King Edward the Second, the first
Prince of Wales, was twenty-three years old when his
father died. There was a certain favourite of
his, a young man from Gascony, named PIERS GAVESTON,
of whom his father had so much disapproved that he
had ordered him out of England, and had made his son
swear by the side of his sick-bed, never to bring him
back. But, the Prince no sooner found himself
King, than he broke his oath, as so many other Princes
and Kings did (they were far too ready to take oaths),
and sent for his dear friend immediately.
Now, this same Gaveston was handsome
enough, but was a reckless, insolent, audacious fellow.
He was detested by the proud English Lords:
not only because he had such power over the King, and
made the Court such a dissipated place, but, also,
because he could ride better than they at tournaments,
and was used, in his impudence, to cut very bad jokes
on them; calling one, the old hog; another, the stage-player;
another, the Jew; another, the black dog of Ardenne.
This was as poor wit as need be, but it made those
Lords very wroth; and the surly Earl of Warwick, who
was the black dog, swore that the time should come
when Piers Gaveston should feel the black dog’s
teeth.
It was not come yet, however, nor
did it seem to be coming. The King made him
Earl of Cornwall, and gave him vast riches; and, when
the King went over to France to marry the French Princess,
ISABELLA, daughter of PHILIP LE BEL: who was
said to be the most beautiful woman in the world:
he made Gaveston, Regent of the Kingdom. His
splendid marriage-ceremony in the Church of Our Lady
at Boulogne, where there were four Kings and three
Queens present (quite a pack of Court Cards, for I
dare say the Knaves were not wanting), being over,
he seemed to care little or nothing for his beautiful
wife; but was wild with impatience to meet Gaveston
again.
When he landed at home, he paid no
attention to anybody else, but ran into the favourite’s
arms before a great concourse of people, and hugged
him, and kissed him, and called him his brother.
At the coronation which soon followed, Gaveston was
the richest and brightest of all the glittering company
there, and had the honour of carrying the crown.
This made the proud Lords fiercer than ever; the
people, too, despised the favourite, and would never
call him Earl of Cornwall, however much he complained
to the King and asked him to punish them for not doing
so, but persisted in styling him plain Piers Gaveston.
The Barons were so unceremonious with
the King in giving him to understand that they would
not bear this favourite, that the King was obliged
to send him out of the country. The favourite
himself was made to take an oath (more oaths!) that
he would never come back, and the Barons supposed
him to be banished in disgrace, until they heard that
he was appointed Governor of Ireland. Even this
was not enough for the besotted King, who brought
him home again in a year’s time, and not only
disgusted the Court and the people by his doting folly,
but offended his beautiful wife too, who never liked
him afterwards.
He had now the old Royal want of
money and the Barons had the new power
of positively refusing to let him raise any.
He summoned a Parliament at York; the Barons refused
to make one, while the favourite was near him.
He summoned another Parliament at Westminster, and
sent Gaveston away. Then, the Barons came, completely
armed, and appointed a committee of themselves to
correct abuses in the state and in the King’s
household. He got some money on these conditions,
and directly set off with Gaveston to the Border-country,
where they spent it in idling away the time, and feasting,
while Bruce made ready to drive the English out of
Scotland. For, though the old King had even made
this poor weak son of his swear (as some say) that
he would not bury his bones, but would have them boiled
clean in a caldron, and carried before the English
army until Scotland was entirely subdued, the second
Edward was so unlike the first that Bruce gained strength
and power every day.
The committee of Nobles, after some
months of deliberation, ordained that the King should
henceforth call a Parliament together, once every year,
and even twice if necessary, instead of summoning it
only when he chose. Further, that Gaveston should
once more be banished, and, this time, on pain of
death if he ever came back. The King’s
tears were of no avail; he was obliged to send his
favourite to Flanders. As soon as he had done
so, however, he dissolved the Parliament, with the
low cunning of a mere fool, and set off to the North
of England, thinking to get an army about him to oppose
the Nobles. And once again he brought Gaveston
home, and heaped upon him all the riches and titles
of which the Barons had deprived him.
The Lords saw, now, that there was
nothing for it but to put the favourite to death.
They could have done so, legally, according to the
terms of his banishment; but they did so, I am sorry
to say, in a shabby manner. Led by the Earl
of Lancaster, the King’s cousin, they first of
all attacked the King and Gaveston at Newcastle.
They had time to escape by sea, and the mean King,
having his precious Gaveston with him, was quite content
to leave his lovely wife behind. When they were
comparatively safe, they separated; the King went to
York to collect a force of soldiers; and the favourite
shut himself up, in the meantime, in Scarborough Castle
overlooking the sea. This was what the Barons
wanted. They knew that the Castle could not hold
out; they attacked it, and made Gaveston surrender.
He delivered himself up to the Earl of Pembroke that
Lord whom he had called the Jew on the Earl’s
pledging his faith and knightly word, that no harm
should happen to him and no violence be done him.
Now, it was agreed with Gaveston that
he should be taken to the Castle of Wallingford, and
there kept in honourable custody. They travelled
as far as Dedington, near Banbury, where, in the Castle
of that place, they stopped for a night to rest.
Whether the Earl of Pembroke left his prisoner there,
knowing what would happen, or really left him thinking
no harm, and only going (as he pretended) to visit
his wife, the Countess, who was in the neighbourhood,
is no great matter now; in any case, he was bound
as an honourable gentleman to protect his prisoner,
and he did not do it. In the morning, while
the favourite was yet in bed, he was required to dress
himself and come down into the court-yard. He
did so without any mistrust, but started and turned
pale when he found it full of strange armed men.
‘I think you know me?’ said their leader,
also armed from head to foot. ‘I am the
black dog of Ardenne!’ The time was come
when Piers Gaveston was to feel the black dog’s
teeth indeed. They set him on a mule, and carried
him, in mock state and with military music, to the
black dog’s kennel Warwick Castle where
a hasty council, composed of some great noblemen,
considered what should be done with him. Some
were for sparing him, but one loud voice it
was the black dog’s bark, I dare say sounded
through the Castle Hall, uttering these words:
’You have the fox in your power. Let him
go now, and you must hunt him again.’
They sentenced him to death.
He threw himself at the feet of the Earl of Lancaster the
old hog but the old hog was as savage as
the dog. He was taken out upon the pleasant
road, leading from Warwick to Coventry, where the
beautiful river Avon, by which, long afterwards, WILLIAM
SHAKESPEARE was born and now lies buried, sparkled
in the bright landscape of the beautiful May-day;
and there they struck off his wretched head, and stained
the dust with his blood.
When the King heard of this black
deed, in his grief and rage he denounced relentless
war against his Barons, and both sides were in arms
for half a year. But, it then became necessary
for them to join their forces against Bruce, who had
used the time well while they were divided, and had
now a great power in Scotland.
Intelligence was brought that Bruce
was then besieging Stirling Castle, and that the Governor
had been obliged to pledge himself to surrender it,
unless he should be relieved before a certain day.
Hereupon, the King ordered the nobles and their fighting-men
to meet him at Berwick; but, the nobles cared so little
for the King, and so neglected the summons, and lost
time, that only on the day before that appointed for
the surrender, did the King find himself at Stirling,
and even then with a smaller force than he had expected.
However, he had, altogether, a hundred thousand men,
and Bruce had not more than forty thousand; but, Bruce’s
army was strongly posted in three square columns, on
the ground lying between the Burn or Brook of Bannock
and the walls of Stirling Castle.
On the very evening, when the King
came up, Bruce did a brave act that encouraged his
men. He was seen by a certain HENRY DE BOHUN,
an English Knight, riding about before his army on
a little horse, with a light battle-axe in his hand,
and a crown of gold on his head. This English
Knight, who was mounted on a strong war-horse, cased
in steel, strongly armed, and able (as he thought)
to overthrow Bruce by crushing him with his mere weight,
set spurs to his great charger, rode on him, and made
a thrust at him with his heavy spear. Bruce
parried the thrust, and with one blow of his battle-axe
split his skull.
The Scottish men did not forget this,
next day when the battle raged. RANDOLPH, Bruce’s
valiant Nephew, rode, with the small body of men he
commanded, into such a host of the English, all shining
in polished armour in the sunlight, that they seemed
to be swallowed up and lost, as if they had plunged
into the sea. But, they fought so well, and did
such dreadful execution, that the English staggered.
Then came Bruce himself upon them, with all the rest
of his army. While they were thus hard pressed
and amazed, there appeared upon the hills what they
supposed to be a new Scottish army, but what were
really only the camp followers, in number fifteen
thousand: whom Bruce had taught to show themselves
at that place and time. The Earl of Gloucester,
commanding the English horse, made a last rush to
change the fortune of the day; but Bruce (like Jack
the Giant-killer in the story) had had pits dug in
the ground, and covered over with turfs and stakes.
Into these, as they gave way beneath the weight of
the horses, riders and horses rolled by hundreds.
The English were completely routed; all their treasure,
stores, and engines, were taken by the Scottish men;
so many waggons and other wheeled vehicles were seized,
that it is related that they would have reached, if
they had been drawn out in a line, one hundred and
eighty miles. The fortunes of Scotland were,
for the time, completely changed; and never was a
battle won, more famous upon Scottish ground, than
this great battle of BANNOCKBURN.
Plague and famine succeeded in England;
and still the powerless King and his disdainful Lords
were always in contention. Some of the turbulent
chiefs of Ireland made proposals to Bruce, to accept
the rule of that country. He sent his brother
Edward to them, who was crowned King of Ireland.
He afterwards went himself to help his brother in
his Irish wars, but his brother was defeated in the
end and killed. Robert Bruce, returning to Scotland,
still increased his strength there.
As the King’s ruin had begun
in a favourite, so it seemed likely to end in one.
He was too poor a creature to rely at all upon himself;
and his new favourite was one HUGH LE DESPENSER, the
son of a gentleman of ancient family. Hugh was
handsome and brave, but he was the favourite of a
weak King, whom no man cared a rush for, and that was
a dangerous place to hold. The Nobles leagued
against him, because the King liked him; and they
lay in wait, both for his ruin and his father’s.
Now, the King had married him to the daughter of
the late Earl of Gloucester, and had given both him
and his father great possessions in Wales. In
their endeavours to extend these, they gave violent
offence to an angry Welsh gentleman, named JOHN DE
MOWBRAY, and to divers other angry Welsh gentlemen,
who resorted to arms, took their castles, and seized
their estates. The Earl of Lancaster had first
placed the favourite (who was a poor relation of his
own) at Court, and he considered his own dignity offended
by the preference he received and the honours he acquired;
so he, and the Barons who were his friends, joined
the Welshmen, marched on London, and sent a message
to the King demanding to have the favourite and his
father banished. At first, the King unaccountably
took it into his head to be spirited, and to send
them a bold reply; but when they quartered themselves
around Holborn and Clerkenwell, and went down, armed,
to the Parliament at Westminster, he gave way, and
complied with their demands.
His turn of triumph came sooner than
he expected. It arose out of an accidental circumstance.
The beautiful Queen happening to be travelling, came
one night to one of the royal castles, and demanded
to be lodged and entertained there until morning.
The governor of this castle, who was one of the enraged
lords, was away, and in his absence, his wife refused
admission to the Queen; a scuffle took place among
the common men on either side, and some of the royal
attendants were killed. The people, who cared
nothing for the King, were very angry that their beautiful
Queen should be thus rudely treated in her own dominions;
and the King, taking advantage of this feeling, besieged
the castle, took it, and then called the two Despensers
home. Upon this, the confederate lords and the
Welshmen went over to Bruce. The King encountered
them at Boroughbridge, gained the victory, and took
a number of distinguished prisoners; among them, the
Earl of Lancaster, now an old man, upon whose destruction
he was resolved. This Earl was taken to his
own castle of Pontefract, and there tried and found
guilty by an unfair court appointed for the purpose;
he was not even allowed to speak in his own defence.
He was insulted, pelted, mounted on a starved pony
without saddle or bridle, carried out, and beheaded.
Eight-and-twenty knights were hanged, drawn, and
quartered. When the King had despatched this
bloody work, and had made a fresh and a long truce
with Bruce, he took the Despensers into greater favour
than ever, and made the father Earl of Winchester.
One prisoner, and an important one,
who was taken at Boroughbridge, made his escape, however,
and turned the tide against the King. This was
ROGER MORTIMER, always resolutely opposed to him, who
was sentenced to death, and placed for safe custody
in the Tower of London. He treated his guards
to a quantity of wine into which he had put a sleeping
potion; and, when they were insensible, broke out
of his dungeon, got into a kitchen, climbed up the
chimney, let himself down from the roof of the building
with a rope-ladder, passed the sentries, got down to
the river, and made away in a boat to where servants
and horses were waiting for him. He finally
escaped to France, where CHARLES LE BEL, the brother
of the beautiful Queen, was King. Charles sought
to quarrel with the King of England, on pretence of
his not having come to do him homage at his coronation.
It was proposed that the beautiful Queen should go
over to arrange the dispute; she went, and wrote home
to the King, that as he was sick and could not come
to France himself, perhaps it would be better to send
over the young Prince, their son, who was only twelve
years old, who could do homage to her brother in his
stead, and in whose company she would immediately
return. The King sent him: but, both he
and the Queen remained at the French Court, and Roger
Mortimer became the Queen’s lover.
When the King wrote, again and again,
to the Queen to come home, she did not reply that
she despised him too much to live with him any more
(which was the truth), but said she was afraid of
the two Despensers. In short, her design was
to overthrow the favourites’ power, and the King’s
power, such as it was, and invade England. Having
obtained a French force of two thousand men, and being
joined by all the English exiles then in France, she
landed, within a year, at Orewell, in Suffolk, where
she was immediately joined by the Earls of Kent and
Norfolk, the King’s two brothers; by other powerful
noblemen; and lastly, by the first English general
who was despatched to check her: who went over
to her with all his men. The people of London,
receiving these tidings, would do nothing for the
King, but broke open the Tower, let out all his prisoners,
and threw up their caps and hurrahed for the beautiful
Queen.
The King, with his two favourites,
fled to Bristol, where he left old Despenser in charge
of the town and castle, while he went on with the son
to Wales. The Bristol men being opposed to the
King, and it being impossible to hold the town with
enemies everywhere within the walls, Despenser yielded
it up on the third day, and was instantly brought to
trial for having traitorously influenced what was called
’the King’s mind’ though
I doubt if the King ever had any. He was a venerable
old man, upwards of ninety years of age, but his age
gained no respect or mercy. He was hanged, torn
open while he was yet alive, cut up into pieces, and
thrown to the dogs. His son was soon taken, tried
at Hereford before the same judge on a long series
of foolish charges, found guilty, and hanged upon
a gallows fifty feet high, with a chaplet of nettles
round his head. His poor old father and he were
innocent enough of any worse crimes than the crime
of having been friends of a King, on whom, as a mere
man, they would never have deigned to cast a favourable
look. It is a bad crime, I know, and leads to
worse; but, many lords and gentlemen I
even think some ladies, too, if I recollect right have
committed it in England, who have neither been given
to the dogs, nor hanged up fifty feet high.
The wretched King was running here
and there, all this time, and never getting anywhere
in particular, until he gave himself up, and was taken
off to Kenilworth Castle. When he was safely
lodged there, the Queen went to London and met the
Parliament. And the Bishop of Hereford, who
was the most skilful of her friends, said, What was
to be done now? Here was an imbecile, indolent,
miserable King upon the throne; wouldn’t it be
better to take him off, and put his son there instead?
I don’t know whether the Queen really pitied
him at this pass, but she began to cry; so, the Bishop
said, Well, my Lords and Gentlemen, what do you think,
upon the whole, of sending down to Kenilworth, and
seeing if His Majesty (God bless him, and forbid we
should depose him!) won’t resign?
My Lords and Gentlemen thought it
a good notion, so a deputation of them went down to
Kenilworth; and there the King came into the great
hall of the Castle, commonly dressed in a poor black
gown; and when he saw a certain bishop among them,
fell down, poor feeble-headed man, and made a wretched
spectacle of himself. Somebody lifted him up,
and then SIR WILLIAM TRUSSEL, the Speaker of the House
of Commons, almost frightened him to death by making
him a tremendous speech to the effect that he was
no longer a King, and that everybody renounced allegiance
to him. After which, SIR THOMAS BLOUNT, the
Steward of the Household, nearly finished him, by
coming forward and breaking his white wand which
was a ceremony only performed at a King’s death.
Being asked in this pressing manner what he thought
of resigning, the King said he thought it was the best
thing he could do. So, he did it, and they proclaimed
his son next day.
I wish I could close his history by
saying that he lived a harmless life in the Castle
and the Castle gardens at Kenilworth, many years that
he had a favourite, and plenty to eat and drink and,
having that, wanted nothing. But he was shamefully
humiliated. He was outraged, and slighted, and
had dirty water from ditches given him to shave with,
and wept and said he would have clean warm water,
and was altogether very miserable. He was moved
from this castle to that castle, and from that castle
to the other castle, because this lord or that lord,
or the other lord, was too kind to him: until
at last he came to Berkeley Castle, near the River
Severn, where (the Lord Berkeley being then ill and
absent) he fell into the hands of two black ruffians,
called THOMAS GOURNAY and WILLIAM OGLE.
One night it was the night
of September the twenty-first, one thousand three
hundred and twenty-seven dreadful screams
were heard, by the startled people in the neighbouring
town, ringing through the thick walls of the Castle,
and the dark, deep night; and they said, as they were
thus horribly awakened from their sleep, ’May
Heaven be merciful to the King; for those cries forbode
that no good is being done to him in his dismal prison!’
Next morning he was dead not bruised, or
stabbed, or marked upon the body, but much distorted
in the face; and it was whispered afterwards, that
those two villains, Gournay and Ogle, had burnt up
his inside with a red-hot iron.
If you ever come near Gloucester,
and see the centre tower of its beautiful Cathedral,
with its four rich pinnacles, rising lightly in the
air; you may remember that the wretched Edward the
Second was buried in the old abbey of that ancient
city, at forty-three years old, after being for nineteen
years and a half a perfectly incapable King.