Isabel was herself under the influence of Mortimer. Edward II. being dethroned could not hope to live long. The power of the favorite over the queen became a matter for alarm; several monks preached against him; the Earl of Lancaster, to whose keeping the deposed king had been entrusted, seemed to have conceived a feeling of pity for his prisoner, so the latter was removed to another place. Being consigned to the charge of Lord Berkeley and Sir John Maltravers, he was taken to Bristol, where also the people began to be touched at his fate. Two scoundrels who had been sent to him as gaolers, dragged him out half naked and took him to Corfe Castle. The poor king asked to be allowed to dress himself; some dirty water was brought him in a helmet. Tears rolled down his cheeks. "I have some purer water, in spite of you," he said. A crown of dry herbs had been placed upon his head. At length, moving from place to place, the dethroned monarch was brought to Berkeley Castle, on the river Severn, where an attempt was made to poison him, but without success. At length, one night, the governor of the castle being away, piercing cries were heard, and immediately afterwards all was silent again. The inhabitants of the neighborhood shuddered on hearing them. On the morrow, when the doors were opened, the death of Edward II. was announced, and the country people were admitted to view the corpse of him who had been their king. The expression of agony which rested upon the once handsome features of the unhappy monarch, terrified all who saw it. The body was taken to the abbey of Gloucester and buried soon afterwards; but the people went in crowds to the tomb of this king whom no one had defended during his life-time. The offerings made in his honor at the convent were so considerable that the monks were enabled to add an aisle to their church. This unfortunate monarch, so weak and so frivolous, consistent only in his affection, so harshly abandoned and so cruelly murdered, was not yet forty-three years of age when he expired on the 21st of September, 1327.

Chapter XI.
The Hundred Years' War.
Edward III. (1327-1377.)

The young king, Edward III., was but fifteen years of age when he was raised to the throne of his deposed father. The Parliament appointed a council of Regency, composed of five prelates and six great noblemen, and consigned the young monarch into the keeping of the Earl of Lancaster. No power was formally vested in the dowager queen; but her debts were discharged, and a large pension was granted her, by means of which she was enabled to strengthen her own influence and increase the authority of Mortimer.

While England had been engrossed in its internal dissensions and struggles, Scotland, under the firm government of Robert Bruce, had been recovering from the effects of its misfortunes. The thirst for vengeance raged, however, in the hearts of all the Scots; and respect for the truce was powerless to restrain them. Hearing that King Edward II. had been dethroned, and that a council of Regency had been appointed, they crossed the frontier on the 3rd of February, 1327, and began to lay waste the northern counties. Their army gradually increased in numbers. King Robert was ill, but his two faithful friends, James, earl of Douglas, and Randolph, earl of Moray, were at the head of his troops. The Scottish army consisted entirely of mounted soldiers, whose light, robust steeds, steady as themselves, bore them with the swiftness of the wind, without rest, and almost without provender. No baggage, no tents,—a bag of oatmeal in front of each horseman, under his saddle an iron plate, which served for baking his cakes; the English farms and villages furnished the rest.

Rumors of the ravages to which the northern counties had been subjected, touched the feelings of the young king, and awakened his martial ardor. In the beginning of July, the English troops, supported by an army corps from Hainault, the members of which had been brought with great difficulty to live at peace with their English allies, arrived at Durham. The exact whereabouts of the Scottish army was unknown; but the king pressed forward in pursuit. Like his enemies, he had left the camp baggage behind him. After a week of pursuit, the Scots were still invisible, and the English, on the verge of starvation, were beginning to murmur. The king promised the honor of knighthood and a pension of a hundred pounds to whoever should bring tidings of the enemy. They had crossed the Wear; on the fourth day a messenger galloped up on horseback. "Sire," said Thomas Rokeby, "the Scots are within three leagues of this spot, encamped upon a mountain. I have been their prisoner for a week; but they liberated me that I might come and inform you that they await your arrival." The king immediately marched towards the enemy.

They had arrived on the banks of the Wear; and this time the Scots were perceived, encamped on the summit of a hill. They were drawn up in battle array, but they did not stir. Edward despatched a herald to them, with a proposal that they should cross the river, in order that the combat might take place upon the open plain. "I have not come here for the king's pleasure," said Douglas, "and I will not leave my post for love of him. If he is not satisfied, let him cross the water and drive us before him." The undertaking was too perilous, and the two armies remained in their respective positions for two days. On the third night, the Scots raised their camp, and were soon afterwards perceived to have taken up a still stronger position, upon another hill. The King of England broke up his camp likewise, and followed them. For eighteen days the two armies had watched each other without result, not a blow being struck; the English troops were sleeping in their tents, when a loud cry was heard amid the silence: "Douglas! Douglas! Death to the English robbers!" The terrified soldiers rose in confusion, and in a half-sleeping condition, and groped about in the dark for their weapons. Meanwhile sounds of strife were heard, and suddenly the ropes supporting the royal tent were cut, and by the side of the couch whereon the young king was sleeping, Black Douglas, the most valiant knight in Scotland, appeared like a threatening phantom. The chamberlain and chaplain of the young king sprang forward to protect their master. The youth had hidden himself within the folds of the tent. Douglas, however, did not pursue his adventure further; sounding the horn, he recalled the three hundred men who had followed him. "What have you done?" asked Randolph, when the Scots had regained their intrenchments. "We have shed a little blood, my lord, that is all," said Douglas. "We should have crossed over with the whole of our army," insisted his friend; "our provisions are exhausted." On the following night, the Scots disappeared in silence, carrying with them a rich booty, while King Edward, incensed and humiliated, again marched towards York, whither his affianced bride, Philippa of Hainault, was being conducted by John of Hainault. The marriage was celebrated on St. Paul's day, 1328. The king was sixteen years of age, while the queen was one year younger. Peace had just been concluded with Scotland; the independence of that kingdom had thereby been acknowledged; the crown jewels, which had been seized by Edward I., had been restored, and the little Princess Joan, who was betrothed to David, the young son of Robert Bruce, had been taken to Berwick and given up to the Scots. It seemed as though the deliverer of Scotland had waited for this great triumph before going to his last rest. He died in the following year, the fifty-fifth of his age, leaving wise counsels to his countrymen; and to his faithful friend, the good lord James Douglas, the task of carrying his heart to Palestine, in order that his vow to visit the Holy Land might be fulfilled. The evils of a minority threatened Scotland at the very moment when England was escaping from that calamity.

The arrogance of Mortimer had increased with his power, and the great noblemen were beginning to chafe under the yoke which he imposed upon them. The Earl of Lancaster was the first to make an attempt against the favorite; but he had been defeated, notwithstanding that he obtained the temporary support of the king's uncles, the Earl of Kent and the Earl of Norfolk. Mortimer ravaged the possessions of Lancaster like a conqueror. A rumor had been spread abroad that King Edward II. was not dead, and the Earl of Kent had perhaps been encouraged in this illusion, which was the cause of his ruin. He was accused of high treason, and condemned for the strange crime of having endeavored to replace a dead man upon the throne. The execution took place on the 19th of May, 1330, in spite of the noble birth of the victim, and the public indignation reached its climax. The young king had hitherto remained silent concerning State matters, and had appeared as a docile instrument in the hands of his mother and Mortimer, although he had kept aloof from them since his marriage, not permitting his young wife to frequent a corrupt and licentious court.

It was on the 13th of June, 1330, that a son was born to King Edward, who was to achieve a mighty reputation as Prince of Wales. The young king, already a father at eighteen years of age, began to feel the disgrace of his situation, and to experience some remorse for the wrongs which were perpetrated in his name. Slowly and prudently, he communicated his opinions to Lord Montacute, one of his advisers. A Parliament was convoked at Nottingham, in the month of October, the king being then lodged in the castle with Mortimer and his mother. On the night of the 19th, the keys of the fortress had been brought as usual to Queen Isabel, when Lord Montacute, accompanied by several friends, crept silently into the vaults of the castle, which had been opened to him by the governor. The king awaited him with great anxiety at the door of the great tower. The conspirators ascended a dark staircase and found themselves at the door of the queen's antechamber. Notwithstanding the lateness of the hour, the voice of Mortimer was heard discussing with some of his adherents. Montacute and his friends broke open the door, and killed two sentinels who endeavored to defend it. Hearing the commotion, the queen ran forward, calling loudly upon her son, who had remained behind the door, but whose presence she guessed. "My dear son," she cried, "spare the gentle Mortimer, my beloved cousin." The favorite was, however, dragged out, and, at daybreak, he was already on his way, under strong escort, to the Tower of London. Nottingham rang with sounds of joy.