Foundation (History of England Vol 1) (37 page)

The new king, Edward II, had been born in 1284 on the site of his father’s new castle at Caernarfon; Eleanor’s labour came to an end in temporary accommodation beside the castle that had only been begun in the previous year. She may have been brought to the spot in a deliberate move by the king to lay claim to this part of the island. In later life the new king was known as ‘Edward of Caernarfon’ and in 1301 he was acclaimed as ‘prince of Wales’, the first heir of the throne to be thus designated.

He did not care much for his principality. In 1305 he sent a letter to his cousin, Louis, count of Evreux, in which he promised to send ‘some misshapen greyhounds of Wales, which can catch a hare well if they find it asleep, and running dogs which can follow at an amble. And, dear cousin, if you would care for anything else from our land of Wales, we will send you some wild men, if you like, who will know well how to give young sprigs of noblemen their education.’ If nothing else, he had a sense of humour.

He was brought up in a military household, and was engaged in his father’s last Scottish wars. After the defeat of the English army by Robert Bruce at Loudoun, he vowed that he would not spend two nights in the same place until he had exacted revenge. He never kept the promise. He was not in any case as bellicose or as overbearing as his father. He always disliked taking part in
tournaments. The writer of a contemporary life of the king, Ranulf Higden, remarked that ‘he did not care for the company of lords, but preferred to mingle with harlots, with singers and jesters’. He also was most at ease with ‘carters and delvers and ditchers, with shipmen and boatmen, and with other craftsmen’. It is hard to interpret this last remark, except as a general indication that the young prince was not particularly interested in royal pursuits. This was the rebuke that followed him in succeeding years. He did not behave like a king.

The coronation of 1307 did not go quite according to plan. The crown was carried, much to the scandal of the great lords, by a close companion of the king with the name of Piers or Peter Gaveston. The number of people at the ceremony was so large that a plaster wall collapsed, bringing down the high altar and the royal scaffolding for the service. One knight was killed. The service was then quickly and even summarily completed. There was an indication that the new king was not altogether trusted. A new provision had been added to the coronation oath. The king now declared that he would ‘uphold and defend the laws and righteous customs that the community of the realm shall choose’. The ‘community of the realm’, in this instance, meant the magnates and prelates. It was an ominous beginning.

The royal banquet, after the ceremony, was also badly managed. Piers Gaveston seemed inclined to outshine even the king with a costume of imperial purple and pearls. When Edward preferred the couch of Gaveston to that of his queen, Isabella of France, his wife’s relatives returned indignant to their homeland. We have here the makings of a royal disaster.

Gaveston was the same age as Edward. The old king had placed him in the prince’s household to provide a fitting military example to his heir, but they may have had other interests in common. There quickly grew up an attachment between the two young men that some have considered to be sexual, but which others have believed to be simply fraternal. He has been described as Edward II’s ‘minion’ but that is a courtly and chivalric term which does not imply homosexuality; Henry VIII had his minions. It was considered proper that the king, at court, should lean upon the shoulder of his minion. It was an accepted posture. Modern
sexual terms have no meaning in fourteenth-century England, where in any case they would not have been understood. Edward did have a bastard son, Adam, even before he became king. Isabella herself would subsequently give birth to two sons and two daughters.

It is certain only that the young king preferred the company of Gaveston to that of his new bride. He had married the twelve-year-old Isabella, daughter of the king of France, on the orders of his father intent upon creating yet another grand and prosperous territorial alliance. The wedding had taken place in France a month before the coronation and, in his absence, Edward had appointed Gaveston as the keeper of the realm. This in itself was enough to arouse the envy and wrath of the English magnates. One of Edward’s first acts as king was then to honour Gaveston with the earldom of Cornwall, a title generally kept within the royal family. This was a serious blow to courtly protocol, and was more than a problem of etiquette. It was a question of land and money as well as title; if they were not properly distributed by the king, was then anyone safe? It was even believed that Gaveston himself had been given charge of patronage at court, granting goods and benefits without consultation with the barons. There could be no more important office in the fourteenth-century royal court, and it raised immediate problems about the king’s judgment.

Gaveston did not help matters with a waspish wit and a strong sense of his own importance. He was reported to be ‘haughty and arrogant’ with a pride ‘intolerable to the barons’. He invented nicknames for the leading magnates, such as ‘black dog’ for the earl of Warwick and ‘burst belly’ for the earl of Lincoln. He revelled in the king’s grace.

A parliament was held in the spring of 1308, at which the earl of Lincoln invoked the new provision of the coronation oath and demanded that Gaveston be dismissed from court. Edward refused but two months later, cowed by the presence of the magnates with their armed knights, he agreed to exile his favourite to Ireland. He wrote to the pope admitting that there had been ‘disturbance and dissension’ and that he had not yet ‘fully enforced unity’. This was the period, too, when his cousin abruptly left the court. Thomas of Lancaster was another grandson of Henry III, and was perhaps the
richest as well as the best-connected noble in the land. He had also become disaffected, with fatal consequences for Piers Gaveston.

A year after his exile in Ireland, the favourite was back. The king had recalled him for assistance in his campaign against Robert Bruce. The Scots refused a set battle, however, and so the king was reduced to a number of sorties and skirmishes that still left the northern part of his kingdom unprotected against attack. Unlike his father, he had not kept the peace.

He had not kept his promises, either. The likely shape of his reign had already become clear. He was considered by the magnates to be weak and ineffectual. He slept late. He prevaricated. None of this would necessarily disqualify a modern monarch but, in fourteenth-century England, it was inexcusable. A king was supposed to embody the prowess and vigour of the country. The failure of the Scottish campaign was a specific sign of the king’s general incapacity. It was further stated that he had so badly managed his resources that his entire household was in decay; as a result he had extorted money unfairly. Numerous complaints were also made concerning specific infringements of Magna Carta, such as the unjust seizure of lands and the misuse of writs.

The parliament of 1311 issued a set of twenty-four ordinances by which the king was supposed to govern. It was declared that the country was on the point of open revolt ‘on account of oppressions, prises and destructions’; ‘prises’ were the confiscations made by royal officials. One contemporary chronicler wrote that the threat of deposition was made against Edward if he failed to comply; if that is correct, then the forces against the king rivalled those against King John a hundred years before. The rebel lords called themselves ‘the community of the realm’ but they were no abstract or objective force; they were not a constitutional ‘party’. It was a world in which the force of individual personality was the cause and spring of action; personal rivalries and affections made up the politics of the period.

The ordinances themselves were designed to produce what might be called baronial rule. The king was not permitted to make war, or leave the kingdom, without the consent of the barons; the king’s justice and the king’s treasury must come under their supervision. A parliament, naturally under their control, would
meet once a year. One other stipulation was made. Gaveston, once more, had to go. He was to be banished from the realm before All Saints’ Day, 1 November.

The king refused to countenance these demands and prepared himself for civil war. Gaveston did sail from Dover, two days after the stipulated date, but he returned a month later. Edward and his favourite then moved to the north, and began recruiting an army. It was at this point that the king’s cousin, Thomas of Lancaster, became his most prominent challenger; Lancaster wrote to the queen, promising to rid the court of Piers Gaveston forever. And this was what he proceeded to do. Gaveston was taken at Scarborough, when the forces of the barons besieged the castle there, and a month later he was beheaded in the presence of Lancaster. Two sayings of the period have survived as an apt accompaniment to these events. ‘There is no one who is sorry for me,’ the king is supposed to have complained, ‘no one fights for my rights against the barons.’ The other is a more generalized statement: ‘The love of magnates is as a game of dice, and the desires of the rich like feathers.’

The execution of Gaveston was according to precedent unlawful, since as earl of Cornwall he should have been judged by his peers, but it had the effect of bringing to a summary end the threat of civil war. The gratuitousness of the deed seems to have surprised everyone. Some of the rebel barons returned to the king. If there were a civil war, only the Scots would benefit. The prospect of further hostilities, and the threat of an enemy on the border, concentrated the minds of the lords. Negotiations, in and out of parliament, took place for the best part of two years. In October 1313 the rebel lords made a public apology in Westminster Hall, and the king resumed his powers very little affected by the ordinances of 1311. He had won a marginal, and provisional, victory that was compounded by the birth of a son that guaranteed the continuation of his dynasty. His hatred, for the murderers of his ‘minion’, smouldered.

But his power soon fell apart once more. He took an army into the north, finally to dispose of Robert Bruce, but at Bannockburn he suffered a mighty defeat. The battle was fought in what was called ‘an evil, deep and wet marsh’ wholly unsuited to the English
cavalry but more amenable to the Scottish infantry; the earl of Gloucester led a charge into the Scottish ranks, but was cut down. The army of the Scots then attacked the horsemen, crying out ‘On them! On them! On them! They fail!’ The English were massacred, their bodies lying in the marsh or in the river Bannock. The king fled for his life and, with a few followers, sailed to Berwick where he hoped to find safety. He had lost Scotland. The battle of Bannockburn ensured the independence of that country, and was perhaps the worst military disaster of any medieval English king.

It is difficult for a sovereign to survive the shame of defeat. It implies the forfeiture of his single most important duty, that of protecting his realm. Edward I had been known as ‘the most victorious king’ and ‘the conqueror of lands and the flower of chivalry’. His son bore no such titles. When Edward eventually arrived in York he was in disgrace. Thomas of Lancaster insisted that once again he should be bound to the ordinances of 1311. A contemporary chronicle reports that ‘the king granted their execution, and denied the earls nothing’.

Lancaster at this juncture took effective control of the kingdom, but he proved no more popular or effective than his cousin; he was considered to be arrogant and overbearing. He stayed on his estates, and was loath to attend councils or parliaments. He did not take advice. It was also rumoured that he was in secret contact with Robert Bruce on the principle that the king’s enemies might become his own friends. The king stirred himself out of his weakness or incapacity, and began to gather his supporters. Two centres of power and of patronage existed, with the retainers of the king and the earl vying for mastery. There cannot be two suns in the sky.

A weak king seems always to presage, or to represent, a weak country. In the medieval period there is some strange alchemy between the state of the nation and the state of the monarch. The harvests of three successive years from 1314 failed, as a result of prolonged and torrential rain, and according to one chronicler there ensued misery ‘such as our age has never seen’. It became known as the ‘Great Famine’, and from that period we can date the continual fall in the English population throughout the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. In the summer of 1315 the archbishop of
Canterbury ordered that every parish perform solemn processions; the clergy were to walk barefoot, surrounded by the sound of bells and by chanting, in order to implore mercy from God.

But God was not listening. The cost of wheat rose from 5 shillings to 40 shillings a quarter (28 pounds or 12.7 kilograms). Often there was no bread to buy. The prices of the basic commodities rose to a level higher than any previously recorded. The cattle and the sheep were destroyed by outbreaks of murrain. The population itself, laid low by starvation, was attacked by various forms of enteric fever that often proved fatal. Rumours of cannibalism abounded, but they were plausible rather than probable. The situation of the English garrison at Berwick, however, is instructive; as the horses began to die the cavalrymen boiled their carcases in order to eat the meat, and then left the bones to the infantry.

In northern England as a whole the situation was rendered increasingly desperate by the raids of Scottish gangs. The incidence of violent crime also increased, as the hungry and the dispossessed looked for relief. There are records of gangs of ‘vagabonds’ perpetrating robberies and assaults. Reports of ‘corrupted air’, and of strange alterations in the atmosphere, were frequent. Human beings were, as always, powerless in the face of great natural disasters. The bodies of the dead were lying in the streets. According to the
Brut
chronicle, ‘so miche and so faste folc deiden, that unnethes [scarcely] men might ham bury’. Life for the majority of the English people was nasty, brutish and short.