Isabella and the Strange Death of Edward II by Paul Doherty Read Free Book Online Page A

contains some interesting detail mixed with a tissue of lies. What is fascinating about Fieschi’s letter, as well as the incident of ‘William the Welshman’, is that it providesdeep insight into Edward III’s own attitude to his father’s death. If Edward III truly believed, and had the evidence to hand, that his father had been killed at Berkeley and buried at Gloucester, he would have rejected Fieschi’s letter out of hand and not spent time and energy on the wandering ‘William the Welshman’. Fieschi must have known this. The fact that his letter was written in the first place, rather than what it actually says, provides telling proof that the accepted story of Edward II’s death and burial at Gloucester was highly suspect in his son’s mind. Fieschi was exploiting Edward III’s fears and nightmares, fully confident that his barbed comments would find their mark. Great lies, as Machiavelli has said, are those based on a truth. Fieschi’s letter is a fine example. He decided to exploit a great secret for his own private purposes, peppering it with teasing facts and half truths. Fieschi might not even have met the deposed Edward II, but his letter or, more importantly, the reasons he wrote it, are compelling enough to reassess the events of September 1327 and pose the question: did Edward II die at Berkeley? I think not. He escaped and a look-alike lies buried beneath that marble sarcophagus in Gloucester Cathedral.

EIGHT
The King is Dead, Long Live the King
    ‘Edmund, Earl of Kent . . . you have been, many a day, working to deliver Sir Edward, some time King of England . . .’
    Brut Chronicle
    O n reflection, the evidence that Edward II did escape from Berkeley is not conclusive but of sufficient strength to question seriously the accepted story. The idea, described in Fieschi’s letter, that Edward was guarded at Berkeley by one keeper and found it easy to leave his gaol, kill a porter and then walk off into the English countryside, is laughable. Dunheved was probably the one who freed him. Despite the high security in Berkeley, the Dominican probably collected a gang in the woods around the fortress and, with inside help as well as assistance from great lords, managed to get into the castle sometime around 19–20 July 1327.
    John Walwayn, a leading clerk, was immediately despatched to Berkeley to assess the damage. His letter, printed from the Ancient Correspondence in the PublicRecords Office, manifests his panic. The letter is a plea to the Chancellor, begging for greater powers to pursue the conspirators. Walwayn, in his panic, also let slip vital information, saying ‘that the rebels had forced the castle of Berkeley, taken the father of Our Lord the King out of our guard and feloniously plundered the said castle’. Thus, the Dunheved attack would not have been some petty assault. The rebels did not simply remove the King and flee for their lives. They got into the castle, overcame the garrison, probably driving them back into the towers or part of the keep, and then plundered the castle at their will. This would have included the stables, storerooms and armouries, and they had the time, as well as the resources, to collect their booty and cart it away.
    Walwayn lists twenty-one names in his letter: these are to be regarded as the leaders rather than the entire gang. The Dunheveds would have recruited outlaws, poachers, men desperate for money or whatever plunder they could take.
    Isabella and Mortimer reacted vigorously. Commissions were issued to track down the rebel gang but the government kept the reason as secret as possible. On 1 August 1327, letters were issued naming the leaders of the attack but the charge was ‘for coming with an armed force to Berkeley Castle to plunder it’ (the letter omits any reference to them getting in) ‘and refusing to join the King in his expedition against the Scots.’ Isabella and Mortimer were desperately trying to hide something. Dunheved and his gang