Queen Isabella: Treachery, Adultery, and Murder in Medieval England

by Alison Weir

  In 1307, Edward II had set about the restoration of the Palace of Westminster, so that it would be a fit place to receive his Queen. Throughout the autumn and winter, working by candlelight through the hours of darkness, masons had been cutting and dressing stone and marble, and craftsmen and workmen had shaped timbers, forged metalwork, painted walls, and glazed windows. The King himself had supervised the work, but it was still not finished by the time of Isabella’s arrival and would not be until the following summer, by which time the cost of the repairs and refurbishments amounted to some £5,000.

  The restored palace was just as impressive and comfortable as Henry III had intended, and its gardens were delightful, with returfed lawns, paved paths, pear and cherry trees, and vines. There was a “Queen’s pool” and even an aviary, established by Eleanor of Castile. Inside the palace itself, the King had built two new “White Chambers”: one attached to the Painted Chamber was to serve as his bedroom, and the other was added to the restored Queen’s apartments; we may assume, therefore, that Isabella’s accommodation was both spacious and stylish.

  The Palace of Westminster was not only a royal residence but was now becoming established as the administrative center of the kingdom. It was near to London, which had long replaced Winchester as the capital of England, and it also housed the Treasury, the Exchequer, and the chief law courts, namely, the central Courts of Common Pleas and the King’s Bench.14

  The coronation of Edward II and Isabella of France took place on 25 February, the feast of Saint Matthias the Apostle.15 The ceremony was performed by the Bishop of Winchester, assisted by the Bishops of Salisbury and Chichester, because the Archbishop of Canterbury had not yet returned to England.16 Invitations to the ceremony had, for the first time, included the wives of peers in honor of the Queen.17

  Gaveston had been given the responsibility of planning the coronation, and predictably, he accorded himself a central role in it, which many were to hold against him for a long time to come.

  In the morning, the King and Queen went in stately procession from Westminster Hall to the Abbey, walking along a timber pathway laid with blue cloth strewn with herbs and flowers. Above their heads was an embroidered canopy borne by the Barons of the Cinque Ports. The crowds were so dense that the royal pair almost had to fight their way through, and to avoid this, they were obliged to enter the Abbey by a back door. In advance of the King had come the chief magnates, bearing the regalia: the Earl of Lancaster carried Curtana, Saint Edward the Confessor’s blunted, edgeless Sword of Mercy; his brother Henry, the Rod with the Dove; the Earl of Hereford, the scepter with the Cross; the Earl of Lincoln, the royal staff; the Earl of Warwick, the three swords of state; and the Earl of Arundel, Thomas de Vere, Hugh le Despenser, and Roger Mortimer, the royal robes on a board covered with checkered cloth.18

  But all heads turned when Gaveston appeared “so decked out that he more resembled the god Mars than an ordinary mortal.”19 It was not so much the magnificence of his clothes that caused mutterings at his effrontery but the fact that he was clothed in pearl-encrusted silk robes of imperial purple, a color that should have been reserved for the King himself, whose own finery was somewhat eclipsed by that of his favorite.20 Gaveston also managed to upstage the other earls, who were wearing the traditional cloth of gold, the richest fabric normally permitted to those of their rank. All were bristling with jealousy.

  What enraged the barons and shocked the people most, however, was that Gaveston, with his “soiled hands,” was carrying that most sacred relic, the crown of Saint Edward the Confessor, into the Abbey,21 a privilege that should have been bestowed on the highest noble in the land. Considering that Gaveston had only recently been elevated to the peerage, this was perceived to be a deliberate affront, and it would never be forgotten or forgiven. One earl was so furious with Gaveston that only consideration for the sensitivities of the Queen and the sanctity of the Abbey prevented him from coming to blows with him in the church itself.22

  Edward II took his coronation oath in French rather than the traditional Latin.23 In addition to the normal undertakings, he fulfilled his promise to the barons by promising to “uphold and defend the righteous laws and customs which the community of the realm shall determine.”24 After this, he was anointed with holy oil on the head, hands, and breast and then ascended to a high wooden platform on which was set the gilded and painted wooden coronation chair made by Edward I in 1297 to house the Stone of Scone, on which the kings of Scotland had long been crowned, and which had been seized by the English in 1296. Edward II seated himself in this chair—which has been used at every coronation since—and the crown was with due solemnity placed on his head.

  After the peers had paid homage to the enthroned King, Isabella was anointed—on the hands only—and crowned Queen of England. The consort’s crown was an open circlet surmounted by eight motifs interspersed with trefoils and set with many precious stones.25

  Gaveston’s ineptitude gave rise to several mishaps on coronation day. There were so many spectators crushed into the Abbey that a wall behind the altar collapsed, killing a knight.26 Even at the moment of crowning, there was little space for the King and the officiating bishops, for the crowds were inadequately marshaled. After the rather disorganized ceremonies belatedly ended at 3:00 p.m., the King and Queen led the vast congregation back to Westminster Hall for the coronation banquet. All were seated in order of precedence, but the food was not ready; in fact, although there was an abundance of provisions of every kind—victuals had been commandeered from all the southern counties and a thousand pipes of wine had been sent from Gascony—no food was served until after dark, and when it did arrive, it was badly cooked, inedible, and ill served.27 The King had chosen to sit next to Gaveston rather than the Queen. Again, the lords could barely contain their fury.28

  Isabella’s uncles, her brother Charles, and numerous French nobles and knights were guests at the coronation,29 but they were appalled by the prominence accorded to Gaveston. When Evreux and Valois saw the tapestries bearing his arms alongside the King’s,30 they were incensed and demanded that the Queen’s arms be arrayed next to Edward’s. The excessive favor shown to Gaveston by the King seemed proof that the scandalous rumors about them were true.

  As soon as the coronation celebrations were over, Evreux and Valois returned to France in disgust, declaring that their kinswoman was insulted because the King preferred the couch of Gaveston to that of his wife.31 They may well have left a shocked Isabella in no doubt as to why he did so.

  Queen Marguerite left court, too, and retired to Marlborough Castle in Wiltshire. Had she remained, she might have been able to advise Isabella on many aspects of her role as Queen of England, but without her aunt’s wise counsel, the young and inexperienced Queen had no one but her French attendants to confide in and only her uninformed instincts to rely on. She had been taught that she must love, obey, and support her husband, but this was proving difficult, for already she apparently felt he was neglecting her for Gaveston, and her pique perhaps inclined her to side with Gaveston’s critics. Without warning, she had been plunged into a predicament that would have taxed a mature adult, let alone a twelve-year-old girl who can have had little understanding of what she was dealing with.

  Isabella was now discovering that her husband was quite unlike what she and most other people expected a king to be. For a start, he didn’t even seem to want to be King; he wasn’t interested in ruling England, and he cared nothing for his royal duties. On the contrary, he was quite content to share his power with Gaveston and use the advantages of his office to enrich his friend and enjoy himself. He didn’t always conduct himself like a king, and he didn’t personify contemporary ideals of kingship. He clearly was finding it impossible to impose his will on his barons and was consequently and rapidly forfeiting their respect. Yet it is clear also that he thought a king could do no wrong.

  Edward had the oddest tastes for a monarch. Traditionally, medieval kings were war leaders and aristocr
ats, and their interests reflected this. They enjoyed hunting, tournaments, and planning military campaigns. Edward II certainly loved hunting and horse racing, and did not lack courage, but he hated tournaments and never went to war unless necessity drove him to it, which exasperated his martially minded barons beyond measure. It was said that “if he had habituated himself to arms, he would have exceeded the prowess of King Richard” the Lion-Hearted.32 But Edward was content to throw away his advantages.

  The barons were even more horrified by their sovereign’s leisure activities, which included digging ditches on his estates, thatching roofs, trimming hedges, plastering walls, working in metal, shoeing horses, driving carts, rowing, swimming—even in February—“and other trivial occupations unworthy of a king’s son.”33 The tragedy was that Edward had the potential to be a great king: “if only he had given to arms the labour that he expended on rustic pursuits, he would have raised England aloft, and his name would have resounded through the land.”34

  Worse still, his rustic pursuits inevitably led the King to fraternize in the most undignified way with the lower orders, whose company he actually preferred to that of his nobles.35 His manner with the common people of his realm was affable and familiar—too familiar, in the opinion of his barons, who were horrified to see him consorting with grooms, carters, ditchers, mechanics, oarsmen, sailors, “villeins and vile persons.” And they could only deplore his friendships with artists, buffoons, jesters, singers, choristers, actors, and jongleurs.36

  To us, today, some of the company he kept suggests that Edward II was rather a cultivated man. Above all, he loved “theatricals” and was a great patron of writers and players. Sadly, not one of the plays—or “interludes”—that he enjoyed survives in its entirety; we only have a fragment from a comedy called The Clerk and the Damsel. But even this seemingly innocuous pleasure drew censure, for most of the aristocracy of the day despised amateur dramatics as being vulgar and disreputable.

  The King was also literate, enjoyed poetry, and even wrote some himself.37 Norman-French was his mother tongue, but he knew Latin, too,38 and was a copious letter writer.39 He collected exquisitely produced books of French romances and legends; he also borrowed, and did not return, manuscripts of the lives of Saint Anselm and Thomas à Becket from the monastic library at Christ Church, Canterbury. Edward had a passion for music and employed a group of Genoese musicians to entertain him: there were two trumpeters, a horn player, a harpist, and a drummer. The King himself owned a Welsh instrument known as a crwth, which was an early type of violin.40

  Edward was undoubtedly a vain man; he was always elegant, and sometimes showy as a peacock in his dress, and he spent a great deal of money on clothes and jewelry. This did not attract overmuch criticism, because kings were expected to look the part, and with his good looks and strong physique, he certainly did. He loved luxuries and was “splendid in living”41 but was also inclined to “vanities and frivolities.” Given that he inherited huge debts from his father, his tastes were all too extravagant.42

  The King loved animals; he was passionate about dogs and horses and was a skilled horseman. He bred and trained his own horses and hounds. At his behest, his huntsman, William Twici, wrote L’Art de la Vénerie, the earliest surviving hunting manual. As a young man, Edward owned a pet lion, which, tethered with a silver chain in its own cart, often traveled with him, attended by its keeper, and he also kept a camel in the stables at Langley.43

  Edward had a boisterous sense of humor and enjoyed practical jokes and horseplay. He once paid a royal painter, Jack of Saint Albans, 50s. (£2.50) “for having danced on a table before the King and made him laugh beyond measure”;44 another man was rewarded for amusing his sovereign by falling off his horse in a comic manner.45 Edward kept several fools in his employ and was not above indulging in mock fights with them; once, he had to pay compensation to a fool called Robert, whom he had accidentally injured during some boisterous games in the water.

  Edward was an inveterate gambler; his Wardrobe accounts show that he lost large sums at vulgar games of chance such as dice, “chuck-farthing,” “heads or tails,” “cross and pile,” or “pitch and toss.”46 He was also something of a gourmet, with a taste for good food and wines, but he frequently drank too much, and when he was inebriated would indiscriminately “let out his secret thoughts and quarrel with bystanders for feeble causes.”47 Even when sober, he was “quick and unpredictable in speech.”48

  Edward could also be wayward and difficult, petulant, vindictive, and viciously cruel when sufficiently provoked;49 Higden says he was “savage” even with members of his household. Passion, anger, and resentment could smolder in him for years, and his outbursts of the famous Plantagenet temper left observers in no doubt as to whose son he was. He was weak; lacked judgment, intuition, and the ability to empathize with others; and in many ways was not very bright. He was lazy by nature, loving to lie abed late in the mornings,50 and often maddeningly indecisive, failings that could be disastrous in a ruler in an age in which monarchs ruled as well as reigned.

  However, once Edward’s affection was given, he could be demonstrative, “prodigal in giving,”51 and unswervingly loyal. In company, he was congenial and a good conversationalist, articulate and witty. He was also a good and loving father to his children.

  The King was genuinely pious and had a special devotion to Saint Thomas à Becket, which Isabella would come to share. Both made frequent visits to that murdered saint’s shrine at Canterbury, Edward going sixteen times in all. The King attended Mass often, spent a great deal of time with his chaplains, and was generous in his almsgiving. He had a particular affection for the Dominican Order of friars, whose house at Langley he founded and generously endowed.

  Edward’s good qualities, however, were insufficient to command the respect of his people; on the contrary, his faults—and in particular his indiscriminate promotion of unsuitable favorites, his determination to give matters concerning those favorites priority over matters of state, and his flaunting of his homosexuality—all looked set to damage the very institution of monarchy itself. Indeed, no king of England has ever attracted so much criticism from his contemporaries as Edward II did.

  Edward II had begun his reign on a tide of public approval, but he was recklessly throwing that away through his irresponsible promotion of Gaveston, who was now “the person who is most talked about” at court. The King looked upon Gaveston as his equal and blood brother, almost as a second king and coruler,52 was ruled by his advice while “despising the counsel of the other magnates,”53 and gave him thousands of pounds from his already depleted Treasury.54 It was Gaveston, and not the chief magnates, who controlled the network of royal patronage and Gaveston who took bribes for favors. This incensed the nobles, who resented having to pay for privileges that should have come direct to them from the King. It seemed to them that there were now two kings in England, “one in name and the other in reality.”55

  Gaveston’s usurpation of patronage was one of the chief causes of the barons’ “wrath and envy.” Disgust at the nature of his relationship with the King may well have been another. But it was his arrogance that was beyond endurance. According to the Vita Edwardi Secundi, “Piers did not wish to remember that he had once been Piers the humble esquire. For Piers accounted no one his fellow, no one his peer, save the King alone. Indeed, his countenance exacted greater deference than that of the King. His arrogance was intolerable to the barons and a prime cause of hatred and rancour.” This chronicler firmly believed that “if Piers had from the outset borne himself prudently and humbly towards the magnates, none of them would ever have opposed him.”56

  But Gaveston did nothing to placate the barons; tactless beyond measure, he seems to have gone out of his way to provoke their anger, without caring about the consequences. And the King, “who was incapable of moderate favour, and on account of Piers was said to forget himself,”57 did nothing to curb his arrogance: “the more virulently people attacked Gaveston,
the more keenly the King loved him.”58 Together, they were playing a very dangerous game.

  It is abundantly clear that, from the first, Edward’s marriage had made no difference to his relationship with Gaveston. In fact, it highlighted the strength of the King’s “excessive and irrational”59 love for the favorite, whom he “adored with a singular familiarity”60 that fueled the jealousy not only of the magnates but of the neglected little Queen. Robert of Reading scathingly condemns the “mad folly of the King of England, who was so overcome with his own wickedness and desire for sinful, forbidden sex, that he banished his royal wife from his side and rejected her sweet embraces.” Murimuth reports how it was common gossip that Edward “loved an evil male sorcerer more than he did his wife, a most handsome lady and a very beautiful woman.”61

  Isabella hated Gaveston, at least to begin with, and she was certainly resentful of his influence over the King and the fact that he took precedence over her. She told her father that he had caused “all her troubles, by alienating King Edward’s affection from her, and leading him into improper company,” and that her husband had become “an entire stranger to my bed.”62 But there was nothing she could do about it.

  There was never any open rift between the Queen and Piers. Wisely, Isabella seems to have kept her feelings to herself and refrained from voicing any complaint that could prejudice her chances of establishing a good relationship with her husband; we know this because, in 1325, Edward declared that he had only ever rebuked her once in private, and that was for being too proud.63 And even if she had remonstrated with him about the favorite, it would have done her no good. The King could hardly be blamed for preferring the company of a man of his own age above that of a mere child.

  And it was as a child, no more, that Edward probably treated Isabella, indulging her now and then, or taking a fleeting interest in her. Of course, to a girl reared with a strong sense of her own importance and destiny, this was insulting and demeaning, and many of the barons were incensed on her behalf that she should be so slighted and resolved to take her part.