Some accounts of what followed say that she threw off her cloak and displayed her slender figure in its single garment “as far as delicacy permitted.” Others assert she revealed herself in complete nudity to prove that she was in perfect health. At first thought it is hard to believe that one of her gentleness of spirit could be guilty of such an act. Sometimes, however, the most timid of mortals, when pressed to an extremity, will go farther, in a sudden revulsion of feeling, than the boldest. Let it be assumed, therefore, that the modest Eleanor did not scruple to show enough of her fair white body to the assembled company to prove that she was without disease or contamination.
What is more, she made a speech. “My beloved lord,” she is reported to have said, warmly wrapped again in her cloak, “here am I, earnestly seeking a diligent examination in reference to the corporeal taint of which I am frivolously accused. Let it be seen whether I am subject to any loathsomeness or impurity.” The hand of a monkish writer of chronicles can be seen in that use of words.
She had made it abundantly clear that she was in perfect condition. Not all the reports of all the doctors in Christendom, not all the wisdom of the East could have proved her case so well. The presence of her sons beside her, both in the best of health, was additional proof if such had been needed.
The duke took her back and the application for divorce was dropped.
The task of the narrator would be a pleasant one if it were possible to end the story with the simple statement that the fair Eleanor lived thereafter in peace and happiness. Unfortunately there were still great trials ahead of her. Raynald died in 1343 as the result of a fall from a horse. The older of the sons succeeded him as Raynald III at the age of ten years. It is said that the boy’s mother, suddenly displaying decision and a soundness of judgment equal to any occasion, aided in an orderly administration of the now extensive duchy “in integrity and peace.”
The son proved to be of a turbulent disposition and, when old enough to assume control of office, soon had himself in all kinds of trouble. The younger son, Edward, was cast in an identical mold and they quarreled bitterly. The mother strove to keep the peace between them and was rewarded, according to the records, by the seizure of all her possessions, even of her dower rights.
The Low Countries were divided at this period into two parties, the one composed of the older and more aristocratic families, who owed their wealth to great landholdings and to control of shipping, the other made up of the newer magnates who had reached prosperity through the success of the Dutch and Flemish people in manufacture and commerce. Although the Netherlands were divided into many sections, all quite independent, the feud between the two parties had spread into all of them. At first the parties were called the Cods and the Hooks. The Cods (Kabbeljaw) were the municipal factions, and it was supposed they took their name from the light blue and scaly-looking Bavarian coat of arms, while the Hooks were the nobility, capable of catching and controlling the Cods. The two parties had affiliated bodies in all the Dutch and Flemish provinces, although they bore different names in each. In Gueldres they were known as the Bronkhorst and the Hekeren, from great families which supported them.
Well: the two sons of Eleanor began to quarrel violently and perhaps it was inevitable that they should each lead one of the two factions. The younger son, Edward, was the more warlike and aggressive, and he not only succeeded in defeating his brother in open conflict but managed to take him prisoner. Raynald, the elder, had of course become duke on his father’s death, but he was so corpulent that the people had been somewhat scornful of him and had nicknamed him Crassus (the Fat). Edward, who seemed to have an ingenious turn for cruelty, in which he took after his great-grandfather of that name, put poor Crassus in a cell in the castle of Nieuwkerk in which the doors and windows were always open; but such was the girth of the older brother that he could not squeeze his way through any of them.
This provided Duke Edward with a ready answer when he was charged with a lack of proper feeling. “My brother is not a prisoner. He may leave when he so wills.”
“But, Your Grace, he is too broad to get through the doors!”
“Am I to blame, then, that my brother is a gormandizer?”
In the meantime Edward enjoyed ten years of turbulent rule. He was finally killed in battle with his neighbors, the Brabançons. Raynald had been well fed in his cell which bore out the truth that “stone walls do not a prison make,” not, at least, when narrow doors will suffice. On the death of Edward he was released and restored to his dukedom. But alas, poor Crassus! He was now huge and a far from inspiring sight; and he had lost all capacity to cope with administrative troubles. Perhaps it was just as well, for the good of the realm, that he died within a year.
Through all this trouble the poor mother of these ignoble sons had lived in poverty, finding it necessary to accept aid from the monks of a monastery at Harderwyck which she had established in her days of power and wealth. She seems to have been too proud to ask help of her English kin. Some funds were provided for her after both sons had passed into the shades, and she died in comparative comfort in 1335 in a Cistercian convent near Malines.
CHAPTER VII
The New Favorite
1
EDWARD’S weakness of character was most clearly manifested in his inability to stay long without someone to lean on, to share his interests, his occupations, his hobbies, his likes and dislikes. When he found such a friend, he lavished affection on him and was happy only when in his company. He went much farther, unfortunately: he lavished wealth and power on his favorites as well. Nothing was too good for them, even if the demands of the favorite went beyond the bounds of reason or infringed illegally the rights of others or even ran counter to the constitution. For Gaveston, he had been ready to sacrifice everything: the good will of the people over whom he ruled, the relationship with his wife, even his hold on the crown of England.
After Gaveston’s violent death, he lived a more normal existence. This was due in some degree to the birth of his son and the improved understanding, or perhaps compromise, with the queen. This state of affairs lasted longer than might have been expected; for several years, in fact.
One of the prominent barons of the day was Hugh le Despenser, Earl of Winchester, who held extensive lands in the Marcher country. He had stood on the king’s side at all stages of the continuous hostilities between the ruler and the dissenting group headed by the Earl of Lancaster. He had even voted for the return of Gaveston from exile and the restoration of his titles and lands. By so doing he had won the enmity of the baronial party, who considered him a deserter, and had been expelled from the council. After Gaveston’s death he slipped quietly and inevitably into a favored position with the unstable king, and it was generally believed that he was urging the king to seek revenge on those who had played a part in the death of the Gascon. His course, in the opinion of those who knew him well, was dictated by avarice. It was his insatiable desire for land and money which led him to seek the ear of the king and not a liking for power in itself. He seems to have been endowed with some of the obvious characteristics of gentility; he was courteous, urbane, and easy in his dealings with friend and foe. In addition, he was a man of parts, a clever diplomat and a good soldier.
His son, Hugh le Despenser the younger, had married Eleanor, the oldest of the three daughters of Gilbert de Clare, Earl of Gloucester and the wealthiest peer in England. He might well have been content with such prospects, but he shared the traits of his father to such a remarkable degree that he was never satisfied. He was clever and ingratiating and handsome in face and figure. In spite of all these advantages he was ruled by such a passion for wealth that he was blind to the risks he took to obtain more and more possessions.
At first the son had taken the opposite course from his father, aligning himself with the party of Lancaster. This might readily have been matter a matter of deliberate policy. Centuries later, when the Stuarts in exile were making warlike efforts to regain the th
rone, it was not unusual for families to divide their allegiance. A landowner with two sons would send one to serve under the Pretender and the other would remain at home or even enlist in the government forces, thus making sure that, no matter which way things went, one of the two could retain the family property. One can imagine the wily Despenser, with a calculating glint in his cool gray eye, taking the younger aside and whispering in his ear: “Good son, I have committed myself to the king. But suppose that the barons win? Can we take the risk of having all our lands confiscated? Nay, my son, you must see to that by throwing in your lot with this pestilential Lancaster and his crew.”
Whether or not it was a matter of pure self-interest, the well-favored son of the family allied himself so strongly with the baronial faction that Lancaster, whose judgment in such matters was always faulty, was convinced the younger Despenser had earned the ill will of Edward. After Gaveston’s death he was made chamberlain of the royal household, a post which the Gascon had held, in the belief that the appointment would be obnoxious to the king. This brought the young man into constant contact with Edward, and the result was far different from the one that the inveterate fumbler, Cousin Lancaster, had expected.
The new chamberlain went about his duties with suavity and confidence, creating an atmosphere of cheerfulness and ease. On the surface, at least, he no longer took an active part in the troubled politics of the realm.
The young Earl of Gloucester, Despenser’s brother-in-law, was killed at Bannockburn, and there was inevitably a furious race among the husbands of the three sisters, to whom the immense Clare holdings would revert. The husbands of the two younger sisters, Hugh of Audley and Roger d’Amory, believed that Despenser had bested them in the division by taking nearly the whole of Glamorgan. Their hostility grew when he claimed, and even began to use, the title of Earl of Gloucester. It has been an accepted theory that the ill feeling in the family was the reason for Despenser’s desertion from the baronial cause and his devotion thereafter to the interests of the king. This does not seem a realistic explanation. The barons still had the whip hand, and no one with an eye to the main chance would have changed his coat to attach himself to the waning fortunes of the incumbent of the throne.
It is more likely that Lancaster had been wrong in assuming a dislike for Despenser on the part of the king or that, at least, he was slow in detecting a change of sentiment on Edward’s part. Propinquity and the easy manner and personal charm of the new chamberlain were certain to have this effect. The king began to show a predilection for his amiable and plausible aide, a fondness for his company. The queen, who was watching her spouse with suspicious care, detected this at once. The enmity, even hatred, which Isabella displayed later for the two Despensers was not a sudden manifestation of feeling. It had been building up, without a doubt, from the time her observant eye had first detected the familiar symptoms in her royal husband.
Gradually there was a swing toward Edward on the part of many of the barons, and the time came when that astute pair, the acquisitive Despensers, might ally themselves together on the royal side with reasonable safety. The incompetence of the Earl of Lancaster had disillusioned the barons, and many of them still shared with Pembroke the antagonism which had grown out of the way the latter’s promise to Gaveston had been disregarded. Technically Cousin Lancaster was still chief of the council and could dictate to Edward on points of state policy, but actually he had withdrawn from active participation and, like Achilles, was sulking in his tent. The Despensers were shrewd observers of the political scene. They realized that the pendulum was swinging back. If Edward had shrewd guidance, he could at this juncture regain all the power and privilege he had lost. Father and son, in thorough accord, shoulder to shoulder, moved into the breach.
It was soon realized by all that the younger Despenser had taken the place of Gaveston, and the feeling against him ran high. The son seemed to be possessed of the same false confidence which had sent the Gascon to his death. Certainly he paid no heed to the growing enmity of the barons and used his influence over the king to get more and more land. Although he had received the largest share of the Clare estates, he was not satisfied and kept demanding that the earldom be granted him officially. Without warning he seized Newport, which belonged to Audley, his brother-in-law. He whispered in Edward’s ear that the Mortimer family was becoming too powerful in the Marcher country and should be restrained.
Father and son had built a close barricade around the king, excluding almost everyone from intimacy with him, even the queen. They were like a pair of blue-blooded Uriah Heeps, getting their hands on everything, suggesting all manner of legal twists to take power and property from others, begging for this, demanding that. The king was either unable to stand out against this insidious influence or was happy to lavish his favors on them. It was not quite the same as when Gaveston had been the recipient of the king’s bounty, for the Despensers were of noble blood and had wide connections. It could not be charged, therefore, that they were greedy outsiders, one of the most serious complaints against the Gascon, nor did this new team of sycophants do anything to enrage the barons personally as Gaveston had done. But if they did not rub their hands together in the accepted manner of stage villains (on the contrary, they were invariably courteous and obliging), they inspired a sense of fear and insecurity in the baronage.
Lancaster, acting for once with some acumen, saw his chance to regain the confidence of his fellow barons. He came out strongly for action against the new favorites, and the nobility almost to a man rallied behind him: the aggrieved brothers-in-law of the younger Despenser; the Mortimers, who had always been a tough and hard-bitten lot; the earls of Hereford, Warenne, and Arundel. Without waiting for parliamentary action, the neighbors in the Marcher country invaded the lands of the favorites and burned their houses. They were led by the Mortimers, who had adopted a special uniform, green with a yellow sleeve on the right arm. In a few nights of pillaging they practically destroyed all the properties the younger Despenser held through his wife and did damage amounting to hundreds of thousands. In addition they had ravaged sixty-three manors belonging to the elder Despenser, which he claimed represented a loss to him of forty-six thousand pounds; an indication of the enormous wealth he had been able to accumulate through the influence of the king. The elder’s detailed statement of losses provides an interesting light on the life of a great baronial establishment of the day. He was robbed by his neighbors of twenty-eight thousand sheep, one thousand oxen, twelve hundred cows with their calves, five hundred and sixty horses, two thousand hogs and, from his larders, “six hundred bacons, eighty carcasses of beef and six hundred muttons.” It paid well to stand in the favor of Edward!
The king, in a panic, issued a writ forbidding any attack on the Despensers. But writs were of small avail against a whole ruling class in arms, so in May 1321 Edward had to call Parliament to deal with the situation. The barons attended in force, wearing a white favor on the arm as a sign of their unanimity. This led to the session’s being called the Parliament of the White Bands. The one thing on which the magnates were in agreement was the need to be rid of the leeches. Charges were brought against the Despensers and a decree was passed condemning them to exile and the forfeiture of much of their property, all the ill-gained part, at least.
The elder Despenser was sensible enough to bow his head to the storm. He accepted the decree of banishment by going abroad. The son, however, was of tougher mettle. He left in a fury of dissent. Where he set himself up is not on record, but it is possible that he had found a refuge in Bristol Channel, perhaps on Lundy Island, the centuries-long home of pirates. At any rate, he suddenly appeared with an armed vessel and seized two merchant ships coming in to port and robbed them of their cargoes.
The king, regarding this act of piracy, perhaps, as an amusing piece of horseplay, had begun to plan and conspire to get them back, almost as soon as he had affixed the royal seal to the decree of banishment. The Gaveston story was to be repe
ated, apparently, over and over.
2
During the month of October 1321, Queen Isabella decided to make a pilgrimage to the shrine of St. Thomas at Canterbury. Leeds Castle, which had been given to her as part of her dower, was selected to break the journey, and the queen sent her marshal ahead to announce her coming.
One of the lesser barons, Bartholomew Badlesmere, had been made castellan of Leeds but was away at the time. Having been put in that post since the rise of Lancaster to his position of dominance, Badlesmere had left instructions to his wife not to admit anyone who did not carry the necessary order. Had he paused to consider the character of his wife, he would have qualified his instructions to cover a situation of this kind. Every word in the English language which applies to women of violent disposition—harridan, virago, beldame—could be used to describe his far from fair lady. She was, as well, a bitter partisan by association and had, it was soon made clear, no regard at all for the royal family.
She met the queen’s official on the lowered drawbridge and with an angry wave of her hand bade him begone.
“The queen,” she declared, “must seek some other lodging. I will not admit anyone without an order from my lord.”
The marshal, most rudely taken aback by the attitude of the castellan’s wife, demanded if she knew that he was there on behalf of Isabella of England. That the queen, moreover, owned this castle and would not consider seeking lodging elsewhere. None of this had any effect on iron-willed Lady Badlesmere. She reiterated what she had said. How was she to know if this demand for admittance came from the queen? In any event, let the queen go where she listed: she would not spend the night at Leeds.
While this argument was in progress, the royal party put in an appearance at the outer barbican. The madwoman screeched an order to her archers, who had assembled along the battlements, and the queen was greeted, not by the usual obsequious compliments and the strewing of flowers along the drawbridge, but by a volley of arrows. Six of her party were killed or wounded. Isabella of England, in a state of mind beggaring description, turned her horse and fled.
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