roused all the prelates in the realm to write to her in defence of his
friends, and himself wrote to her brother, saying that she could have no
reasonable fear of any man in his dominions, since, if Hugh or any other
person wished to do her any harm, he himself would be the first to
resent it. He wrote likewise pre-emptorily to the Prince to return, but
all in vain; and a light was thrown on their proceedings, when Walter
Stapleton, Bishop of Exeter, returned home as a fugitive, having
discovered a plot on Mortimer’s part against his own life, and bringing
word that Isabel’s affection for Mortimer was the true cause of delay.
It would also seem that the Bishop had in part detected a conspiracy
against his master, for there were orders instantly sent to search all
letters arriving at any of the ports.
After Stapleton’s return, Edward’s letters to Charles, and even to the
Pope, became so pressing, that for very shame Charles could not allow
his sister to remain at Paris any longer, and, rather than provoke a
war, he dismissed her. She was a woman of great plausibility and
fascination, and she not only persuaded her young son to believe her in
danger from his father, but she also won over her brother-in-law, the
Earl of Kent, as well as her cousin, the Sieur Robert d’Artois; and
setting out from Paris in their company, she proceeded to the
independent German principalities in the guise of a dame-errant of
romance, misused by her husband, maltreated by her brother, denied a
refuge even in her native country, and seeking aid from foreign princes.
Every chivalrous heart, deluded by appearances, glowed with enthusiasm.
At Ostrevant, John, the brother of the Count of Hainault, came and vowed
himself her knight, promising to redress her wrongs. He conducted her to
his brother’s court at Hainault; and there the young Edward first beheld
the plump, blue-eyed, fair-haired, honest Philippa, a girl of about his
own age, and a youthful true-love sprang up between them--the sole gleam
of light in this dark period.
Isabel’s beautiful face and mournful tale deluded the young, as did
Mortimer’s promises the covetous. She finally set sail from Dort with
2,500 French and Brabançons, under the charge of Sir John of Hainault,
and landed at Orwell, in Suffolk. The King had ordered that any one who
landed on the coast should be treated as a traitor, except the Queen
and the Prince, and had set a price on the head of Mortimer; but no
one attended to him. Isabel had won the sympathy of the nation by her
fancied wrongs; and Adam Orleton, Bishop of Hereford, a former partisan
of Lancaster, was working in her cause.
Both the King’s brothers, and his cousin, Henry of Lancaster, were of
her party; and the universal dislike and jealousy of Despenser made the
more loyal disinclined to exert themselves in the King’s behalf. He
summoned the Londoners to take up arms, but was answered, that though
they would shut the gates against all foreigners, they would not be led
more than a day’s march beyond the city walls. He could only seek a
refuge among his more attached subjects, the Welsh; and leaving his
younger children and his niece, the wife of Hugh le Despenser, in the
Tower, he set off for the marches of Wales. No sooner was he gone, than
the citizens rose, seized the Tower, and murdered the loyal Bishop of
Exeter at St. Paul’s Cross, throwing his body into the mud of the river,
and sending his head to the Queen.
The Queen, whose army increased every day, had arrived at Oxford, where
Adam Orleton preached a disgraceful sermon on the text, “My head, my
head acheth,” wherein he averred the startling prescription that the
cure for an aching head was to cut it off, and that the present head of
England needed this decisive remedy.
The poor King had gone to Gloucester, whence he sent the elder Le
Despenser to hold out Bristol Castle; but the townspeople proved so
disaffected, that the castle was forced to surrender to the rebels on
the third day. The Queen appointed a judge, who sentenced the old man,
ninety years of age, to be put to death; and the murder was committed
the following day, with all the circumstances of atrocity that had been
spared to Lancaster. At Bristol, Isabel became aware that her husband
had fled farther to the West; he had, in fact, sailed, with Hugh le
Despenser and the Chancellor Baldock, for Ireland, but he was driven
back by contrary winds, and forced to land in Glamorganshire. He
wandered from castle to castle, and was besieged at Caerphilli, whence
it is said that he escaped at night in the disguise of a peasant; and,
to avoid detection, himself assisted in carrying brushwood to feed the
fires of the besiegers. He next took refuge in a farmhouse, where the
farmer tried to baffle the pursuers by setting him to dig; but his
awkwardness in handling the spade had nearly betrayed him. For a short
time he tarried at Neath Abbey, but left it lest the monks should suffer
for giving him shelter. At the end of another week Despenser and Baldock
were discovered, and delivered up to Henry of Lancaster; and on this
Edward came forward and gave himself up, to save them, or to share their
fate.
There was no hope; the King was kept in close custody, and Baldock was
so ill-treated that he died shortly after. Hugh le Despenser would eat
no food after he was taken; and, lest death should balk revenge, he was
at once brought to a sham trial, and accused of every misfortune that
had befallen England--of the loss of Bannockburn; of conspiracy against
the Queen; of counselling the death of Lancaster; and of suppressing
the miracles at his tomb. For all which deeds Sir Hugh le Despenser was
sentenced to die as a wicked and attainted traitor; and immediately
after he was drawn to execution in a black gown, with his scutcheon
reversed, and a wreath of nettles around his head--but, happily, nearly
insensible from exhaustion--and was hanged on a gallows fifty feet high.
His son Hugh, a spirited young man of nineteen, held out Caerphilli
Castle manfully, until he actually obtained a promise of safety, and
lived to transmit the honors of the oldest barony now existing in
England.
The Earl of Arundel was likewise executed, and Mortimer seized his
property; after which the Queen set out for London, summoning the
Parliament to meet at Westminster.
In this Parliament Adam Orleton began by making outrageous speeches as
to the certain death it would be to the Queen and Prince if the King
were released and restored to his authority, and he called upon the
Lords to choose whether father or son should be King. The London mob
clamored in fury without, ardent for the ruin of the King; and the
Archbishop, saying, _Vox populi vox Dei_, added his influence. Young
Edward was led forward, and a few hymns being hastily sung, received the
oaths of allegiance of all the peers present, except the prelates of
York, London, Rochester, and Carlisle, who boldly maintained the rights
of the captive King, though with great danger to themselves.
The Bishop of Rochester was thrown down by the furious mob, and nearly
murdered; and the sight so terrified the other friends of the poor King,
that not a voice was raised in his defence. A bill was passed declaring
Edward II. deposed, and Edward III. the sovereign; whereupon Isabel, to
keep up appearances, lamented so much, that she actually deceived her
son, who came forward, and with great spirit declared that he would
never deprive his father of the crown.
The King was at Kenilworth, honorably treated by his cousin, Henry of
Lancaster, and thither a deputation was sent to force him to resign his
dignity. The Bishops of Winchester and Lincoln were first sent to him to
argue, threaten, and persuade, and, when they thought him sufficiently
prepared, led him in a plain black gown to make his formal renunciation.
At the sight of his mortal enemy, Orleton, Edward sank to the ground,
but recovered enough to listen to a violent discourse from that rebel
prelate, reproaching him with all his misconduct, and requiring him
to lay aside his crown. Meekly, and weeping floods of tears, Edward
replied, that “he was in their hands, and they must do what seemed good
to them; he only thanked them for their goodness to his son, and owned
his own sins to be the sole cause of his misfortunes.”
Then Sir William Trussel, in the name of all England, revoked the oath
of allegiance, and the steward of the household broke his staff of
office, as he would have done had it been the funeral of his master.
Would that it had been his funeral, must have been the wish of the
unfortunate Sir Edward of Caernarvon, as he was thenceforth termed;
disowned, degraded, with wife, son, and brothers turned against him; not
one voice uplifted in his favor; all his friends murdered. He wrote some
melancholy Latin verses during his captivity, full of sad complaints of
the inconstancy of Fortune; but he had not yet experienced the worst
that was in store for him. At first, presents of clothes and kindly
messages were sent to him by the Queen; and when he begged to see her or
his children, she replied that it would not be permitted by Parliament.
He pleaded again and again, and Henry of Lancaster began so far to
appear his friend, that Isabel took alarm. The Pope refused her request
that Thomas of Lancaster should be canonized as a saint and martyr, and
she feared that he might even interfere on the King’s behalf, and oblige
her to give up Mortimer, and return to her husband.
Orleton had been sent on an embassy to the Papal court, but he was there
consulted by the Queen whether the King should be allowed to live. His
answer was the ambiguous line: “Edwardum occidere nolite timere bonum
est.” (Edward to kill be unwilling to fear it is good.)
Doubt, in such a case, is certain to end in evil. That the King should
die, was determined, and the charge of the unfortunate monarch was
therefore transferred to Maurice, Lord Berkeley, and to Sir John
Maltravers. The latter set out with two men, named Ogle and Gurney, to
escort the King from Kenilworth. At Bristol such demonstrations were
made in his favor, that, taking alarm, his keepers clad him in mean and
scanty garments, and made him ride toward Corfe in the chilly April
night, scoffing and jeering him; and when, in the morning, they paused
to arrange their dress, they set a crown of hay in derision on his head,
and brought him, in an old helmet, filthy ditch-water to shave with.
With a shower of tears he strove to smile, saying that, in spite of
them, his cheeks were covered with pure warm water enough. They brought
him to Berkeley Castle, on the Severn, and there, it is said, tried to
poison him; but his strength of constitution resisted the potion, and
did not fail, under confinement or insufficient diet. At last, when
Berkeley was ill, and absent, came the night,
“When Severn should re-echo with affright
The sounds of death through Berkeley’s roofs that ring,
Shrieks of an agonizing king.”
At those cries many a countryman awoke, crossed himself, and prayed as
for a soul departing in torment. Seven months after his deposition,
Edward of Caernarvon lay dead in Berkeley Castle, and the gates were
thrown open, and the chief burghers of Bristol admitted to see his
corpse. No sign of violence was visible, but the features, once so
beautiful, were writhed into such a look of agony, that the citizens
came away awed and horrified; and hearing the villagers speak of the
cries that had rung from the walls the night before, felt certain that
the late King had perished by a strange and frightful murder.
But those were no days for inquiry, and the royal corpse was hastily
borne to Gloucester Abbey Church, and there buried. The impression,
however, could not be forgotten; multitudes flocked to pray at the
shrine of the dead sovereign, whom living no one would befriend: and
such offerings were made at his tomb, that the monks raised a beautiful
new south aisle to the church; nay, they could have built the church
over again with the means thus acquired. A monument was raised over his
grave, and his effigy was carved on it--a robed and crowned figure, with
hands meekly folded, and a face of such exquisite, appealing sweetness,
dignity, and melancholy, that it is hardly possible to look at it
without tears, or to help believing that even thus might Edward have
looked when, in all the nobleness of patience, he stood forgiving his
persecutors, as they crowned him in scorn with grass, and derided his
misfortunes. A weak and frivolous man, cruelly sinned against, Edward of
Caernarvon was laid in his untimely grave in the forty-third year of his
age.
Thus ended the Barons’ Wars, no patriotic resistance of an opposition
who used sword and lance instead of the tongue and the pen, but the
factious jealousy of men who became ferocious in their hatred of
favoritism.
CAMEO XLI. GOOD KING ROBERT’S TESTAMENT. (1314-1329.)
_Kings of England_.
1307. Edward II.
1327. Edward III.
1322. Charles IV.
_King of Scotland_.
1306. Robert I.
_King of France_.
1314. Louis X.
1316. Philippe V.
_Emperor of Germany_.
1314. Louis V.
_Popes_.
1305. Clement V.
1316. John XXII.
As England waxed feebler, Scotland waxed stronger and became aggressive.
Robert’s queen was dead, and he married Elizabeth, daughter of the Earl
of Ulster, thus making his brother Edward doubtful whether the Scottish
crown would descend to him, and anxious to secure a kingdom for himself.
Ireland had not been reconciled in two centuries to the domination of
the Plantagenets. The Erse, or Irish, believed themselves brethren of
the Scots, and in all their wanderings and distresses the Bruces had
found shelter, sympathy, and aid in the wild province of Ulster. It
seemed, therefore, to Edward Bruce a promising enterprise to offer the
Irish chieftains deliverance from the English yoke; and they eagerly
responded to his proposal. In 1314, he crossed the sea with a small
force, before any one was ready for him, and was obliged at once to
return, having thus given the alarm; so that Sir Edward Butler, the Lord
Deputy, hurried to the defence, and had mustered his forces by the time
Edward Bruce arrived, the next spring, with 6,000 men. He was actually
crowned King, and laid siege to Carrickfergus, while the wild chieftains
of Connaught broke into the English settlements, and did great mischief,
till they were defeated at Athenry by the Earl of Ulster’s brother and
Sir Richard Bermingham. After the battle, Sir Richard Bermingham sent
out his page, John Hussy, with a single attendant, to “turn up and
peruse” the bodies, to see whether his mortal foe O’Kelly were among
them. O’Kelly presently started out of a bush where he had been hidden,
and thus addressed the youth: “Hussy, thou seest I am at all points
armed, and have my esquire, a manly man, beside me. Thou art thin, and
a youngling; so that, if I loved thee not for thine own sake, I might
betray thee for thy master’s. But come and serve me at my request, and I
promise thee, by St. Patrick’s staff, to make thee a lord in Connaught
of more ground than thy master hath in Ireland.” Hussy treated the offer
with scorn, whereupon his attendant, “a stout lubber, began to reprove
him for not relenting to so rich a proffer.” Hussy’s answer was, to cut
down the knave; next, “he raught to O’Kelly’s squire a great rap under
the pit of the ear, which overthrew him; thirdly, he bestirred himself
so nimbly, that ere any help could be hoped for, he had also slain
O’Kelly, and perceiving breath in the squire, he drawed him up again,
and forced him upon a truncheon to bear his lord’s head into the high
town.”
These notable exploits were rewarded by knighthood and the lordship of
Galtrim.
Robert Bruce brought a considerable army to the assistance of his
brother, and wasted the country up to the walls of Dublin; but Roger
Mortimer coming to the relief of the city, he was forced to retreat. It
was a horrible devastation that he made, and yet this was only what was
then supposed to be the necessity of war, for it was while burning many
a homestead, and reducing multitudes to perish with famine, that Bruce
halted his whole army to protect one sick and suffering washerwoman.
“This was a full great courtesy,
That swilk a king and so mighty
Gert his men dwell on this manner
But for a poor lavender.”
Bruce was one of the many men tender to the friend, ruthless to the foe;
merciful to sufferings he beheld, merciless to those out of his sight.
He returned to Scotland, and Mortimer to England, both leaving horrible
hunger and distress behind them, and Mortimer in debt £1,000 to the city
of Dublin, “whereof he payde not one smulkin, and many a bitter curse he
carried with him beyond sea.”
Edward Bruce continued to reign in Ulster until the 5th of October,
1318, when the last and nineteenth battle was fought between him and the
English, contrary to the advice of his wisest captains. His numbers were
very inferior, and almost the whole were slain. Edward Bruce and Sir
John Malpas, an English knight, were found lying one upon the other,
slain by each other’s hands in the deadly conflict. Robert, who was on
the way to bring reinforcements to his brother, turned back on hearing
the tidings, and employed his forces against his old foe, John of
Lorn, in the Western Isles, and it was on this occasion that, to avoid
doubling the Mull of Cantire, he dragged his ships upon a wooden slide
across the neck of land between the two locks of Tarbut--a feat often
performed by the fishermen, and easy with the small galleys of his
fleet, but which had a great effect on the minds of the Islemen, for
there was an old saying--
“That he should gar shippes sua
Betwixt those seas with sailis gae
Should win the Islis sua till hand,
That nane with strength should him withstand.”
Accordingly they submitted, and Lorn, being taken, was shut up for life
in Lochleven Castle.
It was about the time of Edward Bruce’s wild reign in Ulster that Dublin
University was founded by Archbishop Bigmore; and in contrast to this
advance in learning, a few years later, a horrible and barbarous warfare
raged, because Lord de la Poer was supposed to have insulted Maurice of
Desmond by calling him a rhymer. Moreover, at Kilkenny, a lady, called
Dame Alice Kettle, was cited before the Bishop of Ossory for witchcraft.
It was alleged that she had a familiar spirit, to whom she was wont to
sacrifice nine red cocks, and nine peacocks’ eyes; that she had a staff
“on which she ambled through thick and thin;” and that between compline
and twilight she was wont to sweep the streets, singing,
“To the house of William, my son,
Hie all the wealth of Kilkenny town.”
She was acquitted on the charge of witchcraft, but her enemies next
attacked her on the ground of heresy, and succeeded in accomplishing her
death.
The Pope at Avignon assisted the English cause by keeping Bruce and his
kingdom under an interdict; but the Scots continued to make inroads
on England, and year after year the most frightful devastation was
committed. In 1319, the Archbishop of York, hoping for another Battle of
the Standard, collected all his clergy and their tenants, and led
them against Douglas and Randolph at Mitton; but their efforts were
unavailing, and such multitudes were slain, that the field was covered
with the white surplices they wore over their armor, and the combat was
called the Chapter of Mitton.
For many long years were the northern provinces the constant prey of
the Scots, as the discords of the English laid their country open to
invasion. Bruce himself was indeed losing his strength, the leprosy
contracted during his life of wandering and distress was gaining ground
on his constitution, and unnerving his strong limbs; but Douglas and
Randolph gallantly supplied his place at the head of his armies, and
his affairs were everywhere prospering. He had indeed lost his eldest
daughter Marjorie, but she had left a promising son, Robert Stuart; and
to himself a son had likewise been born, named David, after the royal
Saint of Scotland, and so handsome and thriving a child, that it was
augured that he would be a warrior of high prowess.
Rome was induced, in 1323, to acknowledge Robert as King, on his promise
to go on a crusade to recover the Holy Land--a promise he was little
likely to be in a condition to fulfil; and Edward II began to enter into
negotiations, and make proposals, that disputes should be set aside by
the betrothal of the little David and his youngest daughter, Joan. But
these arrangements were broken off by the rebellion of Isabel, and the
deposition of Edward of Caernarvon; and Bruce sent Douglas and Randolph
to make a fresh attack upon Durham and Northumberland. The wild army
were all on horseback; the knights and squires on tolerable steeds, the
poorer sort on rough Galloways. They needed no forage for their animals
save the grass beneath their feet, no food for themselves except the
cattle which they seized, and whose flesh they boiled in their hides.
Failing these, each man had a bag of oatmeal, and a plate of metal on
which he could bake his griddle-cakes. This was their only baggage; true
to the Lindsay motto, the stars were their only tents: and thus they
flashed from one county to another, doing infinite mischief, and the
dread of every one.
While young Edward III was being crowned, they had well-nigh seized the
Castle of Norham. The tidings filled the boy with fire and indignation.
He was none of the meek, indifferent stock that the Planta Genista
sometimes bore, but all the resolution and brilliancy of the line had
descended on him in full measure, and all the sweetness and courtesy,
together with all the pride and ambition of his race, shone in his blue
eye, and animated his noble and gracious figure. He was well-read in
chivalrous tales, and it was time that he should perform deeds of arms
worthy of his ladye-love, the flaxen-haired Philippa of Hainault.
Strange was the contrast of the pure, ardent spirit, with the scenes of
shame and disgrace of which he was as yet unconscious. He knew not that
he was a usurper--that one parent was perishing in a horrible captivity,
the other holding himself and his kingdom in shameful trammels, and
giving them over into the power of her traitorous lover.
But Edward was sixteen, and Isabel and Mortimer could only hope to
continue their dominion by keeping him at a distance; and he was
therefore placed at the head of a considerable army, with Sir John of
Hainault as his adviser, and sent forth to deliver his country from the
Scots.