The Greatest Traitor: The Life of Sir Roger Mortimer, 1st Earl of March (50 page)

Why should I grieve at my declining fall?

Farewell, fair Queen, weep not for Mortimer

That scorns the world, and as a traveller
,

Goes to discover countries as yet unknown

Christopher Marlowe,
Edward II
(1594)

AT THE BEGINNING
of this book, the question was asked: did Roger Mortimer deserve to go down in history as a crooked, selfish, adulterous traitor? The answer to this has to be that this description is inappropriate for it is lacking in depth. As has been shown, the scope of his activities towards the end of his life, and, in particular, his actions against the English royal family, amounted to treason on a scale never known in Britain before or since. No man in English history could be so deserving of the title of this book. He did not just depose King Edward II; he judicially murdered the king’s brother, executed the king’s friends, went to war with the king’s cousin, seduced the king’s wife (and possibly had a child by her), and forced the king’s nephew into a marriage with his daughter. In addition he took the king himself illegally into custody, feigned his death, and kept him alive secretly like a piece of political veal for three years. He controlled the king’s heir, reduced his patrimony and ruled in the heir’s name. He undermined the monarchy, and insulted the occupants of the throne and their families. In short, he stole the royal power, just as Edward III claimed at his trial.

This extremely negative historical judgement begs the question: are there any mitigating circumstances which might excuse his behaviour? This is an interesting question, for it demands that we make a more considered moral judgement on the man, independent of the judgement of his contemporaries. For example, if he committed acts of treason for the greater good of the country, are we right to uphold the accusations levelled
by contemporaries who were personally threatened by him, such as Henry of Lancaster and Edward III? From this moral point of view, a very different picture of Roger emerges, in which we may sympathise with most of the pivotal decisions he made in his career. In his early years he was a loyal friend to the king and a capable public servant with an almost unblemished record. His rebellion in 1321 was morally justified, as Hugh Despenser was a menace to the nation, and Roger was not alone in wishing the man stopped. Edward II himself forced Roger to take arms by so closely supporting the Despensers. While Roger badly miscalculated in 1321 by supporting Badlesmere, he was at least doing so against the unwarranted oppression of Edward II. After his imprisonment and a second death sentence, Roger can hardly be blamed for saving his life by escaping from the Tower. His plot against Edward II in France, and the close association with Isabella, although certainly treasonable, were merely extensions of the conflict which Edward II had provoked by attacking Badlesmere in 1321. Although he orchestrated the king’s deposition and enforced abdication, it is clear that the move had many supporters and was to the benefit of the country. One can find a mitigating factor for his restraint during the Weardale campaign, for, although he was very probably to blame for the fiasco, his wider policy presented an opportunity of a permanent peace with the Scots. Even his decision to feign the ex-king’s death and keep him secretly in custody at Corfe may be excused, for this was at least more merciful than murdering the man. It goes without saying that there was a personal element to his actions – and it is clear that he kept Edward alive not for humanitarian reasons but to secure his own position – but ambition is not a crime in itself. While he may be justly accused of dictatorship from 1328, his administration was more acceptable than the last years of the reign of Edward II, and thus his appropriation of power may, in part at least, be excused. It corrected some of the wrongs of the old regime, it did not lead to huge self-aggrandisement on Roger’s part (although it did allow Isabella to acquire and spend a fortune), and it did not result in the unmitigated destruction of his personal enemies. It would be fair to say that he governed England as best he could, but was increasingly compromised by his most controversial policies, especially Scottish independence, his failure to restrain Isabella’s acquisitiveness, and keeping the ex-king secretly alive.

In this light one has to say that Roger’s greatest crime was that he was not a member of the royal family. If it had been possible for him to inherit the throne, he would undoubtedly have made a much better king than Edward II. He was courageous, successful, clever, far-sighted and (on the whole) fair. He was able to forgive most men who turned against him, and
sensible to his own limitations and those of his people, as shown by his reluctance to carry on the war in Scotland or to begin a war in France. But his lack of royal blood meant that, as a leader, he was exceptionally vulnerable and constantly under pressure. His unpopular policies, however far-sighted they may have been, led to repeated calls for his removal from court, a fact which makes him more akin to a modern government minister than a medieval king. His familiarity with members of the royal family made him act as if he were himself royal, and this encouraged the envy of others, which added to the pressure. Finally, his policies allowed his enemies to undermine his position to such a great extent that he was isolated, able only to wield power destructively as he struggled to maintain his and Isabella’s position at the heart of government.

The one aspect of Roger’s later life which has appealed to modern readers is his relationship with Isabella. While there is little doubt that this was morally wrong at the time, such all-consuming passions among historical characters today have a more sympathetic audience. There is no reason to doubt that Roger did love Isabella deeply, as shown by his blurted out threat to kill her if she returned to her husband in 1325. Similarly, the likelihood that she had a child by him and remained at his side for the rest of his life suggests she was, after her initial hesitancy, equally devoted to him. That she chose to be buried in her wedding dress does not necessarily indicate she turned from Roger’s memory, for he may well have been in Edward’s company at the royal wedding in Boulogne, and thus would first have seen her in this dress.
¹
If one were to ask whether Isabella, not Joan, was the love of his life, one would have to say that she probably was. However, the true extent of their devotion to one another continues to be something of an enigma, as does the fate of any offspring.

Finally, we may turn to the question of Roger’s integrity. As indicated above, there is a constant sense of natural justice which runs throughout his career. He was prepared to act against the interests of his fellow peers – and even against his king – on moral principles, and was not prepared to let those principles be hijacked by self-interested semi-royal grandees like Thomas of Lancaster and his brother, Henry of Lancaster. One could argue that this sense of natural justice continued with him right up until 1329, when he dealt very fairly with those who had been prepared to take up arms under Henry of Lancaster. But after this, in the summer of 1329, when repeated criticisms made him frightened of losing power and when Edward III started to stand up to him more openly, that sense of justice was obscured. In 1330 he was a frightening example of a man corrupted by both power and fear, and therein lies the tragedy of his last years, for he was not by nature tyrannical. He was a believer in chivalric virtue, the
ideals of knighthood and duty to the Crown. He believed in Arthurian romance and the noble deeds of his ancestors. But so desperate was he at the end of his life that he betrayed all these things: king, country, chivalry, vows of knighthood and justice. That he understood this in the last moments of his life is evidenced by the single vestige of his gallows confession which has come down to us: that the Earl of Kent was the victim of his conspiracy. One can say little more damning about a historical character than that he knowingly acted in his own self-interest against what he believed was virtuous, just and right.

Wigmore Castle – Roger’s seat – engraved by Samuel and Nathaniel Buck in 1731, ninety years after its partial demolition.

Wigmore Castle as it might have looked in the mid-fourteenth century, after the completion of Roger’s rebuilding programme. Reconstruction drawing by Brian Byron.

Catherine Mortimer, one of Roger’s eight daughters. She married Thomas de Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick, with whom she was buried in St Mary’s Warwick in 1369.

Roller’s seal (
left
), together with that of his eldest son, Edmund, both bearing the family coat of arms. These are attached to Edmund’s grant settling certain estates on his three-year-old wife on the occasion of their wedding in 1316.