Chapter VII: Appendix: 347 (6)

The present fiction is refuted by many well‐known facts. Had Edward deceived and disappointed this Bruce (the son of the competitor), it must have followed that the party so deceived would have become bitterly hostile. Instead of which, we immediately find this very Bruce employed by Edward, as “his dear and trusty friend,” to receive to his peace the inhabitants of Annandale; and three times after this does Mr. Tytler distinctly recognize this Bruce as being always loyal and faithful to Edward; a thing most improbable, if he had been—as represented by Fordun a century after—grossly deceived and wronged by the king.

The king of Scotland, as Mr. Tytler remarks, was at this time “confined in a mountain fortress,” and the Scottish barons who had assumed the management of affairs were busily engaged in the collection and organization of an army. All this would be known to Edward, and accordingly, finding that neither the king nor the barons made their appearance at Newcastle, he put his own forces in motion, and began to approach the Tweed.

Before, however, he could reach the frontier, tidings came that the Scotch had already, without any public warning, complaint, or declaration of war, actually invaded England. On the 26th of March, the earls of Buchan, Menteith, Strathern, Lennox, Rosse, Athol, and Mar, with a force of about forty thousand men, broke into Cumberland, and ravaged the whole country with savage ferocity. The “Chronicle of Lanercost,” a record written at the time and on the spot, thus describes the invasion: “In this raid the Scotch surpassed the cruelty of the heathen, for, not being able to seize upon the strong, they wreaked their vengeance on the weak, the decrepit, and the young; children of two or three years old they impaled upon lances and threw into the air; consecrated churches they burned; women dedicated to God they ravished and slew.”

This exhibition of savage ferocity, however, gained for the Scotch neither honour nor advantage. When they came before Carlisle, a place of some strength, “a handful of the citizens,” says Mr. Tytler, “compelled them to retreat with loss.” The only real result of this movement was a disastrous one for the Scotch. They had, by taking the initiative, decided Edward’s course. He was, throughout his whole career, “slow to strife,” but he was not likely to sit in silence while his realm was invaded and his subjects slaughtered. He had reached Berwick on the 30th of March, and there the intelligence reached him of the Scotch invasion of Cumberland, and of the cruelties they were perpetrating. His exclamation on receiving this news is a characteristic one. “Blessed be God!” he exclaimed, “who hath up to this time preserved our hands blameless! But now, since they themselves have entered our realm in hostile array, we, under his guidance, will retaliate what they have done, and will return their mischief upon their own heads.”

Surely those who are fond of representing Edward as an ambitious and unscrupulous man, ought to hesitate when they see him, at a crisis like this, so manifestly anxious to be _right_, and feeling such relief of mind when the aggressions of the Scotch made his path perfectly clear.

He forthwith sent to those who held the command in Berwick, a summons for the surrender of the town on honourable terms. It was refused in the language of scorn. Edward accordingly took measures for an assault. He ordered his fleet to enter the harbour, while he would assault the walls. Three of his ships fell into the hands of the garrison, who instantly put every man to the sword.[71]

But the avenger was at hand. Edward himself led the assault, and was the first to clear the ditch.[72] The English, animated by such an example, carried everything before them. The castle surrendered upon terms the next day, and thus one of the largest and most important towns in Scotland was gained in the first three days of the campaign.

Some of the Scottish historians have striven to tarnish Edward’s fame by representing the storming of Berwick as a massacre. There is not the slightest ground for such an imputation. The carrying any town by storm must always be a dreadful operation, whether the town be Badajos or Berwick; but there was nothing to render the storming of Berwick worse than other efforts of the same kind.[73]

The Scots had themselves already provoked severity. In their invasion of Cumberland a few days previous, they had “killed all they found, sparing neither age nor sex;” and in this very siege, as we have just seen, when some English ships and sailors had fallen into their hands, they showed no mercy.

While Edward was occupied with the repair and restoration of Berwick, the abbot of Arbroath was announced, who brought to him a message or letter from Baliol, renouncing his homage. But, as Mr. Sharon Turner remarks, “if Baliol had not become Edward’s liegeman, such a renunciation was unnecessary; and if he were so, no liegeman could cancel his fealty without the consent of his lord. The renunciation was, therefore, evidence of its own absurdity.” The Scottish chronicles, written long after, tell us that Edward exclaimed, “Ah! fool and felon! Of what folly is he guilty?” We may easily believe that he would receive such a communication with indignant contempt. He turned his face towards Edinburgh, and began his march towards that city.

Midway between Berwick and the present Scottish capital stood the castle of Dunbar. Its lord, the earl of that name, was with Edward; but the countess, “hating the English,” called in, in her lord’s absence, some of the Scottish leaders, and put the castle into their hands. So important was the possession of this strong place considered to be, that the earls of Athol, Rosse, and Menteith, with several barons and thirty‐one knights, threw themselves into it, with a large force, hoping to maintain it against Edward’s strongest efforts. The king, equally aware of its importance, despatched earl Warenne, with 10,000 foot and 1,000 horse, to capture it if possible. The garrison, alarmed at his approach, sent to “the guardians of Scotland” for aid, and the whole Scottish army, of 40,000 foot and 1,500 horse, moved down to its support. The garrison, now confident of victory, insulted the English as if already beaten. But the earl, says Mr. Tytler, “on the appearance of the Scottish army, at once advanced to attack it. On approaching the high ground, it was necessary to deploy through a valley, and the Scotch imagined they observed some confusion in the English ranks when executing this movement. Mistaking this for flight, they precipitately abandoned their position on the hills, and rushed down with shouts upon the enemy. But instead of an enemy in flight, they found an army, under perfect discipline, advancing upon their disordered columns. Having in vain endeavoured to regain their ranks, after a short resistance they were entirely routed. The victory was complete, and for a time it decided the fate of Scotland. Ten thousand men fell on the field or in the pursuit. A great multitude, including the principal Scottish nobility, were taken prisoners, and the next day, the king coming in person before Dunbar, the castle surrendered at discretion. The earls of Rosse, Athol, and Menteith, four barons, and seventy knights, submitted to the mercy of the conquerors.”[74]

Edward lost no time in following up his advantage. He sat down before the castle of Roxburgh, which was surrendered to him by James, the steward of Scotland; Dumbarton castle was yielded by Ingelram de Umfraville; Jedburgh castle followed; and a considerable reinforcement arriving from Wales, Edward was enabled to dismiss to their homes part of his English army.

He now advanced to Edinburgh, where the castle surrendered after a siege of eight days; then to Stirling, where a body of Irish auxiliaries joined him. At Perth he kept the feast of St. John the Baptist, creating new knights, with the accustomed festivities. Here messengers from Baliol found him, with letters announcing the Scottish king’s submission. As Baliol had long been kept in durance by the rebellious barons, and as these were now, for the most part, prisoners in Edward’s camp, we may reasonably suppose that this submission was one of the first spontaneous acts of the Scottish king on finding himself at liberty. Edward sent back, as his answer, a message signifying that he intended, in fifteen days, to proceed to Brechin, whither the now humbled king of Scotland might repair to meet him. Accordingly, on the 10th of July, Baliol presented himself at Brechin, acknowledged his offence, admitted Edward’s right, and resigned the kingdom of Scotland into his hands, as a fief justly forfeited. Edward then assigned him the Tower of London for a residence, with the liberty of a circle of twenty miles round it. Here the dethroned king took up his abode, residing in London for the following three years, after which he was allowed to retire to his estates in Normandy.

On the 28th of August, Edward held a parliament at Berwick, where he received the fealty of the clergy, barons, and gentry of Scotland. Multitudes of all ranks resorted to him—earls, barons, knights, and esquires. “The oaths of homage, the renunciation of the French alliance, and the names of the vassals, which fill thirty‐five skins of parchment, are still preserved among the English archives.”[75]

Edward next directed his attention to the settlement of his new dominion; and “the measures he adopted,” says Mr. Tytler, “were equally politic and just.” The jurisdictions of Scotland were suffered to remain with those who possessed them under ancient and hereditary titles; no wanton or unnecessary act of rigour was committed, no capricious changes introduced; yet all proper means were adopted to give security to his conquest. The earl Warenne was made guardian of Scotland, Hugh de Cressingham treasurer, and William Ormesby justiciary. The four castles of Roxburgh, Berwick, Jedburgh, and Edinburgh, were committed to English captains. A new seal, in place of the ancient seal of Scotland, was given to Walter de Agmondesham, the chancellor; and an exchequer for the receipt of the king’s rents and taxes was instituted at Berwick, on the model of that at Westminster. The ancient coronation‐stone of Scotland was removed from Scone and placed in Westminster Abbey, where to this hour it still remains.

Such, then, was Edward’s first conquest of Scotland. No one disputes the skill and talent displayed by him. The only charge alleged has reference to the moral character of these transactions. Upon this point, therefore, it will be right to add a few words.

That the union of the several divisions of a great country, like England or France, into one great power, is a desirable thing for the country itself, is self‐evident. No one doubts that the union of Normandy with France, and of Scotland with England, furthered the interests of all these countries; or that to sever, now, Scotland from England, or Normandy from France, would be disastrous to all the people of all these territories. It was both right and expedient, then, that the sovereigns of England and France should watch for opportunities of effecting such unions, wherever this could be done consistently with justice and honour. For such an end might be attained by lawful means: as when Philip II. took Normandy from John; or it might be attempted by fraud: as when Philip IV. endeavoured to take Gascony from Edward.

Was, then, Edward’s conduct, in the acquisition of Scotland, marked by any kind of injustice or wrong? Hume alleges that it was;—charging him with “numerous acts of fraud and violence.” But, instead of _numerous_ acts of this kind, has any one act of either fraud or violence been proved?

We are unable to find a scintilla of such proof. Going back to 1286-7, we find that the only charge brought against Edward, up to that time, is that he abstained from interfering! Next, his proposal in 1289 is approved by all historians as wise, and just, and liberally framed. In 1290 he attempted no interference until the chief men in Scotland earnestly besought his interposition. Their approaches to him had all the aspect of appeals to a superior lord; and he could hardly understand them in any other sense. He accepted them as such, and plainly told the Scottish barons that it was in this character that he came among them. After some hesitation, they accepted him as “lord paramount,” and as such they swore fealty to him.

Scotland obtained, then, at last a king, John Baliol, but now both king and people had paid homage to Edward, and had acknowledged his supremacy. Soon after, a Scottish earl lodges an appeal against one of Baliol’s decisions, and calls upon Edward to do him justice. Edward proceeds, in the discharge of his office, to hear this appeal; and for so doing, heavy complaints are brought against him. Yet, in taking this course, he was guilty, in reality, of no offence whatever. Nevertheless, upon no other ground than this, did Baliol and the Scottish barons deliberately break their oaths, ally themselves with Edward’s enemies, and raise an army for the invasion of England.

By all the laws of feudal sovereignty at that time known, they had by this act incurred the penalties of perjury and treason; and, by their invasion of Cumberland, they had commenced a war against their acknowledged lord. They rashly appealed to arms, and defied the power of England, wielded by the first captain of the age. They were overthrown, even before the waning of a single moon. But here, as everywhere, Edward’s clemency is the most remarkable feature in the case. Not Baliol only, but all those who had forced him into this war, were justly exposed to the loss of property, if not of life. Yet, the contest once ended by Baliol’s resignation, all that we hear of, on Edward’s part, is a willing amnesty and a ready forgiveness. Up to this point of the story, then, we must deem the king to stand clear of any kind of moral condemnation.

Footnotes:

[60] Hume adds, very strangely, “Edward had thus fallen into _a like
snare_ with that which he himself had spread for the Scots.” What
“like snare”? Scotland had been placed in his hands on his promise
to restore it, which promise he kept. Gascony was placed in the
hands of Philip on a similar promise; but that promise was broken.
Instead of likeness here is contrast.

[61] Walter Hemingford.

[62] Matthew of Westminster.

[63] Turner’s History of England, vol. v., p. 75.

[64] Lingard’s Hist., vol. ii., p. 540.

[65] Tytler’s History of Scotland, vol. i., p. 108.

[66] Rymer, vol. ii., p. 590.

[67] Turner’s History of England, vol. i., p. 76.

[68] Tytler’s History of England, vol. i., p. 110.

[69] Nor can we, in this instance, attempt to divide the credit
between the king and his able chancellor. Robert Burnel had been
taken from his side, by death, in October, 1292.

[70] Macaulay, vol. i., p. 17.

[71] Wyntoun, the Scottish chronicler, says—

“Of these they saved never a man,

* * * * *

For prisoners in such awhile,
To kepe is dowte and grete perille.”

[72] Peter Langtoft writes—

“What then did Sir Edward? Peer he had none like;
Upon his steed Bayard first he won the dike.”

[73] Both Tytler and sir W. Scott condescend to borrow an
exaggerated statement, that 17,000 persons fell in this storming
of Berwick; but the complaint of the regents of Scotland, made a
year or two after, states the number at “nearly 8000.” Allowing for
some exaggeration, and remembering that some of the dead must have
been English, we may believe that the Scotch lost some 5000 or 6000
men—a number not at all remarkable.

[74] Tytler, vol. i., p. 116.

[75] Tytler, vol. i., p. 121. But sir Walter Scott says: “Most of
the noble and ancient families of Scotland are reduced to the
necessity of tracing their ancestors’ names in the _fifty‐six_
sheets of parchment, which constitute the degrading roll of
submission to Edward I.”

VIII.

THE WAR WITH FRANCE, AND VARIOUS TROUBLES AT HOME, A.D. 1297.

Edward had now, apparently, achieved a great and important object, and he returned in the autumn of 1296 to his palace of Westminster, the undisputed sovereign of both islands, and of all the territories contained within them. But his fifty‐ninth year, to which he was now approaching, was destined to prove one of the most trying and difficult conjunctures of his life. He had established his dominion over the whole realm; had frustrated one of Philip’s main designs, by crushing the Scottish rebellion; and was now at leisure to deal with that monarch on the soil of France itself. But as each month of 1297 passed along, it brought with it some new peril; until, before the year had closed, a series of troubles and perplexities had so accumulated around him, that few men but himself could have forced their way through so many difficulties.

In dealing with France, Edward felt the disadvantages of his position, arising from the distance of Gascony from England. To convey an army to that country, of force sufficient to reconquer the province, would have exhausted both the treasure and the military strength of England; while, at the same time, neither Wales nor Scotland was in so tranquil a state as to encourage him to undertake such an enterprise. With his usual sagacity, therefore, Edward preferred to assail France on its northern frontier, in the hope of so threatening both the capital and Normandy as to force Philip to relinquish his hold upon the Gascon province. On the side of Flanders, too, Edward could obtain several allies; and its nearness to England rendered the conveyance of both men and stores less difficult and less expensive. For all these reasons Edward had determined, in the course of 1296, to endeavour to form a league between himself, the earls of Flanders, Holland, and Luxembourg, and the duke of Austria, for a combined attack upon France, on its north‐eastern frontier. A similar policy was adopted, four centuries after, by William III. and by Marlborough.

But all schemes of this kind—and England has seen many of them—inevitably tend to one result: a subsidy. None of these princes were disposed to go to war with such a kingdom as France, except they were assisted in their preparations by a liberal supply of English money.

Having formed the desired confederacy, therefore, Edward was next obliged to call together his parliament, and to appeal to them for a supply. The barons, without difficulty, granted him a twelfth; the burgesses, an eighth. But when the king’s representatives made their application to the prelates and clergy, an unexpected difficulty at once presented itself.

Boniface VIII., the reigning pope, and Winchelsey, the primate, were men of vigorous and aspiring minds, and they evidently desired to tread in the steps of Hildebrand and Thomas à Becket. They believed that they saw the king of England in circumstances of difficulty, and that an opportunity was thus afforded for advancing a new claim on behalf of the church.

Edward had undoubtedly begun to press with increasing weight upon the resources of the clergy. Nor was this at all surprising. His own necessities were now great, and the wealth of the church had long been visibly and rapidly augmenting. “The possessions of the clergy,” says Dr. Henry, “never diminishing, but daily increasing, were now swelled up to an enormous bulk, and threatened to swallow up the whole lands of the kingdom.” It has been remarked, that in the single reign of Henry III., as many as eight or nine of our splendid cathedrals were built or greatly enlarged; and during the same period, no fewer than one hundred and fifty‐seven abbeys, priories, and other religious houses were founded.

Of the church’s wealth, however, the court of Rome took care to demand and to obtain a large proportion. Sometimes the pope required a tenth, sometimes a fifth, and once as much as one half of all ecclesiastical incomes. In a few years, in the transactions connected with the crown of Sicily, the pope was computed to have drawn from England no less than nine hundred and fifty thousand marks, equal, according to the values of the time, to above nine millions of our present money! In a subsequent reign, in 1376, the commons represented to the king, “that the taxes paid to the pope yearly, amounted to _five times_ as much as the taxes paid to the crown.” Rome then, depending so largely on the supplies received from England, would naturally look with jealousy on the increasing demands of the crown, which must inevitably come into competition with those which she herself was accustomed to make.

Winchelsey, as we have said, was a man of great ability; and Boniface was distinguished among the popes. It may be difficult at this distance of time, to determine with which of these two the idea originated, but the fact is certain, that just at this moment, when Edward needed and expected a large supply from the church, the primate produced a bull, or mandate from the pope, “forbidding the clergy to grant to laymen any part of the revenues of their benefices, without the permission of the Holy See.”

This was a sudden and a startling blow. By a few words the king saw the whole treasures of the church—his main reliance—shut up and sealed from his touch. He had asked of the clergy a supply of “a fifth.” His commissioners appeared in the convocation for a reply. The archbishop rose and said, “You know, sirs, that under Almighty God we have two lords—the one spiritual, the other temporal. Obedience is due to both, _but most to the spiritual_. We are willing to do everything in our power, and will send deputies at our own expense to consult the pontiff. We entreat you to carry this reply to the king; for we dare not speak to him ourselves.”

It was clear, that to submit to this novel claim to exemption would be to prostrate the royal authority at the feet of the papal. Already had the pope claimed and exercised a co‐ordinate power with the crown, in taxing ecclesiastical possessions, now rapidly becoming a large proportion of all the property of the realm; but he here asserted his sole and supreme power over the whole. In future the king was to receive aid from the clerical body, only when, and so far as, the pope should grant his permission.

With either of the two preceding sovereigns such churchmen as Boniface and Winchelsey might have prevailed, and thus a foreign sovereignty of the most disastrous kind might have been established in the realm. But, happily, England had, at this crisis, a ruler equal to the emergency—a sovereign whom even those historians who are prejudiced against him,[76] admit to have been a “great statesman,” “the model of a politic and warlike king.” He saw at a glance, the serious peril which threatened the realm, and he at once nerved himself to grapple with it. Yet he never, for an instant, showed the passion or the violence of a Rufus or a John. Not for a moment was he ever betrayed into any unworthy measures. “Himself the founder of a stately Cistercian abbey, and a man whose oblations and alms were a large sum in his yearly expenses, he displays even as a legislator a genuine anxiety for the real interests of the Church.”[77] But to yield to this new pretension would have been to surrender the unquestionable rights of the crown, and such a surrender as that could never be dreamed of by a king like Edward. With his usual firmness and sagacity, he took without delay the most effectual and straightforward course to suppress this new kind of mutiny. Comprehending at a glance the mutuality of the obligations of the ruler and the subject, he at once decided that those who refused to bear their share of the public burdens could have no right to appeal to the protection of the guardians of the public peace. A deputation of the prelates waited on him at Castle Acre in Norfolk, to acquaint him with their determination, and to explain the reasons for it; to whom he at once declared, that “since the clergy had broken their allegiance to him, by denying him that assistance which by the tenure of their estates they were bound to pay, he would no longer feel any obligation to protect them, or to execute in their favour laws to which they refused to submit.” At once, therefore, “he consulted the lay peers, and issued a proclamation of outlawry against the clergy, both regular and secular”—escheating their lay fees, goods, and chattels to the use of the crown. And, as Edward was always frank and outspoken, his chief justice, Sir John Metingham, publicly announced from the bench in Westminster Hall—“You that appear for the archbishops, bishops, or clergy, take notice, that in future no justice is to be done them in the king’s court, in any matter of which they may complain; but, nevertheless, justice shall still be done to all manner of persons who have any complaint against them.” “So bold a step,” says Rapin, “astonished the clergy, who, since the beginning of the monarchy, had never experienced the like resolution in any king of England.”

We are now at the opening of the year 1297. The strong measures of the king quickly carried confusion into the ranks of the ecclesiastical confederacy. The archbishop of York, with all his diocese, and the bishops of Durham and Carlisle, soon made their peace with Edward, and paid their “fifth.” It was not long before the bishops of Norwich, Ely, Lincoln, and Worcester, followed their example. Winchelsey vainly thundered his sentence of excommunication against all who should disobey the mandate of the pope. The sentence of outlawry proved to have the greater force. Tenants refused to pay rent; horses were seized on the highway; and the law, meanwhile, repudiated all claims of the ecclesiastical mutineers to avail themselves of its protection. The inevitable result of such a state of things soon showed itself. The clergy, and especially the wealthier of them, rapidly fell off from the archbishop, and sought and obtained the king’s pardon and protection.

But this ecclesiastical rebellion had been only the beginning of troubles. Suppressed though it was, it led to fresh difficulties of another kind. The large and greatly‐needed supply upon which the king had reckoned was withheld, and it now came in only slowly and in fragments. The “aid” granted by parliament required the customary time for its collection. Meanwhile, Edward had pledged himself both to pay large subsidies to his allies in Flanders, and also to bring over a considerable body of troops. These promises he was now endeavouring, as was his wont, strictly to perform.

But now appears in England, for the first time, _a parliamentary opposition_. Hume and Hallam award great praise to the earls of Hereford and Norfolk for their “firmness and patriotism” in daring to withstand the king; but they forget to give any credit to Edward for having introduced that parliamentary system into England which made such an opposition possible.

It is abundantly clear that the earl of Norfolk disliked the French war in 1297, just as the duke of Norfolk of the last century disliked the French war in 1797, and probably each could have assigned very plausible reasons for his dislike. The important fact, however, is, that alike in 1297 and in 1797, both of these noblemen were left at liberty to oppose the war, and both of them did oppose and obstruct it—the one in the thirteenth and the other in the eighteenth century—without incurring any loss of life or of property for so withstanding the king’s views.

There is no reason to doubt that the king had the popular feeling with him. Even in the present day, when peace is so greatly valued, and when considerations of utility govern so many, the news that Spain had surprised and taken Gibraltar, or that France had suddenly seized upon the Channel Islands, would light up a flame of indignation, and raise a cry of war throughout the realm. How was it to be expected, then, that in the days of chivalry, the gentry and burgesses of England could hear of the fraudulent seizure of such a province as Gascony, without generally sympathizing with their sovereign’s indignation?

Still, wherever men are free, differences of opinion on all conceivable questions will show themselves, and we find from the records of the time that the earls of Norfolk and Hereford did not heartily concur with the king’s views; and, as we have said, Edward had always conducted his affairs in such a frank and open manner, as to give full play to the expression of all such differences of opinion. Whenever any great public question required solution, his first step always was to summon a parliament; and when the dissentient party had thrown all possible obstructions in the way, we next hear of the king’s writing to the earl of Hereford or the earl of Norfolk, to invite him to a private interview, that they may freely discuss the matter in hand.

In the present instance Edward resolved to meet his parliament, for the final decision of all questions concerning the war, at Salisbury, on the 25th of February. Meanwhile, however, pressed by the demands of his allies and the requirements of his own armaments, he laid new and heavy imposts upon wool, and called upon the sheriffs of all the counties to provide for him each a certain quota of wheat, etc.[78] We do not suppose that there was anything in these measures which materially differed from the practice of modern wars, but it is evident that such claims and demands would often occasion inconvenience and excite displeasure. The great men of the realm, as well as the merchants and farmers, would feel these requisitions, and some of them, doubtless, brought their irritated feelings into the discussions in parliament.

The king’s justification, however, was doubtless rested on the old adage that “necessity knows no law,”—a rule which often decides many hard questions in time of war. Shall a general defending a city be compelled by famine to surrender it, if he knows that one of the citizens has a great store of corn? No, he will seize upon that corn, if necessary by the extremest force, rather than lose the city which he is ordered to defend; but he will take care that the citizen shall be paid the value of his property at the earliest possible moment. Such seems to have been Edward’s rule of conduct at this very difficult crisis.

The earl of Norfolk was the high marshal, and the earl of Hereford the high constable of England. Edward, purposing himself to go into Flanders, wished to commit the charge of a distinct force for Gascony to these two earls; but they objected to undertake this charge, alleging that their offices only bound them to attend the king’s person in his wars. Chafed at this backwardness, the king, always excitable, grew angry, and is reported to have said that they should either go or hang. To which Norfolk rejoined that “he would neither go nor hang.”[79] The constable and marshal after this withdrew, followed by a large body of knights, their retainers.

We know not much of the other proceedings of that parliament. The king was evidently in a position of great difficulty. Opposed by a large body of the clergy, and now opposed also by two of the greatest earls in the realm, he had still the war with France on his hands, and from it he could not in honour withdraw. Surely we might rather expect the sympathies of Englishmen to be with the king, in this critical juncture, than with the two dissentient earls. Edward, in resisting the wrong done to him by Philip, was merely discharging a plain duty. How, then, can it be deemed “patriotism” in these two great nobles to desert their sovereign in this emergency, and even to throw obstacles in his path?

It seems tolerably clear that the discussions at Salisbury were prolonged, and that the secession of Hereford and Norfolk obliged the king to abandon his purpose of sending a fresh expedition to the relief of Gascony. The 7th of March found the king still at Salisbury, and on that day Winchelsey paid him a visit in that city. It was so much the king’s habit to have his opponents “face to face,” that it seems most probable that the archbishop waited on him there at his own desire.

The king, when the archbishop arrived, was attending the service in the cathedral. When this was over, Winchelsey had a private audience, the king desiring him to say freely what he would. The archbishop spoke at some length, and was heard patiently and without any interruption. The king, in reply, told him that “if the pope himself had any temporal possessions in the realm of England, he believed that he, the king, might lawfully take of them for the defence of his realm and of the church of England.” He added that “this was a cause in which he could dare to die; since he felt that he was doing nothing unlawful, but was obeying a dire necessity which lay upon him and the kingdom.” Surely in the frankness, the wisdom, and the calm resolution of the king, there is nothing wanting of the characteristics of true nobleness of mind.

No actual reconciliation then took place—the primate being unwilling to abandon his ground, and the king being resolved never to relinquish his; but Winchelsey promised to send messengers of his own to the pope, and the king at his request promised to show leniency to those of the clergy who had committed themselves on the papal side. On the 25th of March a synod was held at St. Paul’s, in which no positive resolution was adopted, but the archbishop and those bishops who acted with him agreed to connive at those of the clergy who should make their peace with the king, though in doing so they disobeyed the pope; and Edward, in April, began to show mercy to those of the recusant clergy who had published the bull in defiance of his orders, and who had been imprisoned for that offence. In May and June he was occupied in assembling his troops, and in providing a sufficient naval force. On the 8th of July, the military tenants of the crown were summoned to meet in London to do their accustomed suit and service. The high constable and marshal attended; but as they had objected at Salisbury to go to Gascony, because the king did not propose to accompany that expedition, so now they objected to go with the king to Flanders, because, as they said, they could not find that any of their ancestors had ever performed any service in that country.

The absurdity of this plea was self‐evident; it assumed that the king must not make war in any country except those in which his ancestors had made war. Evidently these two earls had no stomach for the war on any terms. Doubtless they were at liberty to form their own opinion of its expediency or inexpediency, and to a certain extent to act upon it; but it is impossible to estimate very highly the patriotism of two great nobles, who, when such a captain as Edward was embarked in a national contest, could leave him to fight it out without their aid. Still so it was; they begged the king to appoint other officers in their room. Edward, therefore, named Thomas de Berkeley as substitute for the earl of Hereford, and Geoffrey de Geneville for the earl of Norfolk. In thus tolerating the conduct of these two earls, the king showed that self‐control and practical wisdom which distinguished him through life; but he was about to go much further. He was on the point of quitting home to open a war, the length and the difficulties of which he could not foresee. He desired, therefore, to leave England, as far as possible, an united and peaceful kingdom during his absence. With this view, having broken up the ecclesiastical confederacy, he announced to Winchelsey and his followers an amnesty for the past, with a pardon for all who were suffering any penalties for their recusancy; and to make his desire for peace and harmony as manifest as possible, he convened a large assembly in or at the entrance of Westminster Hall. Here, on the 14th of July, the king presented himself on a raised platform, accompanied by his son, then in his fourteenth year, the archbishop, the earl of Warwick, and other lords. He then addressed the assembly, first alluding to the burdens which, in the preparation of his armament, he had been obliged to lay upon them. “He owned that these burdens were heavy, but declared that it had been as painful for him to impose those burdens as it must have been for them to bear them. He had taken a part in order to secure the remainder. His sole object was to protect the country from its enemies, and from those who sought its ruin.” “And now,” he added, “I am going once more to face the dangers of war for England’s sake. If I return, receive me again as you have received me to‐day, and I will make you full amends. If not, here is my son; place him on my throne, and his gratitude will reward your fidelity.” Edward could not conclude without visible emotion; the archbishop was equally affected; and the whole assembly, with outstretched hands, vowed unshaken fidelity.[80]

A fortnight after, a great council was held, at which the king openly received the archbishop to his favour, and nominated him one of the council of the young prince, to whom he then desired all present to take an oath of fidelity as the heir to the kingdom.

There is something in these proceedings which seems to require explanation. How could a warm‐hearted, impetuous ruler, in dealing with such opponents as Winchelsey, Bohun, and Bigod, so constantly avoid any actual collision, any resort to force on either side? We read, with some pain, the account of the scene at Salisbury, in which high words arose; but the circumstance stands alone. Edward, though irascible, “had the rule over his own spirit.” He was placed, for several weeks, in circumstances of great difficulty; but his skill, and judgment, and discretion carried him through them all. On the 10th of August the prelates made another attempt on his firmness. They requested his permission “to send to the pope for his license to grant the king an aid.” The king, however, was neither to be frightened nor persuaded into any step which would imply his assent to the papal claim. He refused to give any such permission, but he continued to treat the clergy with kindness; and shortly after took leave of the primate, and departed for Winchelsea, where his armament was now assembled.

At this place, in the middle of August, he received from the two earls and their adherents, a remonstrance, in which they alleged—“1. That they conceive that they ought not to be called upon to do service in Flanders (for the reasons which we have already described). 2. That they have been aggrieved and impoverished by the talliages, aids, and requisitions already levied. 3. That Magna Charta has not been properly observed. 4. That the Charter of Forests is also violated by the king’s officers. 5. That they are aggrieved by the tax on wool. And, lastly, desiring the honour and safety of our lord the king, it does not seem good unto them that he pass over into Flanders.”

This last clause explains the rest. What the actual feeling or opinion of the two earls really was—whether they were prepared to let France defraud England of her fairest foreign possession—we know not; but it is quite clear that, either on principle or from views of expediency, they disliked the war with France; and disliking the war, it was natural that they should still more dislike the heavy requisitions, aids, and talliages which that war rendered necessary. One main feature of the case, however, is the tolerant and reasonable nature of Edward’s government, which now, for the first time, allowed questions such as these to be discussed: first in parliament, and then by a public correspondence; for the king, receiving this public manifesto disapproving his policy, expressed no anger at it. On the contrary, he received and treated it with more tolerance than would be shown for a similar document in most European states in the present day. To the messengers who brought him the earls’ remonstrance, he answered with calmness, that he had not his council with him, and could not, in their absence, reply to matters of so great importance; that he should have been better pleased if the remonstrants had gone with him; but since they would not, he trusted that they would raise no disturbance in his absence. Before he embarked, however, he took care to reply to this document in the most public and emphatic manner. A royal declaration was drawn up, and sent to the sheriffs of all the counties for publication. In this document the king recounts the various steps of the disobedience of the two earls, and then repeats the apologies and assurances which he had made at Westminster Hall. He declares that “he grieves that he should so burden his people; and promises that, if he should return, he will amend all things as he ought; and if not, he will desire his heir to do so—for he knows well that no man is so much indebted to the people, or so much bound to love them as he himself. But there is great necessity for him to go to the assistance of his ally, the earl of Flanders; and his going over is of immediate consequence, by reason of the danger which his friends are in—whom, if he should lose, the kingdom might be in great jeopardy.” He ends with a desire that his people would pray that his voyage might be prosperous, and have a good result, to the honour of God and the good of the realm; and that a durable peace might follow.

A recent writer, who takes no very friendly view of Edward’s course, here remarks, that “The king’s greatness of nature carried him through every difficulty. He could demand confidence, for his people knew that he did everything for England; he inspired trust, for he never broke his word; and between a king risking captivity or death, and two nobles refusing the service which thousands of meaner men rendered, public opinion pronounced emphatically for the sovereign. He carried the nation with him.”[81]

Having issued this, his public reply to the objections of the two earls, the king, on the 22nd of August, sailed, carrying with him 500 ships, in which were 1,800 knights and a large force of infantry. But he could scarcely have landed in Flanders before great events occurred both in England and in Scotland—events which concurred with disappointments abroad to induce him speedily to prepare for his return home.

In the course of the summer, various rumours had reached England, of a spirit of insurrection which had shown itself in Scotland, and of various successes in partizan warfare which had been gained by a leader named Walays or Waleis. Twice or thrice had Edward written to Scotland, to desire his representatives there to suppress these disorders without delay. Had it not been for his engagements with the earl of Flanders, there can be no doubt that he would himself have returned into the north, and have stopped the progress of these troubles in the summer of 1297. But his engagements bound him to appear in Flanders; and he was obliged, therefore, to neglect the warnings of the two earls, who told him that the Scotch, having begun to rebel, would do so with the more hardihood when they heard of his departure.

The English must have disembarked in Flanders at the end of August or beginning of September; and it was in the early part of the latter month that the folly of Cressingham, the treasurer of Scotland, gave Walays the victory of Stirling, and thus nearly destroyed, in one hour, all the great results of Edward’s campaign of the preceding year. The news must have reached London by the middle of September; and the young prince found it necessary immediately to summon a parliament, to consider what steps it would be expedient to take.

Norfolk and Hereford now saw an opportunity offered them of a more favourable kind than they could have anticipated. The peril of England was manifest, and all men would feel that union—the union of all her leading men—was so desirable, that no slight difficulty could be allowed to stand in the way. The two earls attended the parliament, having first demanded some guarantees of safety. Their claims were not exorbitant; and we are not entitled to lay to their charge more factious purposes or conduct than has often been seen in opposition‐leaders in modern times. The chief grievance which they desired to have redressed was the practice to which Edward had latterly been obliged to resort, of levying aids or talliages without consent of parliament. This, however, was no new claim set up by the crown. Mr. Hallam remarks, that “hitherto the king’s prerogative of levying money, by name of talliage or prise, from his towns or tenants in demesne, had passed unquestioned.” Edward, then, in his hour of need, had merely resorted to an old prerogative of the crown; and the earls, in demanding the surrender of this prerogative, were claiming a large and important concession from the sovereign to the people.

Some writers have awarded a large meed of praise to the two earls, for their courage and patriotism in wresting such a concession from such a king. But it should be remembered that Edward himself was _absent_ when the two earls are said to have shown so much courage; that his return was uncertain and improbable, and that the perils of the state from the Scottish rebellion, were such as to render it impossible that any reasonable request should be denied. It should also be added, that the two earls, who are praised for their courage, took care to send over for Edward’s signature, along with the charter—an act of grace, securing their own full pardon for what they had done. It would have been a better and a more befitting proof of courage, had they, after preferring their request or demand, proceeded to raise a few thousand men, and to chase Walays out of Cumberland, where all this autumn he was committing the most fearful ravages.

However, the demands of Norfolk and Hereford were immediately conceded. On the 10th of October the parliament at Westminster framed a new confirmation of the charters, with fresh clauses prohibiting the levying of talliages or prises, without the assent of the prelates, barons, knights, and burgesses; and another statute or order, whereby the king granted a full pardon to the two earls, “for all manner of offences which they may have committed.” These statutes were sent over to the king, and within three days they were signed by him and returned. Some historians have actually argued, that this short delay in the adoption of a decision, is to be taken as manifesting Edward’s great reluctance and his many internal struggles. It rather shows, that which we may observe in many other important junctures in the king’s life—that no question of moment was decided by him without protracted and anxious deliberation. On this concession, however, the laity granted the king an aid of an eighth, the clergy of Canterbury a tenth, and the clergy of York a fifth.

But it is time that we turned to the state of affairs in Flanders. This expedition and this war proved one of the most fruitless efforts of the king’s life. A regard to his own pledges and obligations carried him there, at a time when it would have been far more desirable for him to march into Scotland; a disregard of their pledges and obligations on the part of his allies, made all his efforts and sacrifices nugatory. “All Edward’s measures in Flanders,” says Rapin, “were broken by the treachery of his allies, who forsook him after taking his money.” “His embarkation,” says Hume, “had been so long retarded by the various obstructions thrown in his way, that he lost the proper season for action.” He was merely able to stop Philip’s career; and Philip, finding his resources exhausted, and dreading a reverse, began to wish for an accommodation, which Edward, disgusted with his faithless allies, and anxious about the state of Scotland, was quite willing to agree to. A reference of all matters of dispute to the arbitration of the pope was proposed and accepted, and on the 23rd of November a truce for five years was signed, immediately after which Edward directed writs to be issued to the earls and barons of England, calling upon them to meet him at York, on the 14th of the following January.

Footnotes:

[76] Mackintosh, Hume, etc.

[77] Pearson’s History, vol. ii., p. 310.

[78] Among the writs of that time we find many addressed to the
sheriffs of counties, wherein the king “requests you to advise and
take order how you can assist him with one thousand quarters of
wheat, for which he will pay you punctually at Midsummer next.”

[79] Hemingford says, “Exiratus Rex prorupit in hæc verba, ut
dicitur, ‘Per deum, comes, aut ibis aut pendebis.’ Et ille, ‘Per
idem juramentum, O Rex, nec ibo nec pendebo.’”—See Appendix.

[80] Matthew of Westminster.

[81] Pearson’s History of England, vol. ii., p. 399.

IX.

WILLIAM WALAYS, A.D. 1297, 1298.

We come now to a passage in this history which is beset with more than ordinary difficulties. Romance has entered the field, and has nearly thrust truth out of it. “Wallace,”[82] as he is called in modern times, has been elevated to a similar place in Scottish story that Arthur holds in English, and Patrick or Brian Boru in that of Ireland; but with this difference, that while nobody in England takes “the romaunt of Arthur” to be a history,—in Scotland “the romaunt of Wallace” has by degrees occupied and taken possession of the place which history ought to hold.

Nor has this strange error been confined to Scotland.

Into England, by the industry of Scottish historians, it has been largely introduced, so that now the descendants of those who regarded Walays as a mere marauder and cut‐throat, have been taught to look upon him as “the renowned Sir William Wallace, his country’s deliverer.”

To find our way through or over such obstacles as these can be no easy task. Our first duty is to seek for credible testimony; but in the present case this is all on one side. “It is a necessary condition,” says Sir G. C. Lewis, “for the credibility of a witness, that he be a contemporary.”[83] Now, of writers who lived in Edward’s day, we have in England some ten or twelve,[84] but in Scotland we search for a single contemporary in vain. Not a line of history written in Scotland in Edward’s day can be found.

Yet, if we draw our idea of William Wallace from the English chroniclers of that time, what other belief can we discover but that which was universal in England from the thirteenth century down to the eighteenth? The Scottish leader was, with all those generations of Englishmen, a rebel leader, a marauder, a ruthless homicide, a miscreant. He had ravaged the north of England with relentless fury, “sparing neither sex nor age.” How, then, could Englishmen regard him, but as their descendants regarded Nana Sahib of Cawnpore in more recent days? But the horror excited by the name of Wallace was naturally the more intense of the two, because the Scottish leader had committed a thousand times more cruelties than ever were perpetrated by the Indian insurgent.

Whence came, then, the opposite view;—that which in Scotland is both deeply seated and quite universal? It was mainly engendered by a wandering minstrel, a village Homer, who lived two centuries after Edward’s day, and who, taking Wallace for his Achilles, composed a whole Iliad of rhymes, by which he gained a subsistence during his life, and which, surviving after his death, gradually convinced the people of Scotland that their forefathers had known “one of the greatest of heroes.” Major, the Scotch historian, who wrote in the first half of the sixteenth century, thus speaks: “Henry, who was blind from his birth, in the time of my infancy composed the whole ‘Book of William Wallace,’ containing the things which were commonly related of him. By the recitation of these he obtained food and raiment. For my own part, I give only partial credit to writings of this description.”