The Perfect King (28 page)

This poem gives us a vivid glimpse of how Edward was imagined by his enemies at this time, and in particular how he was seen in relation to the war. He was the sole protagonist. His warmongering could not even be excused by his leadership of a parliament which had resolved to take up arms. He
personally
decided to begin the conflict, and his cause was a selfish one: a frustrated claim to the throne of France, and the shame of accusations of cowardice. In the story of the Vow of the Heron the catalyst who turned this frustration into violence - Robert d'Artois - was a sinner, a heretic and a traitor. Furthermore, Edward's decision was portrayed as being taken in the midst of a lascivious court in which nobles paraded their mistresses openly, flaunting their immoral behaviour before God. It all added up to a
melange
of vice, dishonour and unworthiness.

Considering the need for pro-French propaganda, especially in the small countries whose rulers wanted to persuade their people to support them in their alliances
with
King Philip, there is nothing particularly surprising in the story itself. What is surprising is tha
t modern popular understandings
of the causes of the war are largely based on it. In Queen Philippa's entry in the old
Dictionary
of
National
Biography,
this vow was regarded as a real event, a chivalric ceremony in which Edward swore to make war. In twentieth-century classrooms, Edward was almost always portrayed as the guilty party on account of his dynastic ambitions and his claim to the kingdom of France (his 'absurd' claim, as the
Encyclopaedia
Britannica
called
it)
However, as we have already seen, Edward was very cautious about the developing diplomatic situation, and had proved scrupulous in his consultation with parliament and his council. As scholars have universally acknowledged for the last fifty years, his war-related claim that Philip had illegally seized the throne of France cannot be treated separately from his claim to Aquitaine, which
Philip now openly and directl
y threatened.
When he finally did claim the French throne, it was principally a technical shift to permit the Flemish legally to renounce allegiance to Philip. In this way we may see that Edward was not proceeding without parliamentary support. His decision to fight, while not encouraged by parliament, was nevertheless ratified by it. And hostilities broke out long before Edward finally and irrevocably claimed the tide King of France. The dynastic claim was a symptom of the conflict, not a root cause.

In considering the events of
1337-40,
Edward's dynastic ambitions are less important than Philip's dynastic vulnerability. When Edward's claim to the French throne had first been put forward, during his minority, it had proved impossible to sustain it with any force. In addition, regardless of any legal claim or dynastic right, the French nobles preferred an exclusively French king to a part English, part French one, for the simple reason it was better to have a head of state who would have to consider their interests before those of the English. Thus Philip had become firmly established as the French king soon after his accession. Edward was in no position to risk a continental war in the early
1330s,
and was well-advised by his parliament in
1331
to seek a peaceful solution to his disputes with Philip. This he did. But the fundamental problem had never gone away. In reality, it was in neither England's nor France's interests for Edward to be king of both nations; and Edward would have acknowledged that his dynastic claim to the throne of France would have been difficult (if not impossible) to assert and maintain without conflict. In later years he was happy to agree to peace treaties in which his claim was laid aside. But the very fact he had a claim could be used to his advantage if Philip tried to push his overlordship of the duchy of Aquitaine - and thus his overlordship of Edward himself - too far.

In order to counter this dynastic vulnerability, Philip had adopted a strategy of sustained diplomatic antagonism towards Edward. First he had claimed in
1331
that the form of homage which Edward had paid him was insufficient. Next he had refused to restore the parts of the Agenais seized from the English by his father. Then he had insisted on supporting the Scottish claim of David II, and had used Edward's championing of Balliol to accuse him of threatening the crusade. After that he had threatened to invade Scotland, and had embarked on a policy of naval piracy, killing English sailors, looting English ships and burning English ports. Now he claimed Edward should not shelter d'Artois. As each dispute had been smoothed over by the patient negotiators, Philip had found another. While Philip may have benefited domestically in die short-term from such a policy, he was like a boy showing off to his peers by prodding the English lion's rump with a sharp stick. That the lion did not immediately turn and bite - as Edward would have preferred - is probably due to three factors. These were the repeated advice of the English parliament and councils of magnates that the French question should be setded by negotiation, not war; Edward's higher priority on asserting his Scottish rights; and a series of papal initiatives, including the crusade.

Philip's demand that Edward should surrender d'Artois was thus just one more in a long string of grievances. If there had been no d'Artois, war would have been no less likely, as some other problem would have been put forward by Philip as a justification for taking action against the English king in Gascony. As it was, d'Artois was the best excuse Philip could find. On
30
November
1336,
the pope wrote to Edward stating that Philip would not receive his peace envoys as Edward was protecting d'Artois.
4
At the sa
me time th
e pope asked Edward to send him (the pope) envoys equipped to agree a peace treaty. In the pope's view, all was not lost. Even if Philip would not negotiate, the pope would.

Edward would have heard the pope's view of the d'Artois dispute in December
1336.
Such a contrived reason to break off diplomatic relations would certainly have infuriated him, and may well have convinced him
that
Philip was bent on war. This in turn may have triggered Edward's next series of innovations. Out of the despondency of his brother's death, his infant son's death, and losses in
Scotland
, he saw a chance to recapture that enthusiasm and chivalric brilliance of the early
1330s.
Philip's antagonism had the result of challenging Edward to concentrate his attention and the bulk of his r
esources on France. It was exactly what Edward needed to enth
use himself, his court and parliament - and thus the country as a whole - into purposeful optimism for the future.

The seeds of the new initiative probably were sown in the days around his brother's funeral. On
23
January
1337,
almost immediately after his return from Canterbury, Edward held a council in the Tower of London.

Gascony and Edward's claim to the French throne were again discussed, but, as before, his counsellors urged him to seek peace, not war. English interests, it was said, would be best served by reinforcing the English fleet and building a league of allies against Philip, as Edward's grandfather, Edward I, had done in
1297.
Edward listened, and took these debates into parliament with him in early March
1337.

The first day of the parliament,
3
March, was momentous. Edward raised his six-year-old son, Edward, to be the duke of Cornwall. Never before in England had there been a duke; the tide was connected solely with continental possessions. But in the wake of his brother's death Edward had the idea of endowing his eldest son with the richest available earldom (Cornwall) and giving him the pre-eminent title among the nobles. In this he was emulating his grandfather's creation of his son and heir (Edward II) as prince of Wales. Edward could not pass on that tide in good faith, knowing his father - who had retained the tide Prince of Wales - was still alive. So he did the next best thing: a royal dukedom. All the chroniclers were impressed, and almost all recorded the creation.

The parliament of March
1337
was radical. Innovation loomed large. The ban on all exports of unworked wool - proposed in late
1336
— was reinforced with parliamentary support. From now on weavers would be regularly invited to ply their craft in England and to teach the English how to make cloth. Grants would be offered to entice them over from the Low Countries. In this way the cloth trade could be developed and enhanced. And to maximise the potential and increasing demand, the wearing of imported cloth was banned, except of course for the king and his nobles. No one should wear imported furs unless they had an income of one hundred pounds per year. This 'sumptuary law', together with a similar statute of the previous year, was die first of its kind in England. Although the high income required for the wearing of furs might be seen as exclusive, the criterion is a money-related one, not restricted to the nobility. This permitted rich merchants and their families to continue to wear furs, and thus set men like the London merchants William de la Pole and John Pulteney - whose friendship and finances were beginning to make a real impression on the king - up alongside the barons. In so doing Edward was extending his principle of inviting leading townsmen to tournaments, and enforcing the requirement for all men with an income from land over forty pounds per year to be knights. A sensibility to the advantages of broadening the upper and middle tiers of the class
structure was clearly at work.

The major event of the parliament of March
1337
was not a law, nor anything to do with the wool trade, nor the creation of a duke, but the creation of six earls. This delighted chroniclers: so many in one triumphal creation! It was a clever move. In the past kings had been dogged by accusations of favouritism, but in raising six deserving men to such high status, no one could look at Edward favouring this or that one over the others. Each chronicler dutifully wrote down who received which earldom, d
ocumenting their names reverentl
y, as if a new tier of chivalry had just been invented, which is, of course, what Edward had in mind. First and foremost was his closest friend, the thirty-four-year-old Sir William Montagu, captain of the plot to capture Mortimer and a war leader at Edward's right hand ever since. He became earl of Salisbury. Lancaster's eldest son, the twenty-six-year-old Henry of Grosmont, was created earl of Derby. The twenty-five-year-old William Bohun - another of those who had assisted at Mortimer's arrest, a frequent participant
in the Scottish wars, and recentl
y married to the widow of Mortimer's heir - was created earl of Northampton. Hugh Audley, son of Edward's childhood justiciar, was created earl of Gloucester. Despite being Mortimer's nephew, Hugh had joined Lancaster's attempt to overthrow Mortimer in
1328,
and had been unswervingly loyal to Edward ever since, providing him with troops for his Scottish wars and serving in person on the last two campaigns. William Clinton, another of the knights who had seized Mortimer in Nottingham
Castle
, was made earl of Huntingdon. Now thirty-two years old, he also had continued an active military life, being warden of the Cinque Ports and admiral of the western fleet during the French raids. Finally, Rob
ert Ufford, who at the age of th
irty-eight was the oldest of the new earls, was created earl of Suffolk. He too had assisted in arresting Mortimer. In surveying the credentials of those now raised to earldoms, it is striking how the removal of the dictator Mortimer was a common factor. It shows Edward continued to acknowledge and value the help he had received in throwing off the dictator's oppression.

The end of the parliament was one huge feast. More than
£439
- the equivalent of yearly wages for about one hundred and forty skilled labourers - was spent on this one meal. Edward held a great court for the men, while Philippa held a lesser court for the ladies. Twenty men were specially knighted to mark the occasion. Lord Berkeley received his official acquittal of any wrongdoing against Edward II. Two days later, on
18
March, grants were dispensed to the new earls and some of the knights, to keep them in the style befitting new men of rank. With Edward dining in state we might fairly see him presiding over a court full of confidence, looking to the future. Yet in reality it was a court beset by problems. As Edward feasted and his musicians played, and the new earls shared his dais, the Scots were planning an attack on the great stronghold of Stirling, and the French king was making plans to confiscate not just a few more English
castle
s but the entire duchy of Aquitaine. If anything kept the smiles on the faces of the courtly retinue as they feasted that day in March
1337,
it was that in Edward they had a man who, when faced with personal disaster, did not disappear in his own hunched conscience, or disdainfully shun his responsibilities as his father had done. This king faced up to his problems: he even found strength in them. He might have been aggressive, ruthless and dominating but he could turn his own mood and the mood of the court - and eventually that of the whole kingdom - simply through the force of his will.