As winter was drawing in shocking news reached England.
In a love affair with the exiled Marcher warlord Roger Mortimer, Queen Isabella had refused to return to England with the kingdom’s prince and heir and was in open defiance of the King, her husband.
Worse was to come. Many of those who detested the King, and his powerful allies the Despensers, crossed over to Paris and joined them there.
It plunged the country into despair for there was every possibility that this was the opening move in a civil war. Memories of the terrible suffering of two centuries before when Stephen and Matilda had contended for the crown returned to prey on their fears.
Trade and commerce were thrown into turmoil – would the King invade France to seize back his queen and prince? Or was it to be Mortimer and his paramour landing in England to rally the country to his side to rid the King of his false counsellors?
Coventry seethed with rumours as the crisis deepened. Trade credit evaporated as risks increased.
If the King sailed with his army to France, England would be laid open to a counter landing by Mortimer. The northern lords could rise under his banner and a full-scale war would then lay waste to middle England as it had done before.
And if Mortimer landed with an army, every earl and baron in the land must choose sides, and who knew how the Earl of Warwick might act?
‘Do we flee to Ghent?’ Jared asked Rosamunde with concern. ‘In war there’s no place for gentlefolk.’
‘I think not. Should there be battles and the city is plundered it’s my bounden duty to do what I can to safeguard the House of Barnwell.’
‘As I must too, sweetling.’ In a twist of dark irony it crossed his mind that it would have been a good plan to use gunnes to fortify the house – if he had any.
Matters came to a head. Smuggling secret letters of readiness into the country, Mortimer betrothed the young prince and heir to Philippa of Hainault. His price for the alliance – a fleet of over a hundred ships. It was the invasion of England.
Their worst fears had come true: it was now in the open. This was a struggle to the finish between the forces of the usurper Mortimer and King Edward of England.
The invasion fleet put Mortimer ashore in Suffolk.
This was now the point of no return and in the clamping bitterness of winter it would be seen whether he would be welcomed, or fall before the avenging might of the King in his realm.
Heralds and messengers thundered along the flat roads and rumours flew.
It was becoming clear that the end could not be long coming – the King had summoned the barons for the biggest army ever seen, some fifty thousand men to set against the almost insulting fifteen hundred of Mortimer’s band.
Sighs of relief went up, but they were premature.
In a fierce show of defiance, the King’s own uncle, the Earl of Norfolk, sent a thousand men to Mortimer’s aid. It was a signal: waiting lords and knights thronged eastwards to join, swelling the array hourly. More and more flocked in until a mighty concourse was on the march, the Queen at its head with a future king at her side.
King Edward was now on the defensive.
Where were his men?
They were holding back, shying from their duty to defend country and King. Many did turn out but crossed to join the great host advancing on London.
In panic the King fled the capital as it rose up around him in chaos and riot.
Heading for the west to escape the pursuing host he entered the soft Cotswold countryside. It was there that he heard the worst. Henry of Lancaster, his cousin and paramount lord, had declared for Mortimer.
Abandoning the few men left to him, Edward made for the wilds of the Welsh hills, but in revenge for his brother’s execution Henry turned on him and closing in on the fleeing monarch, captured him, together with the hated Despenser.
In triumph the King of England was taken to the great fastness of Kenilworth Castle where he was imprisoned.
It was over – but the kingdom held its breath. Who now ruled – King Edward or Lord Mortimer?
The canny Mortimer had an answer. Since the King had fled beyond England without appointing a regent he would rectify the situation. He and Isabella would stand by the young Prince Edward, the King’s fourteen-year-old son and heir, the new regent.
No one doubted for a moment who would be his protectors and advisers.
While the country seethed in excitement and fear at the fast-moving events, Isabella and Mortimer were on shaky ground. They had the reins of power but the King was back in England and a regent was no longer required.
The answer was obvious – but Isabella forbade any talk of murder.
Mortimer found another way. The King would give up the throne in favour of his son.
The people acclaimed it, and the barons took it as a guarantee that Mortimer was not reaching for the crown himself. Parliament assembled and shouted their approval.
The young Prince Edward was brought out to meet his people and formally offered his place on the throne of the King of England. But he refused it.
In the fevered times that followed turbulent crowds seethed through the streets of London and disorder spread through the countryside.
Again Mortimer found an answer. Going to the King he presented him with a stark choice. Either he resigned the crown to his son or that prince would be disinherited and the throne would pass to another.
In a climactic scene in Kenilworth Castle, the weeping King Edward the Second of England signed instruments of abdication.
Edward the son could now no longer refuse or the realm would be left without rule, and the boy prince took the crown as King Edward III.
Throughout the land there was relief and celebrations – the kingdom had a king and the whole business was over with but little bloodshed.
Naturally, there were executions and banishment but both the common people and the nobility craved order and peace and life resumed its old ways.
And while the past king lived out his days in a dank castle cell, and the new monarch began his rule shut off from the world under Mortimer’s protection, Jared Barnwell of Coventry studied the ways of merchantry and the fine-cloth trade.
For Rosamunde’s sake he applied himself, earning his place in the Guildhall, standing by her as the threads of business were picked up again and revenue began to flow.
As winter receded, the French peace allowed the continental trade to recover. Jared learnt more of foreign commerce, the practices of the great Florentine banking houses and the delicacies of form and courtesy in a merchant’s world.
But he grieved for his lost gunnes, now a memory only.
Out of love for Rosamunde he had hidden his feelings, his only concession to what had been: the working of a miniature gunne, just six inches long but perfect in every way. Polished bronze, it was mounted on a handsome rosewood block and in full working order could even be made to fire a ‘pea’.
Now it was on display in Barnwell Hall as a curio.