedded the Lady Alianora, widow of Sir
Hugh Le Despenser), the Lord Wake (which had wrought much against the
King of old, and was brother unto my Lady of Kent), and Sir Ebulo
L'Estrange, (that wedded my Lady of Lancaster, widow of Earl Thomas),
and the young Earl of Arundel, and others of less sort. My said Lady of
Kent was likewise a-work in the matter, for she was not woman to let
either tongue or hand lie idle.
Now, wherefore is it, that if man be rare sweet, gent, and tender,
beyond other men, he shall sure as daydawn go and wed with woman that
could hold castle or govern army if need were? 'Tis passing strange,
but I have oft noted the same. And if he be rough and fierce, then
shall he take fantasy to some soft, nesh [Note 10], bashful creature
that scarce dare say nay to save her life. Right as men of high stature
do commonly wed with small women, and the great women with little men.
Such be the ways of Providence, I take it.
Jack saith--which I must not forget to set down--that he credeth not a
whit that confession set forth as made of my Lord of Kent, nor any
testimony of Friar Dunhead, but believeth the whole matter a pack of
lies, saving only that my Lord believed the report of his brother
prisoner in Corfe Castle. Howbeit, my Lord of Kent writ a letter as to
the King his brother, offering his deliverance, which he entrusted to
Sir John Deveroil: who incontinently carried the same to the Mortimer,
and he to the Queen. She then showed it to the young King, saying that
herein might he see his uncle was conspiring to dethrone him and take
his life and hers. The King, that dearly loved his mother, allowed
inquiry into the same, pending the which my said Lord was committed to
prison.
The next morrow came the Mortimer to the Queen as she sat at dinner, and
prayed instant speech of her, and that full privy: and the Queen,
arising from the table, took him into her privy closet. Dame Isabel de
Lapyoun alone in waiting. I had learned by then to fear mischief
whensoever the Queen bade none follow her save Dame Isabel, for I do
verily believe she was in all the ill secrets of her mistress. They
were in conference maybe ten minutes, and then hastened the Mortimer
away, nor would he tarry so long as to drink one cup of wine. It was
not many minutes after that the young King came in; and I perceived by
their discourse that the Queen his mother had sent for him. Verily, all
that day (which was Saint Joseph [March 19th]) she watched him as cat,
mouse. He could not leave the chamber a moment but my Lord of March
crept after. I reckoned some mischief was brewing, but, _purefoy_! I
guessed not how much. That day died my Lord of Kent, on the scaffold at
Winchester. And so beloved was he that from noon till four of the clock
they had to wait, for no man would strike him, till at last they
persuaded one in the Marshalsea, that had been cast for [sentenced to]
death, to behead him as the price of his own life.
A little after that hour came in Sir Hugh de Turpington, that was
Marshal of the Hall to the King.
"Sir," saith he to the King, "I am required of the Sheriff to tell you
that my Lord of Kent hath paid wyte on the scaffold. So perish all your
enemies!"
Up sprang the King with a face wherein amaze and sore anguish strave for
the mastery.
"My uncle Edmund is dead on scaffold!" cried he in voice that rang
through hall. "Mine enemies! _He_ was none! What mean you? I gave no
mandate for such, nor never should have done. _Dieu eit mercie_! mine
enemies be they that have murdered my fair uncle, that I loved dear.
Where and who be they? Will none here tell me?"
Wala wa! was soul in that hall brave enough to tell him? One of those
two chief enemies stale softly to his side, hushing the other (that
seemed ready to break forth) by a look.
"Fair Son," saith the Queen, in her oiliest voice, "hold you so light
your own life and your mother's? Was your uncle (that wist full well
how to beguile you) dearer to you than I, on whose bosom you have lain
as babe, and whose heart hath been rent at your smallest malady?"
(Marry, I marvel when, for I never beheld less careful mother than Dame
Isabel the Queen. But she went forth.)
"The proofs of what I say," quoth she, "shall be laid afore you in full
Parliament, and you shall then behold how sorely you have been deceived
in reckoning on a friend in your uncle. Meanwhile, fair Son, trust me.
Who should seek your good, or care for your safety, more than your own
mother?"
Ah verily, who should! But did she so? I could see the King was
somewhat staggered by her sweet words, yet was he not peaced in a
moment. His anger died down, but he brake forth in bitter tears, and so
left the hall, greeting as he went.
Once more all passed away: and they that had hoped for the King to awake
and discover truth found themselves beguiled.
Order was sent to seize my Lady of Kent and her childre, that were then
in Arundel Castle. But the officers, there coming, told her the dread
tidings, whereat she fell down all in swoon, and ere the eve was born
the Lord John her son, and baptised, poor babe, in such haste in the
Barefooted Friars' Church, that his young brother and sister, no more
than babes themselves, were forced to stand sponsors for him with the
Prior of the Predicants [Note 11]. Howbeit he lived to grow to man's
estate, yea, longer than the Lord Edmund his brother, and died Earl of
Kent a matter of eight years gone.
The Castle of Arundel, and the lands, that had been given to my Lord of
Kent when my Lord of Arundel was execute, were granted to Queen Isabel
shortly after his 'heading. I think they were given as sop to keep him
true to the Queen: not that he was man to be bought, but very like she
thought all men were. Dear heart, what strange gear are we human
creatures! I marvel at times whether the angels write us down greater
knaves or fools.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note 1. The crystallised juice of the aspen. Earl John of Hereford
seems to have been a valetudinarian.
Note 2. Close Roll, 1 Edward the Third, Part One. The exact wording of
the coronation oath is of some importance, since it has sometimes been
stated that our sovereigns have sworn to maintain religion precisely as
it existed in the days of Edward the Confessor. The examination of the
oath shows that they promised no such thing. They engaged only to keep
and defend to the people, clerical and lay, the laws, customs, rights,
and liberties granted by their predecessors, and by Edward more
especially. "To his power" means "to the best of his power."
Note 3. Then not an unusual way of saying "the King of Spain's
dominions."
Note 4. In my former volume, _In All Time of our Tribulation_, I
committed the mistake of repeating the popular error that the Queen took
immediate vengeance, by banishment, on the murderers of her husband. It
was only Gournay and Ocle who were directly charged with the murder: the
others who had a share in it were merely indicted for treason. Gournay
was Constable of Bristol in December, 1328; and the warrant for his
apprehension was not issued until December 3, 1330--after the fall of
Mortimer, when Edward the Third, not his mother, was actually the ruler.
Note 5. By this phrase was meant the reckoning of the year from Easter
to Easter, subsequently fixed for convenience' sake at the 25th of
March.
Note 6. I have searched all the Wardrobe Accounts in vain for the
wedding attire of this royal pair. The robes described are that worn by
the King for his coronation; that in which the Queen rode from the Tower
to Westminster the day before her coronation; and that in which she
dined after the same ceremony. These details are given in the Wardrobe
Accounts, 33/2, and 34/13. It was the fashion at this time for a
bride's hair to be left flowing straight from head to foot.
Note 7. Chaucombe was in the Household, but of his special office I
find no evidence.
Note 8. A coarse variety of silk, used both for garments and
upholstery.
Note 9. Dr Barnes tells his readers that Lancaster was at this time so
old as to be nearly decrepit; and two years later, that he was "almost
blind for age." He was exactly forty-one, having been born in 1287
(Inq. Tho. Com. Lane, 1 Edward the Third 1. 88), and 53 years had not
elapsed since the marriage of his parents. We may well say, after
Chancellor Oxenstiern, "See with how little accuracy history is
written!"
Note 10. Tender, sensitive, either in body or mind. This word is still
a provincialism in the North and West.
Note 11. _Prob. aet. Johannis Com. Kant._, 23 Edward the Third 76,
compared with _Rot. Pat._, 4 Edward the Third, Part 1, and _Rot.
Claus._, 4 Edward the Third.