They approached Edward.
‘What would you have of me?’ he demanded.
‘We but obey orders, my lord.’
‘And they are?’
‘Your friends out there are demanding that we bring you out to them.’
‘And you, knowing yourself beaten, are meeting their wishes?’
‘We are not beaten, my lord. But we are giving you to them. We shall bind you hand and foot, as we shall tell them, and we shall shoot you to them from the mangonel.’
Edward cried out in horror at the thought of being shot through this terrifying engine which was used for throwing down stones on the enemy. It would be certain death.
‘You do not mean this.’
‘It will be done, my lord, if your friends do not go away.’
‘Let me speak to them.’
The men looked at each other and one of them nodded and retired.
When he returned he said: ‘Orders are that your hands should be bound behind your back, my lord. Then we will take you to the parapet. From there you will speak to your friends. If you tell them to go away, your life will be saved.’
‘I will do it,’ he said, for indeed there was no alternative but terrible death. So they tied his hands and he stood on the parapet and told them that unless they wanted his death they must disperse and go away, for his captors meant that if he came to them it would be by way of the mangonel.
Sir Warren hastily retired; and when news of what had happened was sent to Eleanor she wept with anger.
Simon de Montfort came in all haste to Wallingford. The news of Basingbourne’s attempt had shocked him. It could so easily have succeeded. It had been a brilliant idea to threaten to shoot Edward out to them. However, an ill-defended castle was no place for such prisoners.
In the hall of the castle all the prisoners were brought to him.
‘My lords,’ he said, ‘I am grieved that you have been treated with less than respect. I assure you that it was no intention of mine.’
‘You do not make that intention very clear,’ retorted Edward.
‘I am sorry if you have not perceived it,’ replied Simon calmly. ‘It is true that your movements are restricted but I trust you lack no comfort here in the castle.’
‘You traitor,’ cried Edward. The others were silent. Simon shrugged his shoulders and turned to the King.
‘My lord, it was no wish of mine that this should have happened. The laws of the country must be justly administered. Our Parliament will do that and if we can come to some agreement …’
‘We shall make no agreements with you, my lord,’ said the King firmly.
‘Then I will continue with the matter of which I came to speak. You must prepare to leave Wallingford.’
‘Where is our next prison to be?’ asked Edward.
‘You are to go to Kenilworth.’
‘Kenilworth!’ cried Edward.
‘It is my own castle. Your aunt will receive you there. I think you will be happier with a member of your own family.’
The prisoners were silent. This was interesting. The King’s own sister was the châtelaine of Kenilworth. Surely she would be sympathetic to the members of her own family. But they had to remember that she was also Simon de Montfort’s wife.
They left that day for Kenilworth, where the King’s sister Eleanor de Montfort, Countess of Leicester, received them with affection.
‘At least,’ said Edward, ‘it will not seem as though we are prisoners here.’
‘Eleanor!’ Henry’s eyes filled with tears at the sight of his sister.
She embraced him and said, ‘Oh Henry, this is a sorry business. Richard, Edward, I would you had come here in different circumstances.’
‘Do not blame us for the circumstances,’ said Edward.
The King put up a hand to silence him. Simon de Montfort was Eleanor’s husband and they must not take it amiss because she was loyal to him.
They sat down in the great hall. They might have been paying a family visit, but of course they knew that the castle was surrounded by de Montfort’s guards and that they were in a stronger prison than they had been in at Wallingford.
The long days slowly passed. Eleanor did all she could to make them comfortable. She would not allow them to criticise Simon, and she made it clear that although she wished to treat her family as her family while they were under her roof she clearly believed in the righteousness of her husband’s actions.
‘Eleanor was always a woman of strong beliefs,’ said Henry to the King of the Romans. ‘And once she had made up her mind on a course of action it would take strong men to move her … and then she would outwit them.’ He could not help but admire her. Her character was not unlike that of his own Eleanor. His sister had determined to marry Simon de Montfort when he had seemed to be nothing more than an adventurer; but she had sensed greatness in him, for Henry had to admit that a man who could take a country from its rightful King and set himself up as ruler, however misguided he might be, had an unusual power.
Now, in a dignified manner, which Henry could not but admire, she played the role of hostess to her imprisoned relations while never for a moment did she forget her loyalty to her husband.
Christmas came and Eleanor endeavoured to make the celebrations as gay as was possible in the circumstances, but always the guards remained stationed at certain points of the castle and encamped outside the walls.
Edward was frustrated.
There seemed no hope of escape. Meanwhile Simon de Montfort with his new Parliament was controlling the country.
There was trouble for Simon from an unexpected direction. One of his firmest supporters had been Gilbert de Clare, Earl of Gloucester – the grandson of that Isabella who had been the first wife of Richard, King of the Romans. Gilbert, in his early twenties – called the Red because of the colour of his hair – was, on account of his inheritance on the death of his father but a few years before, one of the most influential barons in the country. He had formed a friendship with Simon, whom he greatly admired, and because of his wealth and energy he had become second-in-command of the baronial party. Gilbert had had the honour of taking the King’s sword from him when Henry was taken prisoner at Lewes. He had had a hand in drawing up the truce between the King and the barons which was known as the Mise of Lewes in which the Provisions of Oxford were confirmed. In this, there was a special clause exempting Simon de Montfort and Gloucester from any punishment for their conduct.
Gloucester was young and impressionable, and with him the friends of one day could become the despised enemy of the next. He was fickle, a fact of which Simon in the early days of their relationship, had not been aware.
Many of the royal supporters who had escaped after Lewes had taken refuge in that part of the country on the Welsh border known as the Marches of Wales. The lords who owned castles there were the Marcher Lords and they had always been a source of irritation to the English. It seemed to Simon that Gloucester, far from attempting to force the Marcher Lords to give up those whom they were sheltering, was protecting them.
This was disconcerting.
Gloucester began to bring charges against de Montfort. He declared that Simon had taken the larger share of the castles which had been confiscated after the royal defeat at Lewes, and discussing the matter with his wife Simon showed himself to be growing uneasy.
If the King ever regained his crown what would happen to Simon and their sons? Simon reminded her of the clause in the Mise of Lewes but Eleanor shook her head.
‘Do you think that would be considered? We should have to fly the country, I suppose. It would be necessary for us to get out in time. Vengeance would be terrible. Edward would show no mercy even if Henry did.’