A circumstantial but viable clue to the eventual death of Edward II….

In a way the mystery of Edward II is not unlike that of the Princes in the Tower (see here). In both cases supposed royal murders have turned out to be untrue and the victims have escaped to the Continent. Also in both cases the murder aspect has been unchallenged until relatively recently, with all the old accusations and lies reigning supreme. How many people still believe the “hunch-backed, child-killing monster” image of Richard III? And how many believe the gory tale about what happened to Edward II in the depths of Berkeley Castle? Too many.

The very basic facts of Edward II’s story are that he ruled from 1307-1327, wasn’t a great ruler, was unconventional and had male favourites (see Kathryn Warner’s article here) upon whom he fawned, lavished all his attention and showered rewards. The country suffered as a result (see here).

He was married to Isabella of France (see here) whom he eventually alienated, it’s thought mainly because of the favourites. Isabella paid a visit to France, taking with her Edward’s young son and heir, to become Edward III (see here). There she got together with Roger Mortimer, 1^st Earl of March, who may have been her lover—it’s never been proven. (see here) They gathered an army to return to England, depose Edward and rule in his place, although nominally in the name of the 14-year-old heir, Edward III.

The deposed Edward II was “persuaded” to abdicate in favour of his son and was then imprisoned at Berkeley Castle (see here) in Gloucestershire, under the custodianship of Roger’s then son-in-law Thomas, 3^rd Lord Berkeley (see here). Berkeley Castle is in Gloucestershire and overlooks the estuary of the River Severn of which it has an excellent view of any shipping out on the water, whether friend or foe.

Edward is said to have died there seven months later, on 21 September 1327, and was buried on 19 December 1327 at a grand royal funeral in St Peter’s Abbey (now the Cathedral) in Gloucester. (see here). The boy Edward III had been led to believe his father was dead, it would be later that he was told this wasn’t so.

At this point please bear in mind that the body (whosever it was) hadn’t been laid in the tomb that we see now, only in a grave in the same place. There it awaited the beautiful stone canopy and sepulchre that we admire today. This would be installed some years later.

Well, someone was buried that day, and modern thinking is that it couldn’t have been Edward II because he actually lived on in Europe. I’m writing this article because I think—just think—I may have happened upon something that adds to this by suggesting Edward II survived until around 1340.

In my personal library the two most detailed, thoroughly researched, well explained and important accounts of EII’s possible survival are by Ian Mortimer and Kathryn Warner. Ian Mortimer has written about it in various publications, but the most in-depth of his accounts (in my possession) can be found in The Greatest Traitor: The Life of Sir Roger Mortimer, Ruler of England (1327-1330), first written in 2003.

In chronological order, the second major account that I possess is by Kathryn Warner….Long Live the King: The Mysterious Fate of Edward II, published in 2017.

The nitty-gritty of the what, where, who and why surrounding Edward II’s fate is too complicated to squeeze into my present article, but online you can find excellent detail and reasoning from the two above historians. For a shortened version from them both go to Mortimer’s article here, and Kathryn Warner has an excellent blog, in which you will find a huge amount of her excellent research and thoughts. But let me emphasise that what I’ve written here is my interpretation of it all. Please don’t put my words into their mouths, because they may not agree with my viewpoint.

As an aside, the first biography of Edward II that I read was Harold H. Hutchison’s 1971 work Edward II: The Pliant King. Hutchison sticks rigidly to the old murder-at-the-castle story and has little good to say about Edward (describing him, among other things, as cruel and illiterate). I haven’t used his book at all in this article.

To return to Roger and Isabella’s position once they’d seized control in 1327, They had a grip on the new underage king and everything else—at least, hard, ambitious Roger did, I’m not entirely sure of Isabella’s role. Their ascendancy only ended three years later, on 29 November 1330, when young Edward III made his move on them.

At Parliament in Nottingham Roger was tried and condemned of the death of Edward II.  This charge was untrue of course, because Edward II was alive and being held prisoner, but Roger didn’t have a chance to say anything in his own defence because he was bound and gagged throughout. He was executed on 29 November 1330. Isabella was kept somewhere safe throughout, but not imprisoned. Nor was she punished for what she’d done. To her Edward III was a dutiful son, even if she hadn’t been a dutiful mother!

But before this, it’s not known when, Edward II had been taken from Berkeley. Did Roger have him moved because there were conspiracies to free and restore him which would be foiled simply by taking Edward to an unknown new venue. This way Roger kept Edward handy, so to speak, to give him a lever over the new king. “Do as I say or I’ll parade your father before everyone and you’ll lose your throne.” Or variations on that theme.

So Roger sent an enigmatic message to his son-in-law Lord Berkeley. This message could either be read as instructions to kill the prisoner or resort to Plan B. I think it was Plan B, which meant removing Edward to a new place of detention. Lord Berkeley then sent a letter to the royal court at Lincoln, announcing the former king’s death of “natural causes”. Was it hoped this would put a stop to further conspiracies?

But Edward wasn’t dead, he was now incarcerated at Corfe in Dorset (see here). There is evidence of him being at Corfe from a former constable, one Sir John Pecche (see here) who’d been in the post until 1329 and said he’d had Edward in his charge during that time.

The chronicler Adam Murimuth (who was the only chronicler to be anywhere near the West Country at the time) wrote that Edward II was moved to Corfe for “secrecy’s sake”. So, the former king was alive after the death claimed by Lord Berkeley. But Murimuth changed his story in 1330, saying the former king was suffocated at Roger’s command. To me the earlier version seems more likely because it was written at the time and demonstrates current local belief.

Now, there’s an alternative explanation of Edward’s removal from Berkeley, which concerns one of the conspiracies mentioned above. Was he “rescued” by his own half-brother, Edmund of Woodstock, Earl of Kent (see here), who believed the deposed king was still alive and conspired to restore him to the throne? Pecche could have been party to Kent’s plot, and so, come to that, could Lord Berkeley, who was later to deny all knowledge of Edward II’s demise in his custody. Either way, at this point Roger was still in control of the realm and Kent was caught and executed on 19 March 1330.

Roger’s downfall and death didn’t come until nine months later, on 29 November of the same year. So, did Edward’s next move to Ireland happen before the month of March, at Kent’s instigation, or at Roger’s some time before November? Could be either.

In Ireland (I don’t know where), following Roger’s execution the men placed in charge of Edward seem to have feared repercussions from Edward III and so released their royal captive. This suggests to me that it was definitely Roger, not Kent, who’d supervised Edward’s moves from Berkeley to Corfe and Corfe to Ireland. Once “released” (or maybe he was still in the charge of someone, see later) Edward II didn’t return to challenge for his throne. So what did he do?

Lord Berkeley was also on trial at the Parliament in Nottingham which found Roger Mortimer guilty. The charge against Lord Berkeley was that he’d been involved in the death of Edward II while in his custody. He was no longer Roger’s son-in-law because his wife, Roger’s daughter, had died. This must have been a relief because the once-advantageous family connection had now become an awkward encumbrance. Lord Berkeley insisted that he didn’t know Edward was dead until that very Parliament! This was a blatant contradiction of the letter he’d sent to Lincoln in 1327, but he insisted he’d believed what he wrote then and had no further involvement except that he’d been appointed the former king’s custodian. This, of course, was indeed possible, but it flew in the face of what was believed in 1330.

Then Lord Berkeley said he was prepared to face legal examination on the subject, which Edward III didn’t want. Too many unwanted truths might surface to his own disadvantage. By then all the young king wanted was for the whole thing to go away, so he came to an arrangement with Lord Berkeley that he, Berkeley, would be acquitted of all involvement in the demise of Edward II, provided he shut up. Which was what happened. Thus Edward II would, to all intents and purposes, remain dead. Thomas, Lord Berkeley was restored to favour and lived on for some time, to marry again and die in October 1361 of the natural death he’d claimed for Edward II in 1327.

On 26 November 1330 Roger was hanged and Isabella kept safely out of trouble. She was eventually restored to all her titles and property and treated well by her son. He was also lenient with others who’d been complicit in the rule of Roger and the queen. Edward III wasn’t being gullible, he was being wise. He knew that it was better to make friends of his enemies than to risk them becoming worse enemies than ever as a result of draconian punishment. But now, at last, he was the unchallenged King of England….except for the awkward fact that he knew his father was still alive. But where? All the young king could know around this time was that his father had been sent from Corfe to Ireland and set free in a panic when Roger was executed. Now no one seemed to know the whereabouts of the former King Edward II.

By the mid-1330s the story of the monstrous murder of Edward II by anal penetration had first appeared in England. The long version of the Brut has a lurid and shocking tale of Edward II’s violent demise with “a spit of burning copper into the fundament”. This is no doubt an unsubtle hint about the believed nature of the king’s relationships with his favourites. By 1340 the “spit of burning copper” would have become a “red hot poker”, complete with awful screams heard through the town of Berkeley! Yet none of this could have happened because by the time of these supposed horrors Roger had sent Edward to Corfe Castle.

At this point I will mention the renowned Fieschi letter, which was found in the 19th century but was actually written circa 1336. It gives a detailed account of all that supposedly befell Edward II post-21 September 1327, but ends before any date or place of his actual eventual death. You will find this letter here. It is up to the beholder whether or not to believe the contents, but there do indeed seem to be a number of claims that can be backed up by official records. I do believe it, and since my own little discovery I believe it all the more.

The letter says that on release in Ireland Edward came on his own to Sandwich in England and then went to the Pope in Avignon, disguised as a pilgrim. He had an audience with the Pope and after staying two weeks left in mid-March 1331 to travel north again to Brabant.

From Brabant Edward went to the shrine of the Three Kings at Cologne. Then to Milan. Next he appeared at “a certain hermitage of the castle of Milasci” where he stayed for two and a half years. According to Kathryn Warner, this hermitage appears to be the Santuario della Madonna del Monte Carbonne, the ‘Sanctuary of the Madonna of Coal Mountain’

Edward had moved on to another hermitage near “Cecima in the diocese of Pavia” by the time the Fieschi letter was written.

Aside from the Fieschi letter, it seems that between 30 August and 7 September 1338, when Edward III had been invited by Emperor Louis of Bavaria to attend the Diet of Princes in Koblenz, he stayed at Niederwerth Island, at the confluence of the rivers Rhine and Moselle near Koblenz. The island then had a hermitage dedicated to St. George, probably a community of beguines. (See here). Concerning this visit, there is a royal wardrobe account written under the auspices of William Norwell in 1338-40 to “Francisco the Lombard”. It states, twice, that the William le Galeys (William the Welshman, a name Edward II could have chosen because he’d been born in Caernarvon) who was brought from Cologne to Edward III at Koblenz in September 1338 because he claimed to be the king’s father.

Then, on 18 October 1338 in Antwerp, another account to Francisco the Lombard (now named in full as Francekino Forcet) refers to William Galeys who is in his custody and calls himself the King of England. Money is paid in advance to Galeys, indicating trust. The suggestion is that the advance payment was because Edward’s grandchild was soon to be born. Edward III’s queen, Philippa of Hainault, was pregnant and due at the end of November. The baby would be Lionel of Clarence.

Edward II was now clearly in the care of the Lombards (maybe he had been since Ireland?) and so seems to have been believed by some important individuals. And maybe Edward III believed him too because he did not have him hanged as an imposter. Instead, from Antwerp Edward II had gone on to Milan. From there his eventual fate remains a mystery.

Now, at last, I come to what I stumbled upon that may explain one aspect of this mystery. It concerns something that happened in September 1340— perhaps by coincidence, perhaps not, but very possibly on 21 September, the anniversary of Edward II’s supposed murder in 1327.

Modern thinking is that Edward II was still alive in 1340 but dead by late 1341. Had the death actually taken place early in 1340? During the summer of that year the Hundred Years War was keeping Edward III  in Flanders encouraging his allies and going after the French. On 24 June he’d had a great victory over the French fleet at the Battle of Sluys, see here.

Perhaps at this time he’d been informed of his father’s death somewhere in Europe and had decided what should be done about it, but knew he himself could not return to England at such a pivotal moment in the war. In his absence he’d left his 10-year-old son, Edward of Woodstock (to be known to posterity as the Black Prince) in nominal charge as “keeper of the realm”. This was not unusual, and obviously the child didn’t actually rule, but represented his father at state and other formal occasions while his father’s highly trusted council members did all the king’s work. But being his father’s representative also meant that for this period the boy was the most senior member of the royal family actually in England. To all intents and purposes he was the king.

It may be of interest here to add that the Earl of Kent who was executed for trying to rescue his half-brother, Edward II, would one day be Prince Edward’s father-in-law when the prince married Kent’s daughter, Joan, the “Fair Maid of Kent”. They would become the parents of Richard II) For now, however, the prince was only a boy and initially spent much of his time that summer at the Tower of London and Kennington. But then he commenced a tour of various places in the south of England. None of these places—Eynsham, Wallingford, Reading, Salisbury—were beyond easy reach of London, should he be needed.

But, on page 37 of Richard Barber’s biography Edward, Prince of Wales and Aquitaine, I found the following snippet about the little prince’s movements: “…On 1 September, [Prince] Edward was at Salisbury and offered a mark at the shrine of the Virgin in the Cathedral. In the same month he went to Berkeley, to visit Thomas, Lord Berkeley, who presented him with six hounds….” The length of his stay at Berkeley isn’t known, but it may have been only one or two days before he went on to Andover (still within September). He was back in London by 1 October 1340. But it’s that he should go to Berkeley at all that aroused my interest. To say nothing of why he should be there at that particular time of the year.

The little prince hadn’t been born until three years after the events of 1327, but would certainly have heard all the gory details of common fame, and now in 1340 the even more awful tale of the red-hot poker was newly circulating.

Whether or not Lord Berkeley (still alive in 1340) had been innocent of anything (he’d been acquitted after all), he certainly had been the former king’s custodian and Roger Mortimer’s son-in-law. Now he was married to a very respected lady Katherine de Clevedon (see here) But even so, and whether Berkeley was trusted by Edward III or not, how would a boy like Prince Edward feel about the man whose guest he was about to be? No matter how strictly and rigidly the prince been brought up, he was still a child, with a child’s thoughts and uncertainties—perhaps with visions of that dreaded poker looming large?. Surely he was bound to wonder if Thomas Berkeley had indeed been guilty of something detrimental to Edward II? I’m guessing this, of course, but children are still children, and Prince Edward was going to stay at Berkeley. Why? Why? What possible reason could there have been for such a visit in the first place? Certainly not to simply receive six hounds.

There’s something just not quite “right” about this visit. Unless, that is, Berkeley Castle was added to the boy’s itinerary for a very specific and important reason. Was Prince Edward there in his father’s place—and at his father express wish—to perform a very private, profound and personal royal duty?

Don’t forget that the tomb in Gloucester Abbey hadn’t been finished at the time of the funeral. Such grand and intricate canopies and statuary were never ready in time, unless the occupant had been preparing for death for a very long time, as did John of Gaunt but Edward II certainly had not. But it would be completed in its present form some years later; how many years I don’t know. In his biography of Roger Mortimer, The Greatest Traitor, Ian Mortimer considered the possibility that although the Gloucester tomb didn’t contain Edward II’s remains in December 1327, that could have been corrected afterward. “Indeed, Edward II’s bones—if not his entire body—could have been secretly interred in the grave at a later date. This would explain why so many royal visitors later came to Gloucester on pilgrimage….”

In her book Kathryn Warner points out that the floor tiles on the south side of the tomb show evidence of being disturbed and excavated. Could this have happened when the king’s real remains/bones were placed in the tomb, perhaps in 1340?

So, what I’m wondering is whether the September 1340 visit of Prince Edward of Woodstock to Berkeley was the moment Edward II’s remains/bones were returned to England? Had the absent Edward III planned the return at that precise time, as a mark of deep royal respect? Perhaps the vessel carrying them lay waiting out in the Severn estuary to be sure of making the precise date?

Berkeley Castle is off any direct route to anywhere and is situated on a very low hill overlooking by the estuary. One has to go there expressly, because simply passing through won’t happen. Back then there was a navigable inlet called Berkeley Pill that led right to the castle. Pill is a common word on both sides of the Severn that means creek and this particular pill was also regarded as a haven. In the book Berkeley: A Town in the Marshes, written by David Tandy, page 191, it says: “….in earlier times the Pill was a busy waterway…where sea-going vessels came up and docked….”

Twentieth-century damming has reduced the waterway to a ditch except right by the estuary, as in the above photograph. You can see the effect of the dam in the image from Google Maps below.

In the 14th century, however, especially at high tide, the Lords of Berkeley, who had a barge house at the castle, could and did use their fine barge to sail out to the estuary. Maybe the vessel out in the estuary sailed right to the castle, or maybe Lord Berkeley’s barge went out to collect its cargo and then returned along the pill right into the barge house. No one in the town would even see what went on inside when the precious cargo was unloaded. Nor would they see when that cargo was then taken from the castle to Gloucester, not in the magnificent hearse of 1327, but an anonymous vehicle or litter. Thus Edward II could at last have been laid to rest in his tomb.

And should you wonder why the remains weren’t simply taken on up the Severn to Gloucester, perhaps I should explain that this might be a little hazardous due to the Severn bore. The Severn’s tides have a huge range and come in very strongly and swiftly. Because of the rising of the estuary floor and narrowing of the channel, the great volume of tidal water is funnelled into the confines of river itself, forming the renowned Severn bore. A bore is not a tsunami, but is the word for a wave caused by an incoming tide being squeezed into an ever-narrowing channel. The Severn has the second greatest tidal range in the world, giving way only to the Bay of Fundy in Canada (see here Bay of Fundy Tides: The Highest Tides in the World!)

The autumn equinox always falls in September, and at this time the bore is higher and swifter than ever. In past times its power propelled it all the way to Worcester, until weirs were built at Gloucester and beyond. Given all this, I think you will see why transporting the remains of a king upriver to Gloucester in September wouldn’t even be contemplated in 1340. The only option was by road from the security of Lord Berkeley’s barge house in Berkeley Pill.

Of course, I can only guess about Edward of Woodstock’s reason for being at Berkeley at this very particular time in 1340. It’s purely circumstantial. Edward II’s actual date and place of death aren’t known, nor does he have a definitive tomb anywhere except Gloucester. There are reliable records that pinpoint his movements after 1327, and so many “coincidences” that I find it hard not to believe that in 1340 the unfortunate monarch was eventually lain to rest in Gloucester Abbey.

I know my theory doesn’t prove anything, but all the above is why I can imagine the little prince and his trusted retinue, all dressed in mourning, waiting in Berkeley Castle’s magnificent great hall to receive the remains of the grandfather Prince Edward had never known. The boy, of course, would be particularly splendid in the rich but sombre splendour of royal mourning.

Even if I’m wildly off target about the purpose of this visit, the boy was definitely at Berkeley Castle on or within a few days of the 21 September 1327 anniversary, and 1340 is a year sometimes suggested for Edward II’s eventual death.

And even today the mystery surrounding this tragic Plantagenet monarch simply will not go away.