After 700 years it is frustratingly impossible to come to any firm conclusions about Edward II’s murder or survival, at least based on the evidence that we currently have. Occam’s or Ockham’s Razor – and William Ockham was a Franciscan friar from Surrey who was almost exactly Edward II’s own age, so it is especially appropriate – states that ‘among competing hypotheses, the one with the fewest assumptions should be selected’. The theory that Edward II did actually survive after 1327 explains all the evidence we have that he did, whereas the notion that he died in 1327 requires a number of explanations for the later evidence that he was not dead: that the Earl of Kent and his many followers were stupid and gullible; that the Earl of Kent and Archbishop of York were deceived into believing that Edward was still alive so that they would commit treason, as an excuse to arrest them; that Lord Berkeley was incapable of expressing himself properly to Parliament; that two popes and a papal notary were taken in by an impostor; that Manuele Fieschi was a liar and a blackmailer; and so on.1
The belief of all fourteenth-century chroniclers and the flow of information from the English government that Edward II died at Berkeley Castle in September 1327 were based on seemingly the most reliable source there could be: his own son, the king. And yet, Edward III immediately began disseminating news of his father’s death in September 1327 before he could possibly have verified it, and his source, a letter from Lord Berkeley brought to him by Sir Thomas Gurney, was flawed in some way. Three years later, Lord Berkeley told Parliament a strange story that he had not previously known of the king’s death or at least did not know how it had happened in his own castle, and Edward III pursued Thomas Gurney relentlessly in southern Europe in the early 1330s and ordered his man Giles of Spain to take down Gurney’s confession and have it notarised and brought to him personally. This strongly implies that Edward III was desperate to hear what Gurney had to say about his father’s fate in September 1327, who knew about it, and what role they played in it.2 He had previously condemned Gurney and William Ockley to death for murdering Edward II without hearing them speak at Parliament. Who told him that these two men were responsible for the former king’s murder is unclear: presumably Roger Mortimer and Thomas Berkeley, perhaps even Queen Isabella, though this information was never made public.
When so many influential people in 1330 strongly believed that Edward II was alive, and acted on this belief, then clearly it is entirely plausible that he was indeed alive. It is too easy and even arrogant to dismiss many dozens or hundreds of men as deceived or misled without evidence that they were anything of the sort, to assume that we 700 years later know better than they did. The reader may remain unconvinced that Edward II lived past 1327 and find the story of a former King of England living as a hermit in Italy too implausible, but there is enough evidence to at least consider the possibility that he was not murdered in 1327. Plenty of influential people at the time believed this. Even if we dismiss the Earl of Kent as stupid and gullible, and there is no reason to think he was, the Archbishop of York was not, the bishop and mayor of London were not, the Bishop of Vercelli and papal notary was not, Ingelram Berenger and William la Zouche were not. Taking all the pieces of evidence for the survival individually, one could make a case against them. Manuele Fieschi and perhaps even Pope John XXII were taken in by a clever impostor, or Fieschi was trying to blackmail Edward III in some way. The Earl of Kent, the Archbishop of York and their adherents were indulging in wishful thinking, or trying to incite a rebellion against Queen Isabella and Roger Mortimer’s regime, or were fooled into thinking that Edward II was still alive as an excuse to arrest them for treason. The Archbishop of York sent a letter to the mayor of London on false information, which Donald, Earl of Mar and many others also believed. Lord Berkeley’s words to the Parliament of November 1330 that he had not previously heard of Edward II’s death were misinterpreted or wrongly recorded. William the Welshman was deluded or insane, or was William Ockley or some other person connected to Edward II. But when we put all the pieces together, we can build a strong case that perhaps Edward II did not die at Berkeley Castle in September 1327 after all. The wide range of chronicle stories about Edward II’s death or murder, grief, red-hot poker, illness, suffocation and all the rest, show that none of them had the real story, and were going on assumption and rumours they had heard. None of the people involved talked about it publicly, so rumour was all they had.
It must be noted that no document so far even hints at Edward II being taken back to Italy after he had supposedly met his son in Germany in September 1338, or that he died in Italy. It is even possible that, having outlived his usefulness, he was killed once his keepers realised that his son Edward III would not allow himself to be manipulated by means of the continued existence of his father, and his body dumped somewhere. The meeting of Edward III and William le Galeys in Koblenz in early September 1338, if this really was the former King of England, is the last mention we have of Edward II. We also do not and cannot know for certain if Edward was deliberately kept alive in and after 1327 and taken to a secret location (presumably Corfe Castle) while a fake funeral was held for him in Gloucester; if this did happen, we do not know who was in on the fact that he was still alive; whether his wife Isabella knew or truly at this time thought he was dead; when his son Edward III found out; if other close members of his family such as his sisters Mary and Margaret and niece Eleanor Despenser ever did. We also cannot know who really was buried in Gloucester if Edward II was not. The Fieschi Letter says that it was the porter killed by Edward when escaping from Berkeley Castle, and this may be true, or it may simply be Edward II’s later assumption or Manuele Fieschi’s invention. There are so many questions which, frustratingly, we may never be able to answer.
Without a doubt, many people will read the present book and still come to the conclusion that Edward II died at Berkeley Castle in September 1327. This is absolutely fine; readers must make up their own minds on this topic, and there is ample evidence both for Edward’s death in 1327 and his survival afterwards. What is not fine, and in fact is absurd, is for the three editors of an academic book published a few years ago to state that: ‘It may be too much to hope that his [Seymour Phillips’] paper will put an end to speculation that the king survived his supposed murder in September 1327.’3 It certainly is ‘too much to hope’ for. History, like any other academic discipline, thrives on debate, honest inquiry, engaging with the evidence and reaching new conclusions when the evidence requires it. It is not solely the preserve of scholars in ivory towers wishing to maintain a certain narrative upon which they have based much of their careers, and it is not anyone’s business to try to close down debate and speculation. The debate about Edward II’s murder or survival will continue.