The Governor at length said: ‘If you would communicate with the King you must do so by letter.’
‘So you admit that he is here.’
‘I say that if you wrote a letter and it was delivered to the one for whom it is intended then you would know for yourself whether the prisoner here is the King.’
‘So you admit to having a prisoner.’
The Governor was silent.
A warning flashed into the Earl’s mind. They were making such a mystery of this. Why? Of course they were making a mystery. The matter was mysterious. But he was not putting anything into writing until he was certain.
He said as much.
‘My lord, I dare not take you to the King. He has refused to see anyone. He thinks all who come are his enemies, sent from the Earl of March.’
‘I know,’ said the Friar, ‘that the King will see no one but would it be possible for my lord Earl to see the King ... perhaps from some point where he himself would not be observed.’
‘I will consider whether this could be possible,’ said the Governor.
Edmund spent a restless night in the castle. It was all too involved and mysterious for comfort and he did not greatly care for the Governor.
At dusk the next day the Friar said that if he looked through a peep-hole above the room where the King was lodged he would see him for himself.
‘Why should I not visit him?’
‘My lord, the King has moments of desolation when he is not quite lucid. This matter of a rescue will have to be broken to him gently, by letter preferably. Come with us and assure yourself that it is your brother who is lodged in this castle.’
It was very strange, but the Earl told himself that if he could see Edward he would believe the story. He was conducted up a spiral staircase and taken to a room. Here a hole was revealed in the wall. It was small, just enough for an eye to peer through, and looking in the Earl saw a room with bed, table and a chair. On the chair sat a man. Although he was seated it was easy to see that he was exceptionally tall and his greying hair had been very fair. The resemblance was strong, but the light was feeble. However the Earl of Kent was very ready to be deceived.
He left Corfe Castle the next day to consider what he had seen, and thoughtfully returned to Kensington. He wondered whether he should tell his brother. Could he really have been the King, that man who was seated in the chair at the table in the room at Corfe Castle? But why should anyone want to deceive him?
For a few days he pondered and then he received another visit from the Friar.
‘I have had a message from the Pope, my lord Earl,’ he said. ‘He has commanded me to tell you that he wishes the King to be rescued from Corfe Castle.’
‘Then the Pope believes this story.’
‘It is no story, my lord. Your brother lies in Corfe Castle, a prisoner of Mortimer. There are plans to remove him altogether. This is what the Pope fears will happen and he has commanded me to put this matter to you and to beg you not to delay.’
The Earl was thoughtful.
‘First,’ he said, ‘I must write a letter to my brother.’
‘That would be an excellent plan,’ replied the Friar. ‘If you will tell him that you are his friend as well as his brother and will rouse others to his aid. If you will tell him that you are determined to expose the wickedness of Roger de Mortimer you will put new hope into the King, my lord. Aye, and Heaven will praise you, as the Pope implies, for what you have done.’
Edmund glowed with enthusiasm.
He would write immediately and the Friar should take the letter to Corfe. Could he be sure of getting it into the hands of the King? Indeed he could. The Governor would not be averse to passing on a letter.
Kent wrote at great length and indiscretion, explaining that he was at his brother’s service and would raise an army to fight for him and against his enemies. He could, if he wished, be set back on the throne for it seemed as though he had given it up under duress.
The Friar took the letter and rode back to his lodging where he discarded his friar’s habit. He would be well rewarded he knew. All had worked out according to their plans. He had the letter which was clear treason against the King if anything ever was. Who would have thought a man in the Earl of Kent’s position would be so easily misled,by a man who happened to bear a faint resemblance to the late King. The Friar set out for Winchester where a Parliament was sitting and Mortimer received him immediately.
He laughed as he read the letter.
‘Well done, erstwhile Friar. Silly Kent has written enough to put a rope round his neck. He has been well deceived.’
‘It was no hard matter, my lord, to deceive him. I never knew a man more eager to fall into a trap.’
‘It will be the last time he shall fall,’ said Mortimer fiercely. ‘I have made up my mind to that. You have done well and shall not be forgotten.’
Now to it, he thought. I will summon the Earl of Kent to Winchester.
The King and Queen were at Woodstock. They were as devoted as ever and they were especially happy at this time because the Queen was pregnant.
Edward was determined that the utmost care should be taken of her and he said he could trust her to no other than himself and in spite of pressing state matters he would not leave her.
Shortly before, she had been crowned. He had been so proud of her. He often thought how fortunate he had been. How many kings married women with whom they were already in love? How many secured such a woman as Philippa? She was loving, tender and good. His people appreciated her worth as he did. And when she gave him a son ... She had admonished him a little, fearful of course that the child might not be a boy. But although he wanted a boy he would not care so very much if it proved to be a daughter. They were young in love and would have a host of children—many boys among them.
The coronation had not been as splendid as he would have liked. The exchequer was very low and he was beginning to feel very uneasy. His mother and Mortimer were taking too much of money and treasure which was needed for other things. He must examine these matters. He was concerned about his mother, though, and hated to upset her and she could be so easily upset nowadays. Any word of criticism however faint directed at Mortimer and she was ready to fly into one of those moods when she talked incessantly and sometimes not very coherently, and that worried him.
He was at Woodstock to forget such matters. He and Philippa could walk together and he could cosset her and they could talk of the baby which was due in June.
Messengers came from Winchester. There were alarming reports of treason, and his uncle the Earl of Kent was involved.
Oh not seriously, he thought. Uncle Edmund could never be really serious. He thought he was, of course, but he could be so enthusiastic about some plan and a few words could alter the course of his excitement completely. He did not take Uncle Edmund entirely seriously.
He would not go to Winchester. He was not going to leave Philippa. She was very young but then she was strong and so far she had had an easy pregnancy. He wanted to stay here and talk of the coming child for nothing could seem of any importance beside that.
The days were growing warm. Philippa was growing larger. Each day brought the arrival of that blessed infant nearer. Who could think about what was happening at Winchester?
The Earl of Kent was shown the letter he had written to the dead King. Was it in his handwriting? It was, he answered. There was no point in denying it. He had believed the dead King was alive and indeed had been shown a man in Corfe Castle who greatly resembled him.
‘Did he tell you he was the dead King?’ he was asked. ‘I had no speech with him,’ replied the Earl.