The Plantagenets: The Three Edwards Part 12

The earl was beginning to lose the fort.i.tude he had shown in the great hall. His hand was unsteady and he swayed in his seat.

"King of heaven!" he cried. "Grant me thy mercy, for the king of earth has forsaken me!"

If it seems strange that he was taken such a distance and to a hillside, when the courtyard of the castle would have been a more suitable place for the execution, it may be considered that this is what had happened to Gaveston. Was it the king's purpose to recall to the mind of the condemned man the part he had played in that never forgotten nor forgiven episode?

The block was ready when they reached St. Thomas' Hill. Lancaster knelt beside it in such a position that he faced the east. He was rudely instructed to look instead toward the north, "In the direction of your friends, the Scots!" It was in that direction that his head fell.

4.

With the death of Lancaster the baronial opposition fell to pieces. Edward, behaving more like a true Plantagenet every day, took full advantage of his success. It was given out that the two Mortimers and Audley, the sole surviving brother-in-law of the younger Despenser, would be confined in prison for the balance of their days. Bartholomew Badlesmere, the repentant husband of the harridan of Leeds, was yanked out of Stowe Park and hanged. Other executions took place, about thirty in all. A great silence fell over the ranks of the dissenters.

A Parliament was a.s.sembled at York with both Despensers in attendance, the younger having given up piracy with avidity to obey the writ summoning him home. With much high-sounding talk and many promises of good government, the ordinances were abolished and the Council of Ordainers was dissolved. "A skeleton, with pap!" said the man in the tavern, the friar on his barefooted rounds, the villein with sweaty hand on the plow handle; meaning that fair words had been used to disguise an evil measure. The expression was often thus reversed from its usual form, when it meant a good deed performed with a grumbling mien.

Edward made another abortive invasion of Scotland, failing to capture Berwick, was nearly captured himself, and brought the Scottish forces back on his heels over the border, like hornets with a sting in the edge of the claymore. An English mother was sitting one night on the battlements of a castle, singing a lullaby to her child, Do not fret ye, little pet ye, the Black Douglas shall not get ye. "Don't be too sure of that," said a voice behind her. It was the Black Douglas, who had led his men in a wild climb up the walls. He captured the castle but spared the lives of the garrison.

It seemed useless to go on with this costly war of reprisal, so on May 30, 1323, Edward made a truce for thirteen years with Robert the Bruce.

Queen Isabella's anger over her lack of welcome at Leeds Castle had cooled before Lancaster was executed. She did not hear of his death until sometime later. Although nothing is on record about her reactions, it may be taken for granted that she was shocked and greatly disturbed by it. But things were happening all the time to shock and disturb her. When she gave birth in the Tower to her last child, the daughter who was named Joanna, the apartment in which she lay was so badly in need of repair that the rains came through the ceiling and kept the bed clothing damp. The royal lady, as might have been expected, was furious that the royal suite could have been so neglected. Edward became angry in turn and had the constable of the Tower, one John de Cromwell, discharged from his post. He did not, however, lay any of the blame where it rightly belonged, on the shoulders of the Despensers, who were back in harness and making such a sorry mess of public affairs that there was not enough money in the treasury to pay for a new roof.

The Despensers were poor administrators. They were fattening their own purses while the financial condition of the kingdom went from bad to worse. The younger, with the daring of a rope walker crossing a chasm, undertook changes in the queen's own household with a view to economy. He succeeded to the extent of discharging all her French servants and packing them back to France, and then taking from her the revenue of her dower properties and allowing her in exchange a pension which she complained was unfair and completely inadequate for her needs; which was not surprising, for the amount paid was only twenty shillings a day. She complained to Edward, not once but many times, but he was now riding high and full of satisfaction at having his beloved Despensers back with him. He paid little attention to her.

Isabella realized then that the old days, the evil days, had returned, although it was now the younger Despenser who controlled her husband instead of the impudent Gascon. There was no longer a Cousin Lancaster to lend an ear to her complaints. Public opinion about him was turning rapidly in his favor. It was reported that miracles were happening at his tomb (this story became so persistent that Edward had the entrance sealed up), and the people of the north country, who had not taken him to their hearts while he was alive, were spreading a prophecy that gra.s.s would never grow again where the battle of Boroughbridge had been fought. There was even a movement on foot to have him canonized. Still he was dead and could no longer support the queen in her grievances against her insensitive and infatuated husband. She turned then to her third brother, Charles the Fair (another physically handsome specimen), who was now King of France, her two older brothers having died without male issue, thus reviving the talk about the curse laid on the family by the dying Grand Master of the Templars. In one of her letters to this brother she declared she had become no better than a servant in the royal household. In another she spoke of Edward as "a gripple miser," a strange epithet to apply to one who had been a spendthrift all his life. What she meant, of course, was that he behaved like a miser to her and lavished everything on the demanding Despensers.

Four years of this sort of thing followed. There was no longer a baronial party to spearhead a movement against the king and the new favorites, but feeling against him in the country began to run high. The younger Despenser was hated then almost as universally as Gaveston had been. He was blamed for the bad times which had gripped the country: the lack of food, the lack of work, the stagnation in trade. To make matters worse, Edward used no tact in his dealings with prominent men in the country.

The discontent grew deep. The coals were ready, the fire laid: all that was needed was a spark to ignite the blaze.

CHAPTER IX.

The Royal Triangle

1.

THE center of the stage must now be given to one of the most unpleasant of villains: Roger de Mortimer, eighth Baron of Wigmore, lying in the Tower of London under a sentence of life imprisonment.

He has already appeared for brief intervals and never in the most favorable light. A determined, ambitious, and cruel young man, whose energy and drive had made him the real leader of the Marcher barons and whose marriage to an heiress had raised his fortune and influence considerably; a handsome fellow, obviously, with ease of deportment, and without a scruple.

It had been customary for prisoners of consequence in the Tower to live in some degree of state. When John Baliol, the stickit King of Scotland, was immured there, he was allowed to take with him a large retinue, including even huntsmen to look after his horses, greyhounds, and beagles. Altogether he cost the crown seventeen shillings a day. Later his staff was reduced to two squires, three pages, two grooms of the chamber, one barber, one tailor, one laundress, one butler, and one pantler. One half crown a day was saved this way.

In later years, when prominent prisoners were allowed the services of no more than one or two servants, it would be cited as evidence of extreme severity.

It is apparent, therefore, that Mortimer and his sixty-five-year-old uncle were kept in unusually rigorous confinement. They must have shared one cell, a "lofty and narrow chamber," with little light, airless in summer and clammily cold in winter. It is not likely that a servant of any kind attended them, and for food they had to be content with what the jailers brought, which would be very plain fare indeed. Here they remained for over two years, by which time the uncle, Mortimer of Chirk, died.

But Roger de Mortimer was not the kind of man to remain forever in confinement, not when he had willing friends on the outside and high-placed friends within. It is not recorded when or where he first saw Queen Isabella, but it is agreed that it must have been while he was in the Tower. This may seem to be stretching the probabilities, but after a close consideration it appears distinctly possible. The queen came to the Tower for her accouchement and remained there for some time after the birth of her daughter. The Tower held relatively few prisoners in these days and the queen would hear much about the bold young baron who was existing under the same roof. A building which serves the double purpose of royal residence and prison inevitably rings with rumor and gossip. Isabella would have all manner of stories poured into her ears by her ladies; how handsome the prisoner was, what his habits were, what he said to his jailers. All such small talk would be repeated and added to and commented on at considerable length.

It must be remembered also how limited the facilities of the Tower were, with its one entrance and one stairway. Mortimer was often summoned for hearings, and it may be taken for granted that word got around. Avid eyes would watch from around turns in the dark corridors as he was escorted to and from the one stairway shaft. It is quite conceivable that on such occasions one pair would belong to Isabella, for a queen can be just as curious as a lady-in-waiting or a domestic. And life in the Tower was sometimes as dull for her as for any of the others.

There is a certain amount of attraction about a prisoner, particularly if he has been in captivity a sufficient time for his hair to grow long and his cheeks pale and his eyes to have the look of desperation which close confinement breeds; most particularly when he is handsome to begin with and has a reputation for bravery in the field and a way with women.

Yes, it is highly probable that the queen saw the prisoner. It is well within the bounds of probability, in fact, that communications pa.s.sed between them. One glance might have been enough to plant a romantic interest in the receptive mind of the queen. She was ripe for romance. Although the mother of four children, she had no true wifely feeling for her husband. He had awakened contempt in her almost from the first; and love does not go with contempt. She was about twenty-six years of age when the opportunity came to see Mortimer, and if a little beyond the peak of her beauty she was still a woman of loveliness and charm. Mortimer would most certainly have grasped at any indication of interest on the part of the queen.

There is room for speculation also in the manner of his escape from the Tower; for escape he did, most boldly. It would have been impossible for him to get out of that "lofty and narrow chamber" and over the high walls unless he had help from inside. The rather circ.u.mstantial reports of the escape which have been handed down make it clear he had such a.s.sistance. Gerard de Alspaye, the sublieutenant of the Tower, was won over to his aid and was chiefly instrumental in hatching the plan and carrying it through. Why would a man in a comfortable minor position risk his post, his life even, to let an important prisoner loose? Mortimer's estates had been seized and he was not in a position to pay a large enough bribe. It is almost certain that the sublieutenant would not take this risk unless he knew he had the support of someone of high rank.

It is not difficult to believe that the queen, her emotions aroused by the fine dark eyes of the prisoner, had communicated with him, had in fact made occasion to see him. It is easy enough, too, when served by loyal gentlemen and ladies-in-waiting, to have a cell door opened and a corridor kept clear and thus to receive a guest when the silence of night has settled over the dark Tower. It would be risky but possible to carry on a liaison under the eyes of the court. It is easy to imagine also that the sublieutenant could have been won over if pressure of the right kind had been brought to bear on him.

On the night of August 1 it was customary for the garrison and the prison guards to celebrate the feast of St. Peter and Vincula with much eating and drinking. Alspaye saw to it that the supplies for the occasion were drugged. When all of the company had fallen into a stupor, the sublieutenant accompanied Mortimer out through a hole which had been dug in the wall of his cell (undoubtedly with tools supplied by Alspaye) and into a pa.s.sage which led to the roof of the royal kitchens. This took them to an inner ward, where a rope ladder was produced.

A complete silence had settled over the Tower. In the kitchen they had found the cook and his staff, after partaking of the feast, lying in sodden slumber amidst their ovens and pans. If there were sentries on the walls, they had crumpled against the stone of the battlements and were snoring loudly to the stars.

One highly romantic version of the escape has it that the queen came out from the shadows of the ward, wrapped in a cloak and hood for concealment. There was a last embrace, a few whispered words of rea.s.surance and warning, and then she helped Mortimer to climb the wall by holding the rope ladder firm in her own fair hands. The prisoner is a.s.serted to have called down when he reached the top, "Now, Fortune, be my guide!"

It is extremely doubtful that she would have shown so little discretion. If she were the baron's accomplice, she undoubtedly had enough sense to remain in her bed, rea.s.sured by the lack of sound from the battlements and the absence of any peremptory challenges from the sentries.

Accompanied by Alspaye, the escaped prisoner reached the river, where an open boat was waiting. They were ferried across the Thames and on the opposite side found seven of Mortimer's men ready for them with horses. They rode through the night, pausing only to change horses, until they reached the coast of Hampshire. Here another boat waited, and it was given out that they were going to the Isle of Wight. In reality they were conveyed to a large merchant ship hovering off the coast which belonged to a London merchant by the name of Ralf Botton. The ship took them to a port in Normandy. Mortimer, still accompanied by the sublieutenant, made his way direct to Paris and the French court. It was learned later that Adam of Orleton, Bishop of Hereford, had arranged all the outside details with great skill and foresight.

The king was in Lancaster when the word of Mortimer's escape reached him. He fell into a fury of activity and, believing the fugitive would make for his own possessions, he directed the hue and cry into Wales. It was some time before the truth came out, and then the hara.s.sed king had matters on his mind which seemed of even more importance than the escape of an important prisoner. The absence of Alspaye placed the guilt of complicity on his shoulders, but no whisper involved the queen.

That Isabella had taken some hand in the escape and that the most lurid of clandestine romances in the royal annals of England had begun while Mortimer was a prisoner became something more than conjecture as a result of what happened after the fugitive reached the court of Charles IV, the last of Isabella's three brothers.

2.

Queen Isabella visited Paris the next year. There was a great rush to see her as she rode through the streets of the French capital with her train; this queen of surpa.s.sing beauty who had left France many years before and had lived such a stormy life with her English spouse. She rode astride (the sidesaddle would not be used for another century or more), and her black velvet skirts were very full and so long that no more than the tips of her riding boots of white checkered leather could be seen. Her hair was unplaited and held in cases of gold fretwork on each side of her head. They cheered her proudly and said among themselves what a lout this Edward of England must be to neglect so fair a creature.

When she first went to England as a bride she had been aware that the clothing of the English was strangely different. To her girlish eyes the people had looked dowdy and old-fashioned. She had known, of course, that Paris established the mode, but it had never occurred to her that a country as close as England could lag so far behind. In her first years as queen she had managed to keep pace with things in the world of style but inevitably had lost contact. When she managed to convince her husband that she should go back to France as a peacemaker, she immediately took steps to have her wardrobe thoroughly overhauled. Tailors came from Paris at considerable expense to see that she had clothes of the very latest style and design.

And so she was richly and fashionably clad when she appeared at her brother's court. It is contended in some chronicles of the time that it was then that she first laid eyes on Roger Mortimer. The latter had been cordially received by the king after his escape and was on hand to be presented with the knights of France. The queen and the fugitive were said to have fallen deeply, completely, overwhelmingly in love at the first glance.

But the events leading up to her visit to France seem to refute this supposition. In the first place, Charles the Fair would not have received a political refugee with favor unless he had been properly prepared in advance; by letters from the queen herself, it is alleged. As soon as the Englishman put in an appearance, a situation developed which was not understood at the time but was recognized later as the first step in a well-laid plan. Charles had begun immediately to contend that Edward must come to France to do homage for Aquitaine and Ponthieu, on pain of having them seized. Edward was advised by the Despensers that it would be unwise for him to leave the kingdom. What they really meant was that it would be unwise from their standpoint; for Edward, under alien influences, might be persuaded to dispense with them. He blithely accepted their word for it and sent over his uncle Pembroke to discuss matters. Pembroke died almost as soon as he arrived and then the king sent Edmund of Kent, his half brother, to take his place. Edmund was a dull young man with no head for diplomacy whatever and he accomplished nothing. Then Isabella came forward with a suggestion: she would go to France and get her brother's consent to a delay. Secretly the king may have been glad to be rid of her for a time. Her hostility to the Despensers had been causing continual scenes. He had been growing weary of the light of indignation in her eyes, the angry tapping of her small foot, the bitterness of her tongue. Let her go and perhaps she would be in a better mood when she returned. So Edward put no obstacles in the way and Parliament gave its consent.

Her arrival in France brought the situation at home into the open for the first time. The queen did not hesitate to say that Edward was abnormal and preferred his favorites to her. Although she had borne him four children, she did not feel that she had had any real married life. There was no desire on her part to return unless Edward rid himself of the Despensers. She even declared openly that unless he did so she could not go back. Her life would be in danger from Nephew Hugh, the king's fond name for the younger of the pair, who was bitterly antagonistic to her.

All this seems to have been according to plan. But Isabella was foolish enough to throw caution to the winds where Roger Mortimer was concerned. Stories began to spread about them. It was whispered that, although Isabella had her rooms with the French royal family and Mortimer was living somewhere quite modestly with only one squire and one cook, they had reached an adulterous relationship. The whispers grew in volume until they could be heard clear across the Channel.

In the meantime the queen had succeeded in getting her brother to agree to a truce between the two countries and to delay any advance of French forces into Gascony until Edward could come over to pay homage. On the heels of this arrangement she wrote to her husband and suggested that if he still did not wish to come he could confer the t.i.tle of Duke of Aquitaine on their oldest son and send the boy over in his place. This should have been as unmistakable as the cry of Weather ahead from the lookout at sea. But Edward had been finding life peaceful, and the Despensers were more convinced than ever that it would be a mistake for him to trust himself into alien hands. And so, in September of that year young Prince Edward, quite happy and bedazzled with his fine new t.i.tle, departed for France to join his royal mother. This was an important step in the plan.

Prince Edward did homage for the provinces held in France, and Charles, in his turn, withdrew the forces he had sent against Gascony. There was now apparently nothing to hold the queen and the heir apparent from returning home.

But they did not return. There were many reasons. They were in a position abroad to make demands on the king and to insist on the dismissal of the Despensers as the price of their return. The country was sadly in need of better government, and nothing could be done if they came humbly back. There was, moreover, the relationship which had developed between Isabella and her "gentle Mortimer," as she had fallen into the habit of calling him. She had now no desire to return and resume her place beside the king. When a woman of pa.s.sionate nature has existed in a loveless marriage and has reached the late twenties before yielding to a clandestine impulse, it may be taken for granted that she will not be guided by anything but the dictates of her love. Isabella seems to have taken few precautions and to have worn her heart quite openly on her sleeve.

The behavior of the queen was so indiscreet that Walter Stapledon, Bishop of Exeter, who had been one of the advisers sent over with the young prince, decided that steps must be taken. He was a sound and courageous man and did not hesitate to reproach her. Isabella gave him no satisfaction. Mortimer, she declared, was a brave knight and an amusing companion; what harm could there be in a preference for his company? Stapledon felt the time had come when the king in England should know the whole truth. He made a surrept.i.tious departure from the French court and succeeded in getting across the Channel, despite the fact that the queen had warned Mortimer to prevent him from leaving. The bishop's report to the king was that the queen's infatuation for Mortimer was the real cause of the delay. He intimated also that other plans were being considered, even an intention to land an army of invasion. Edward inst.i.tuted at once a watch on all English ports. Mail was delayed and examined and arrivals from France were questioned and sometimes held in custody.

King Edward has been praised for the way he handled the situation, particularly in the matter of the letters he sent to his wife, to his son, and to the King of France, which are termed manly and touching. The truth of the matter is that he behaved with his usual lack of ac.u.men and decision. It must have been clear to him that an invasion was impending and that he must take immediate steps to prevent it. His father would have ordered an instant return on pain of losing all rights and properties and would have demanded of the King of France that he cease to harbor them if he desired peace to continue between the two countries. Edward showed his pique by taking the poor wife of Mortimer into custody with all her children and treating them with severity, when he might have packed them off to join their fugitive husband and father. Their presence would have served as a dampener at least on the open philandering of Isabella and Mortimer. Certainly steps were necessary to collect an army to defend the realm. Instead the king entered into long, repet.i.tious correspondence.

His letters have an appealing quality, it is true, but they are lacking in vigor and incisiveness, and in two respects they reveal the weakness of character which he had so often displayed. First, they go to great lengths to answer Isabella's expressed fear of violence at the hands of the younger Despenser, Nephew Hugh. He seems more concerned to defend the Despensers than anything else. In writing Isabella, he says, "He has always procured from us all the honor he could for you, nor to you has either evil or villainy been done since you entered into our companionship." To Prince Edward he describes Hugh as "our dear and faithful nephew." To Isabella's brother, the king, he states, "Never in the slightest instance has evil been done to her by him, and since she has departed from us and come to you what has compelled her to send to our dear and trusting nephew letters of such great and special amity?" He goes on to charge that she has "spoken falsehoods of our nephew." There is continually, in these letters, an insistence on the blamelessness of his favorites and the fairness of his dear Nephew Hugh.

The other great lack in his missives is that he neglects to say the only thing that could conceivably heal the breach. He does not write one sentence to indicate a willingness on his part to change the conditions to which they must return. Far from promising to get rid of the obnoxious Despensers or to limit their power, he depicts them as perfect servants who have been sinned against though never themselves sinning. He makes it clear they are to remain, the older Despenser, who had reached the years of senility, the younger, and even the worthless individual they had foisted on him as chancellor, Robert de Baldock, Archdeacon of Middles.e.x, who had no qualifications for the part save a willingness in all things to pander to the desires of Nephew Hugh. While the king hunted and hawked and amused himself with horseplay and raucous humors, the Despensers and their tool Baldock had brought the country to a sorry pa.s.s; but he shows no recognition of this nor any intent to improve things. Did he know that his military summonses were being disregarded, that the taxes were not being collected, that laws were not being enforced, that the courts were filled with untried cases, that bandits and highway robbers infested the country with nothing being done about it, that the Despensers seemed interested only in their own enrichment? If he was aware of such things, there is no indication in his letters of any intent to correct the abuses.

There are no promises of any kind in what he writes. Come back on my terms and I will forgive you. That is all he holds out.

Finally Edward sent copies of the letters he had addressed to Charles of France and to the Pope, and this brought results. The pontiff, in the indignation caused by the adulterous conduct of the queen, demanded of the French king that he send Isabella and her son out of the kingdom under penalty of excommunication. Charles was deeply disturbed at this and intimated to his sister that the time had come for her to leave.

In dealing with this situation in his Chronicles, Jean Froissart gives a melodramatic version. He says that the queen's cousin, Robert of Artois, who was now her only real friend at the French court, came to her in the middle of the night with word that Charles intended to turn them all over to Edward. He advised strongly that she start at once for Burgundy, where she would be out of reach of both kings and would be kindly received and protected.

The result was that the queen, the prince, gentle Mortimer, and all others who had been received into the conspiratorial circle, including Edward's amba.s.sadors and his half brother, Edmund of Kent, departed from France without delay and made their way to the Low Countries.

3.

When Isabella, her son, and her long train of followers came into the Netherlands on the invitation of Sir John of Hainaut, they saw that they were in a different world; a land of low and monotonous plains under heavy skies and, all about them, behind high strong walls, splendid and prosperous cities in which people had found that industry yielded dividends in rich living and content. Perhaps their greatest surprise came when they reached the city of Valenciennes and stopped before the castle of Count William of Hainaut. The exterior looked strong and capable of standing siege, but within it was designed for a colorful and realistic kind of life. Immediately inside the great gate was a courtyard and opposite it an entrance of folded oak, with a bronze head of some fabulous creature serving as a knocker, which gave onto a room of singular cheerfulness.

This room served in place of that strange monstrosity in Norman castles, the great hall. It lacked the high arched ceilings and so achieved warmth under its low galleries. There were six tall windows to give light. The floor, miracle of miracles, had not a single rush malodorous with age, but was of paving stones, scrubbed every day and so kept white and aseptic. There was a glow about the whole apartment, owing largely to its red hangings and the glazing of the windows.

It was in this unusual apartment that the tired queen and her companions made the acquaintance of William, Count of Hainaut, the older brother of Sir John, who had escorted them on their way. Standing behind the count in a row were his four daughters, who might best be described as a muster of young peac.o.c.ks, so bright were the colors they presented, their flaxen hair, their apple-red cheeks, their dresses of green, and their red shoes. Prince Edward was just entering his teens, which is a period of susceptibility, and his first impression must have been that never before had he seen girls so different but so attractive for that very reason. Margaret, Philippa, Joanna, and Isbel! How could a youth of his years resist falling in love, not with one, but with all four?

This was exactly what he was expected to do. After the meal served them, a truly gigantic one with haunches of meat, fish swimming in sauces, and a succession of sweet dishes of strange but enticing tastes, he was told so by his mother. The count, it seemed, loved each of his little tow-headed daughters equally. He would certainly be happy to have one of them marry the future King of England, but when the time came he would expect it to be the oldest of the four. Was it Margaret who pleased Edward most? No, it was not Margaret. There was another who had brighter cheeks than her sisters and was just a bit more plump. Philippa? Yes, it was Philippa. He was advised to keep any such preference to himself and to allow it to seem that his admiration was equally divided. Besides, there was the Parliament in England to be considered. It would be most unwise to let it be known that he had made up his mind before the consent of that body had been obtained.

It was known both to mother and son that King Edward had started negotiations for a marriage of the prince with the infanta Eleanor of Aragon, a most distinguished and desirable alliance. Isabella was aware, however, that if she could win the support of Count William it would be possible to get together a force for the invasion of England. What better inducement could she offer than a brilliant match for one of his four daughters? She had made it clear to the count by correspondence before leaving France that such was her thought. An understanding was reached between them that the marriage would be arranged after her return to England.

So Prince Edward remained a fortnight in Hainaut in the pleasant company of the four gay, chattering daughters of the house. He managed to keep a neutral att.i.tude, although he had long talks with the slightly plumper Philippa and found his secret preference growing more certain with each hour. He may have conveyed a hint to her of his feelings in the matter.

In the meantime Queen Isabella was conducting a campaign for armed support. The impression had been widely spread throughout the Low Countries, largely by the efforts of young Sir John, who undoubtedly had fallen in love with her, that she was a fair lady in great distress and that all chivalrous knights should rally to her support. Her conduct was exemplary. Mortimer stayed in the background and was accepted as no more than a member of her English entourage. She even attired herself in dresses of seeming modesty, taking little advantage of a sudden turn in feminine styles which had been under way in Paris. Her dresses conformed to the new fashion in having tight bodices and b.u.t.toned sleeves and very full skirts which swayed like slow waves on a quiet sea, but they were made of subdued materials and lacked the rich embroideries in pearls and thread of gold. She thus created the impression of an exile who could not afford the best apparel of the moment but could look beautiful in the plainest of wear.

As the weeks pa.s.sed, the train which followed her on the recruiting journeys she undertook grew larger, like the lengthening tail of a comet. She managed to inject a great deal of gaiety into it, as had Eleanor of Aquitaine when she took a company of well-born ladies to fight in the crusade led by her first husband, the King of France, wearing such dazzling uniforms that the brave knights were more interested in the lady crusaders than in fighting the paynim.

Knights joined the English queen from all parts of the Low Countries-Holland, Friesland, Brabant, Gueldres, as well as Hainaut-most of them youths eager for a chance to show their mettle. There were recruits from Germany as well and from as far away as Bohemia. It was a large and gallant company, 2,757 strong, which Isabella and Sir John of Hainaut finally led to Dort, where a fleet was a.s.sembled to take them across the water to England. Sir John was in command, with Roger Mortimer in charge of the English contingent.

They had a stormy pa.s.sage and on September 24, 1326, landed with some difficulty on a strip of beach between Orford and Harwich. There was not a house in sight and only a few natives who scuttled for cover at the first glimpse of them. The young knights set to work to make an abode in which their beautiful lady could spend her first night back on the soil of England. For the purpose they used some bits of wreckage found on the beach and four carpets. The queen thanked them with bright smiles in spite of her weariness.

The next morning, with banners flying, they started their march inland. Isabella rode in front with Sir John of Hainaut beside her. She was in the gayest of moods. Mortimer rode well back in the ranks; she was striving to conduct the adventure with the utmost decorum.

CHAPTER X.

The Fall of the King

1.

EDWARD was in the Tower of London when the news reached him of the landing of the queen and Prince Edward on the coast of Suffolk with an army of foreign knights and mercenaries. With him were the two Despensers, the wife of Nephew Hugh, who was a niece of the king, and Baldock, the chancellor. The news seemed to have dumfounded him. He had not expected that things would come to this, despite the reports which had reached him from the continent. He looked at those about him with an almost blank stare, as though asking what was to be done now.

Even a king as disorganized and unready as Edward has sources of information. Spies on the continent had sent word of Isabella's activities and of the favorable impression she was making. It had been clear she was planning an invasion, but Edward's only move at first was to write more letters. These were addressed to the Pope and the King of France and begged a.s.sistance in the crisis which threatened him. Later he talked to the members of the council and the leaders of Parliament. They did not display any willingness to aid in raising an army. During August he paid visits to a number of cities, hoping to enlist the n.o.bility but finding the same lack of interest. If he had announced his intention of banishing the Despensers for all time, he would have had a far different reception. But if he thought of any such concession, he set his mind stubbornly against it. He had not broken the power of the baronial opposition and sent his cousin to the block to give in at the first hint of more trouble. Had he taken action at once, he could have brought in an army of mercenaries himself, but it was seemingly impossible for him to act with prompt.i.tude. Even when the reports from abroad became more disturbing daily, he made no effort to establish concentrations of armed men along the coast to resist a landing.

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 pa.s.s 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 pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.sing 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 pa.s.sed 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 circ.u.mstances 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!