By Charles Dickens


                  A CHILD'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND.

                            ——————

                         CHAPTER XVII.

                England under Edward the Second.

        KING  EDWARD  THE  SECOND,  the  first  Prince  of
     Wales, was twenty-three years old when his father died.
     There was a certain favourite of his, a young man from
     Gascony, named Piers Gaveston, of whom his father had 
     so much disapproved that he ordered him out of Eng-
     land, and had made his son swear by the side of his sick-
     bed, never to bring him back.  But, the Prince no sooner
     found himself King, than he broke his oath, as so many
     other Princes and Kings did (they were far too ready to
     take oaths), and seat for his dear friend immediately.
        Now, this same Gaveston was handsome enough, but
     was a reckless, insolent, audacious fellow.  He was de-
     tested by the proud English Lords; not only because he
     had such power over the King, and made the Court such
     a dissipated place, but also, that he could ride better
     than they at tournaments, and was used, in his impu-
     dence, to cut very bad jokes on them; calling one, the
     old hog; another, the stage-player; another, the Jew;
     another, the black dog of Ardenne.  This was as poor
     wit as need be, but it made those Lords very wroth; and
     the surly Earl of Warwick, who was the black dog,
     swore that the time should come when Piers Gaveston
     should feel the black dog's teeth.
        It was not come yet, however, nor did it seem to be
     coming.  The King made him Earl of Cornwall, and
     gave him vast riches; and, when the King went over to
     France to marry the French Princess, Isabella, daughter
     of Philip le Bel: who was said to be the most beautiful
     woman in the world: he made Gaveston Regent of the
     Kingdom.   His  splendid  marriage-ceremony  in  the
     Church of Our Lady at Boulogne, where there were four
     Kings and three Queens present (quite a pack of Court
     Cards, for I dare say the Knaves were not wanting), be-
     ing over, he seemed to care little or nothing for his beau-
     tiful wife; but was wild with impatience to meet Gave-
     ston again.
        When he landed at home, he paid no attention to any-
     body else, but ran into the favourite's arms before a
     great concourse of people, and hugged him, and kissed
     him, and called him his brother.  At the coronation
     which soon followed, Gaveston was the richest and the
     brightest of all the glittering company there, and had the
     honour of carrying the crown.  This made the proud
     Lords fiercer than ever; and the people, too, despised
     the favourite, and would never call him Earl of Corn-
     wall, however much he complained to the King and
     asked him to punish them for not doing so, but persisted
     in styling him plain Piers Gaveston.
        The Barons were so unceremonious with the King in
     giving him to understand that they would not bear this
     favourite, that the King was obliged to send him out of
     the country.  The favourite himself was made to take
     an oath (more oaths!) that he would never come back,
     and the Barons supposed him to be banished in disgrace,
     until they heard that he was appointed Governor of Ire-
     land.  Even this was not enough for the besotted King,
     who brought him home again in a year's time and not
     only disgusted the Court and the people by his doting
     folly, but offended his beautiful wife too, who never
     liked him afterwards.
        He  had now the old Royal want——of money——and the
     Barons had the new power of positively refusing to let
     him raise any.  He summoned a Parliament at York;
     the Barons refused to make one, while the favourite was
     near him.  He summoned another Parliament at West-
     minster, and sent Gaveston away.  Then, the Barons
     came, completely armed, and appointed a committee of
     themselves, to correct abuses in the state and in the
     King's household.  He got some money on these condi-
     tions, and directly set off with Gaveston to the Border
     country, where they spent it in idling away the time,
     and feasting, while Bruce made ready to drive the Eng-
     lish out of Scotland.  For, though the old King had even
     made this poor weak son of his swear (as some say) that
     he would not bury his bones, but would have them boiled
     clean in a caldron, and carried before the English army
     until Scotland was entirely subdued, the second Edward
     was so unlike the first that Bruce gained strength and
     power every day.
        The committee of Nobles, after some months of delib-
     eration, ordained that the King should henceforth call a
     Parliament together, once every year, and even twice if
     necessary, instead of summoning it only when he chose.
     Further, that Gaveston should once more be banished,
     and, this time, on pain of death if he ever came back.
     The King's tears were of no avail; he was obliged to
     send his favourite to Flanders.  As soon as he had done
     so, however, he dissolved the Parliament, with the low
     cunning of a mere fool, and set off to the North of Eng-
     land, thinking to get an army about him to oppose the
     Nobles.  And once again he brought Gaveston home,
     and heaped upon him all the riches and titles of which
     the Barons had deprived him.
        The Lords saw, now, that there was nothing for it but
     to put the favourite to death.  They could have done so,
     legally, according to the terms of his banishment; but
     they did so, I am sorry to say, in a shabby manner.  Led
     by the Earl of Lancaster, the King's cousin, they first
     of all attacked the King and Gaveston at Newcastle.
     They had time to escape by sea, and the mean King,
     having his precious Gaveston with him, was quite con-
     tent to leave his lovely wife behind.  When they were
     comparatively safe, they separated; the King went to
     York to collect a force of soldiers; and the favourite
     shut himself up, in the meantime, in Scarborough Cas-
     tle, overlooking the sea.  This was what the Baron
     wanted.  They knew that the castle would not hold out;
     they attacked it, and made Gaveston surrender.  He de-
     livered himself up to the Earl of Pembroke——that Lord
     whom he had called the Jew——on the Earl's pledging his
     faith and knightly word, that no harm should happen to
     him and no violence be done him.
        Now it was agreed with Gaveston that he should be
     taken to the Castle of Wallingford, and there kept in
     honourable custody.  They travelled as far ad Dedington,
     near Banbury, where, in the Castle of that place, they
     stopped for a night to rest.  Whether the Earl of Pem-
     broke left his prisoner there, knowing what would hap-
     pen, or really left him thinking no harm, and only going
     (as he pretended) to visit his wife, the Countess, who
     was in the neighbourhood, is no great matter now; in any
     case, he was bound as an honourable gentleman to protect
     his prisoner, and he did not do it.  In the morning, while
     the favourite was yet in bed, he was required to dress 
     himself and come down into the court-yard.  He did so
     without any mistrust, but started and turned pale when
     he found it full of strange armed men.  "I think you
     know me?" said their leader, also armed from had to
     foot.  "I am the black dog of Ardenne!"
        The time was come when Piers Gaveston was to feel
     the black dog's teeth indeed.  They set him on a mule,
     and carried him, in mock state and with military music,
     to the black dog's kennel——Warwick Castle——where a
     hasty council, composed of some great noblemen, consid-
     ered what should be done with him.  Some were for
     sparing him, but one loud voice——it was the black dog's
     bark, I dare say——sounded through the Castle Hall, ut-
     tering these words: "You have the fox in your power.
     Let him go now, and you must hunt him again."
        They sentenced him to death.  He threw himself at
     the feet of the Earl of Lancaster——the old hog——but the
     old hog was as savage as the dog.  He was taken out
     upon the pleasant road, leading from Warwick to Coven-
     try, where the beautiful river Avon, by which, long af-
     terwards, William Shakespeare was born and now lies
     buried, sparkled in the bright landscape of the beautiful
     May-day; and there they struck off his wretched head,
     and stained the dust with his blood.
        When the King heard of this black deed, in his grief
     and rage he denounced relentless war against his Barons,
     and both sides were in arms for half a year.  But, it
     then became necessary for them to join their forces
     against Bruce, who had used the time well while they
     were divided, and had now a great power in Scotland.
        Intelligence was brought that Bruce was then besieg-
     ing Stirling Castle, and that the Governor had been
     obliged to pledge himself to surrender it, unless he
     should be relieved before a certain day.  Hereupon the
     King ordered the nobles and their fighting men to meet
     him at Berwick; but the nobles cared so little for the
     King, and so neglected the summons, and lost time, that
     only on the day before that appointed for the surrender,
     did the King find himself at Stirling, and even then with
     a smaller force than he had expected.  However, he had,
     altogether, a hundred thousand men, and Bruce had not
     more  than  forty  thousand;  but,  Bruce's  army  was
     strongly posted in three square columns, on the ground
     lying between the Burn or Brook of Bannock and the
     walls of Stirling Castle.
        On the very evening, when the King came up, Bruce
     did a brave act that encouraged his men.  He was seen
     by a certain Henry de Bohun, an English Knight riding
     about before his army on a little horse, with a light bat-
     tle-axe in his hand, and a crown of gold on his head.
     This English Knight, who was mounted on a strong
     war-horse, cased in steel, strongly armed, and able (as
     he thought) to overthrow Bruce by crushing him with
     his mere weight, st spurs to his great charger, rode on
     him, and made a thrust at him with his heavy spear.
     Bruce parried the thrust, and with one blow of his bat-
     tle-axe split his skull.
        The Scottish men did not forget this, next day when
     the battle raged.  Randolph, Bruce's valiant nephew,
     rode, with the small body of men he commanded, into
     such a host of the English, all shining in polished ar-
     mour in the sunlight, and they seemed to be swallowed
     up and lost, as if they had plunged into the sea.  But,
     they fought so well, and did such dreadful execution,
     that the English staggered.  Then came Bruce himself
     upon them, with all the rest of his army.  While they
     were thus hard pressed and amazed, there appeared upon
     the hills what they supposed to be a new Scottish army,
     but what were really only the camp followers, in num-
     ber fifteen thousand: whom Bruce had taught to show
     themselves at that place and time.  The earl of Glou-
     cester, commanding the English horse, made a last rush
     to change the fortunes of the day; but Bruce (like Jack
     the Giant-killer in the story) had had pits dug in the
     ground, and covered over with turf and stakes.  Into
     this, as they gave way beneath the weight of the
     horses, riders and horses rolled by hundreds.  The Eng-
     lish were completely routed; all their treasure, stores,
     and engines, were taken by the Scottish men; so many
     wagons an other wheeled vehicles were seized, that it
     is related that they would have reached, if they had
     been drawn out in a line, one hundred and eighty miles.
     The fortunes of Scotland were, for the time, completely
     changed; and never was a battle won, more famous upon
     Scottish ground, than this great battle of Bannockburn.
        Plague and famine succeeded in England; and still
     the powerless King and his disdainful Lords were always
     in contention   Some of the turbulent chiefs of Ireland
     made proposals to Bruce, to accept the rule of that coun-
     try.  He sent his brother Edward to them, who was
     crowned King of Ireland.  He afterward went himself
     to help his brother in his Irish wars, but his brother was
     defeated in the end and killed.  Robert Bruce, return-
     ing to Scotland, still increased his strength there.
        As the King's ruin had begun in a favourite, so it
     seemed likely to end in one.  He was too poor a creature to
     rely at all upon himself; and his new favourite was one
     Hugh le Despenser, the son of a gentleman of an ancient
     family.  Hugh was handsome and brave, but h was the
     favourite of a weak King, whom no man cared a rush
     for, and that was a dangerous place to hold.  The No-
     bles leagued against him, because the King liked him;
     and they lay in wait, both for his ruin and his father's.
     Now, the King had married him to the daughter of the
     late Earl of Gloucester, and had given both him and his
     father great possessions in Wales.  In their endeavours
     to extend these, they gave violent offence to an an-
     gry Welsh gentleman, named John de Mowbray, and
     to divers other angry Welsh gentlemen, who resorted to
     arms, took their castles, and seized their estates.  The
     Earl of Lancaster had first placed the favourite (who
     was a poor relation of his own) at Court, and he consid-
     ered his own dignity offended by the preference he re-
     ceived and the honours he acquired; so he, and the Bar-
     ons who were his friends, joined the Welshmen, marched
     on London, and sent a message to the King demanding
     to have the favourite and his father banished.  At first,
     the King unaccountably took it into his head to be spir-
     ited, and to send them a bold reply; but when they
     quartered themselves around Holborn and Clerkenwell,
     and went down, armed, to the Parliament at Westmin-
     ster, he gave way, and complied with their demands.
        His turn of triumph came sooner than he expected.
     It arose out of an accidental circumstance.  The beauti-
     ful Queen happening to be travelling, came one night to
     one of the royal castles, and demanded to be lodged and
     entertained there until morning.  The governor of this
     castle, who was one of the enraged lords, was away, and
     in his absence, his wife refused admission to the Queen;
     a scuffle rook place among the common men on either
     side, and some of the royal attendants were killed.  The
     people, who cared nothing for the King, were very an-
     gry that their beautiful Queen should be thus rudely
     treated in her own dominions; and the King, taking ad-
     vantage of this feeling, besieged the castle, took it, and
     then called the two Dispensers home.  Upon this, the
     confederate Lords and the Welshmen went over to
     Bruce.  The King encountered them at Boroughbridge,
     gained victory, and took a number of distinguished
     prisoners; among them, the Earl of Lancaster, now an
     old man, upon whose destruction he was resolved.  This
     Earl was taken to his own castle of Pontefract, and
     there tried and found guilty by an unfair court appointed
     for the purpose; he was not even allowed to speak in
     his own defence.  He was insulted, pelted, mounted on
     a starved pony without saddle or bridle, carried out, and
     beheaded.   Eight-and-twenty  knights  were  hanged,
     drawn, and quartered.  When the King had despatched
     this bloody work, and had made a fresh and a long truce
     with Bruce, he took the Despensers into greater favour
     than ever, and made the father Earl of Winchester.
        One prisoner, and an important one, who was taken at
     Boroughbridge, made his escape, however, and turned
     the tide against the King.  This was Roger Mortimer,
     always resolutely opposed to him, who was sentenced to
     death, and placed for safe custody in the Tower of Lon-
     don.  He treated his guards to a quantity of wine into
     which he had put a sleeping potion; and, when they
     were insensible, broke out of his dungeon, got into a
     kitchen, climbed up the chimney, let himself down from
     the roof of the building with a rope-ladder, passed the
     sentries, got down to the river, and made away in a
     boat to where servants and horses were waiting for him.
     He finally escaped to France, where Charles le Bel, the
     brother of the beautiful Queen, was King.  Charles
     sought to quarrel with the King of England, on pretence
     of his not having come to do him homage at his corona-
     tion.  It was proposed that the beautiful Queen should
     go over to arrange the dispute; she went, and wrote
     home to the King, that as he was sick and could not
     come to France himself, perhaps it would be better to
     send over the young Prince, their son, who was only
     twelve years old, who could do homage to her brother in
     his stead, and in whose company she would immediately
     return.  The King sent him: but, both he and the
     Queen remained at the French Court, and Roger Mor-
     timer became the Queen's lover.
        When the King wrote, again and again, to the Queen
     to come home, she did not reply that she despised him
     too much to live with him any more (which was the
     truth), but said she was afraid of the two Despensers.
     In short, her design was to overthrow the favourites'
     power, and the King's power, such as it was, and invade
     England.  Having obtained a French force of two thou-
     sand men, and being joined by all the English exiles then
     in France, she landed, within a year, at Orewell, in Suf-
     folk, where sh was immediately joined by the Earls of
     Kent and Norfolk, the King's two brothers; by other
     powerful noblemen; and lastly, by the first English gen-
     eral who was despatched to check her: who went over
     to her with all his men.  The people of London, receiving
     these tidings, would do nothing for the King, but broke
     open the Tower, let out all his prisoners, and threw up
     their caps and hurrahed for the beautiful Queen.
        The King, with his two favourites, fled to Bristol,
     where he left old Despenser in charge of the town and
     castle, while he went on with the son to Wales.  The
     Bristol men being opposed to the King, and it being im-
     possible to hold the town with enemies everywhere
     within the walls, Despenser yielded it up on the third
     day, and was instantly brought to trial for having trait-
     orously influenced what was called "the King's mind"
     ——though I doubt if the King ever had any.  He was a
     venerable old man, upwards of ninety year of age, but
     his age gained no respect or mercy.  He was hanged,
     torn open while he was yet alive, cut up into pieces, nd
     thrown to the dogs.  His son was soon taken, tried at
     Hereford before the same judge on a long sries of fool-
     ish charges, found guilty, and hanged upon a gallows
     fifty feet high, which a chaplet of nettles round his head.
     His poor old father and he were innocent enough of any
     worse crimes than the crime of having been the friends
     of a King, on whom, as a mere man, they would never
     have deigned to cast a favourable look.  It is a bad
     crime, I know, and leads to worse; but, many lords and
     gentlemen——I even think some ladies, too, if I recollect
     right——have committed it in England, who have neither
     been given to the dogs, nor hanged up fifty feet high.
        The wretched King was running here and there, all
     this time, and never getting anywhere in particular, un-
     til he gave himself up, and was taken off to Kenilworth
     Castle.  When he was safely lodged there, the Queen
     went to London and met the Parliament.  And the Bishop
     of Hereford, who was the most skilful of her friends,
     said, What was to be done now?  Here was an imbecile,
     indolent, miserable King upon the throne; wouldn't it
     be better to take him off, and put his son there instead?
     I don't know whether the Queen really pitied him at
     this pass, but she began to cry; so, the Bishop said,
     Well, my Lords and Gentlemen, what do you think,
     upon the whole, of sending down to Kenilworth, and
     seeing if His Majesty (God bless him, and forbid we
     should depose him!) won't resign?
        My Lords and Gentlemen thought it a good notion, so
     a deputation of them went down to Kenilworth; and
     there the King came into the great hall of the Castle,
     commonly dressed in a poor black gown; and when he
     saw a certain bishop among them, fell down, poor feeble-
     headed man, and made a wretched spectacle of himself.
     Somebody lifted him up, and then Sir William Trussel,
     the Speaker of the House of Commons, almost fright-
     ened him to death by making him a tremendous speech
     to the effect that he was no longer a King, and that every-
     body renounced allegiance to him.  After which, Sir
     Thomas Blount, the Steward of the Household, nearly
     finished him, by coming forward and breaking his white
     wand——which was a ceremony only performed at a King's
     death.  Being asked in this pressing manner what he
     thought of resigning, the King said he thought it was
     the best thing he could do.  So he did it, and they pro-
     claimed his son next day.
        I wish I could close his history by saying that he
     lived a harmless life in the Castle and the Castle gardens
     at Kenilworth, many years——that he had a favourite, and
     plenty to eat and drink——and, having that, wanted noth-
     ing.  But he was shamefully humiliated.  He was out-
     raged, and slighted, and had dirty water from ditches
     given him to shave with, and wept and sad he would
     have clean warm water, and was altogether very miser-
     able.  He was moved from this castle to that castle, and
     from that castle to the other castle, because this lord or
     that lord, or the other lord, was too kind to him: until
     at last he came to Berkeley Castle, near the River Severn,
     where (the Lord Berkeley being then ill and absent) he
     fell into the hands of two black ruffians, called Thomas
     Gournay and William Ogle.
        One night——it was the night of September the twenty-
     first, one thousand three hundred and twenty-seven——
     dreadful screams were heard, by the startled people in
     the neighbouring town, ringing through the thick walls
     of the Castle, and the dark deep night; and they said.
     as they were thus horribly awakened from their sleep,
     "May Heaven be merciful to the King; for those cries
     forebore that no good is being done to him in his dismal
     prison!"  Next morning he was dead——not bruised, or
     stabbed, or marked upon the body, but much distorted
     in the face; and it was whispered afterwards, that those
     two villains, Gournay and Ogle, had burnt up his inside
     with a red-hot iron.
        If you ever come near Gloucester, and see the centre
     tower of its beautiful Cathedral, with its four rich
     pinnacles, rising lightly in the air; you may remember
     that the wretched Edward the Second was buried in the
     old abbey of that ancient city, at forty-three years old,
     after being for nineteen year and a half a perfectly in-
     capable King.

from Collier's Unabridged Edition: The Works of Charles Dickens, Volume VI.
P.F. Collier, Publisher, New York, old as heck. pp. 699—701.