The key-note struck by Bracton seems never to have ceased vibrating in the minds of Edward and his chancellor. “Let the king render to the law, what the law hath invested in him with regard to others, dominion and power.” “The king hath a superior—namely, God—and also the law, by which he was made a king.” Duty, the pressure of moral obligation, is as constantly present in Edward’s mind as, six centuries after, it was in the mind of Arthur Wellesley. We have seen it recognized at Marlborough, in 1267, in his father’s day, when the Statute so named is thus prefaced—“Our lord the king, providing for the better estate of this realm, and for the more speedy administration of justice, as belongeth to the office of a king,” etc. We find it again in the opening of the Westminster Statute—“Because our lord the king hath great desire to redress the state of the realm, in such things as require amendment.” And a little later, in the “Statutes of Gloucester,” we hear the same strain—“The king, providing for the amendment of his realm, and for the fuller administration of justice, as the good of the kingly office requireth,” etc.

Thus, from time to time, we hear from Edward’s lips the frank confession, “I hold an office, and that office has its duties; let me look to it that those duties are rightly discharged.” He proceeds, after the great “Parliament of Westminster, 1275,” to enter in earnest on the important work of regulation, organization, and the removal of abuses and disorders. Just as the owner of a large estate, on coming into full possession after a long minority, sets to work, if he rightly comprehends his position, first to examine and then to regulate every portion of his inheritance, so does Edward give the earlier years of his reign to a similar though larger work. He shows his consciousness that the weakness of a long period of misrule had filled the land with disorders, and that “the kingly office requireth” that he should, in a variety of particulars, introduce new laws and a purer administration. He had seen and regretted, in his father’s reign, the fearful weakening of the royal authority which accompanied a system of pecuniary improvidence. At once, therefore, without waiting for the assembling of his parliament, he issued a royal commission to inquire into, and ascertain, the royalties and revenues appertaining to the crown, the state and particulars of the crown-lands, with the names of the tenants and the terms of their tenure.21 He rightly judged that on this point—the regulation of the royal revenues—largely depended the just fulfilment of “the office of a king.” He soon made himself acquainted with the extent and particulars of his possessions; and so well were these administered, throughout his whole reign, that his applications to parliament were few, and always based upon public grounds,—the acknowledged requirements of the state. Yet he was never wanting in a truly royal munificence; exhibiting liberality on all fitting occasions, and a never-ceasing kindness to the poor.

In the course of these investigations, touching the royalties and revenues belonging to the crown, it would naturally happen that legal questions and doubts would arise, as to the respective boundaries of possessions belonging to the crown, and those belonging to the great barons who had received grants from former sovereigns. The king soon came to the conclusion that, rightly to define these limits, it would be necessary to refer, in all cases, to the original grants. He issued, therefore, after the lapse of two or three years, which the first investigation must have required, another order or commission, that all parties who were in possession of any estates of doubtful title, should lay their grants or charters before the judges, that their validity might be ascertained by competent authority.

In taking this step, Edward was actuated by those motives of frankness and rectitude which were never absent from his mind. He evidently thought that the same sort of investigation to which he had submitted the rights of the crown might fairly be applied to the grants under it; but he soon found that he was likely to involve himself in a serious peril. During such disorderly times as those of Stephen and John, many of the great barons had seized upon estates, the owners of which had perished in the field or on the scaffold. Those great proprietors would very naturally shrink from any sort of legal examination or inquiry. They would have been prompt to combine in a league of resistance to any such investigation. One of the greatest of them, the earl of Surrey, John de Warenne, who had fought at Edward’s side at Lewes, and had entertained him in 1274 at Reigate, on his landing,—took an early and a very peremptory position of resistance. He doubtless was one of the first to whom the royal commissioners addressed their inquiries. His answer was that of a rough, bold, and impetuous soldier. He unsheathed an ancient sword, exclaiming, “It was by this that my forefathers won these lands, and it is by this that I mean to maintain my title.”

Edward was wise, as well as frank and noble. A little reflection would enable him to perceive, that if he pressed his demand upon this irascible and powerful soldier-baron, he might soon discover that there were hundreds of other land-owners who felt a sympathy with the earl, and that thus he might be engaged in a strife of a very serious character. His object and his motives had been pure, but prudence evidently dictated a moderate and cautious course. The resistance of this great earl materially affected the whole inquiry. The intended investigation was, for a time at least, suspended. On this, as well as in two or three other passages of his life, Edward showed that even when his first determination had been just and reasonable, he could exercise a thoughtful self-control—that he knew how to waive his rights, when prudence so counselled, as well as how to assert them on all fitting occasions.22

One of the chief matters, however, on which Edward had evidently set his heart, was that of bringing the relations of England and Wales into a better condition. It was on the Welsh border that the first years of his public life had been spent. As early as in his eighteenth year, his father had given him the charge of “the Welsh Marches;” and he had had the grief of witnessing, again and again, inroads of the Welsh into Cheshire and Herefordshire, in which maraudings whole districts were desolated, and the poor English farmers of those counties reduced to beggary. Matthew Paris says: “The Welsh carried fire and slaughter into the border counties. They gave themselves up to incendiarism and pillage, till they had reduced the whole border to an uninhabitable desert.” Edward had seen these things with pain and with resentment, and he had evidently resolved to bring the relations of the two countries into a more satisfactory state.

It has suited the purposes of those who wished to represent Edward as an ambitious and designing man, to assume, throughout, that Edward’s object, from the beginning, was the conquest of Wales. But the facts of the case, if patiently examined, tell a very different tale. They rather justify our old chronicler Fabyan’s description of him. Writing more than three hundred years ago, and conveying down to us the old English belief and tradition, he says: “This prince was slow to all manner of strife, discreet and wise, and true of his worde.” And, assuredly, the plain facts of this Welsh controversy justify entirely Fabyan’s words.

That Llewellyn owed homage to Edward as his superior lord—just as Edward, for his French possessions, owed homage to the king of France—has never been questioned. Llewellyn himself never denied the obligation. Yet, at Edward’s coronation, while the king of Scotland was present and paid his homage, there was no attendance, either personally or by deputy, of the prince of Snowdon.

The Welsh prince pleaded, in excuse, that there was so much enmity between him and some of the lords of the Marches, that he could not safely visit London. Edward met these excuses with forbearance, and even offered to take a journey to Shrewsbury to receive the homage there. But Llewellyn still raised new difficulties. Had Edward been the ambitious and designing man that he is often represented, he might now, without further parley, have peremptorily summoned Llewellyn, and on his non-appearance, might have declared him contumacious, and his fief a forfeiture. Such had been the course taken by Philip of France, when in 1202 he summoned John, pronounced him contumacious, and at once took possession of Normandy.

Edward’s course was equally clear. There was nothing to prevent the immediate annexation of Wales, except the single let or hindrance of the English king’s conscientiousness. But Edward would take no hasty or violent step. He reserved the question for his parliament, and at one of the sessions of 1275 it was decided that the Welsh prince should be summoned a third time, and that now the king should even go to Chester to meet him; that being the nearest point to Llewellyn’s home.

“Slow to all manner of strife” was written on all these proceedings. Edward knew well that there were precedents in abundance which would have justified him in declaring the Welsh prince a rebel, and in entering into possession of his fief. He was also, we cannot doubt, fully alive to the great advantage which would result from the union of the two countries.

He earnestly desired to terminate the wretched border-warfare which had so long continued. But a leading principle of his whole life was, a constant respect for the rights of others. Again and again shall we meet with this rule of conduct in his after-life. In the present case he remitted to Llewellyn not only the summons to appear at Chester, which the parliament had directed to be sent, but also a safe-conduct for his coming, abiding, and return—a guarantee which the Welshman might know would be strictly fulfilled. But Llewellyn now raised his demands. He would give no attendance until the king should send to him, as hostages, his own son, the chancellor of England, and the earl of Gloucester!—a demand which the old chronicler justly terms “an insolent one,” and which must have been intended to terminate the negociation.

About this time Eleanor de Montfort, Llewellyn’s intended bride, was met with at sea, and brought into Bristol by an English vessel. As the prince was in contumacy, Edward ordered that the young Eleanor should be conveyed to Windsor, there to remain in the queen’s charge until the dispute between England and Wales had been terminated. But the year 1276 had now opened, and parliaments were held, in the course of that year, at Westminster and at Winchester. A fifth and a sixth summons had been remitted to the prince of Snowdon. Some of the bishops now offered to mediate, and they were allowed to send the archdeacon of Canterbury into Wales, personally to confer with Llewellyn. But the Welsh prince merely advanced new claims; requiring now guarantees from two prelates, and from four of the greatest earls in the realm.

The English parliament finally, on the 12th of November, 1276, declared Llewellyn contumacious, and recommended that the military tenants of the crown should be summoned in the spring for the invasion of Wales. Meanwhile the archbishop made one more attempt at mediation, writing to the Welsh prince an earnest but fruitless letter. Another parliament was held, in which “a twelfth” was granted to the king for the expenses of the war. In the spring the royal forces began to assemble, and Roger Mortimer was appointed to the command. The chief men of South Wales sent in their submission, and were “received to the king’s grace.” David and Roderick, brothers to Llewellyn, joined the king, and were honourably received by him. Meanwhile, Llewellyn believed that his mountain-heights were inaccessible, and that he could never be brought to submission. Edward, however, was a different sort of leader from his father, who in 1257 had led an expedition into Wales, and had miserably failed. With the skill and foresight of a general, Edward had prepared a naval force, which sailed from the Cinque Ports, made a descent upon Anglesea, and took possession of that island. Llewellyn was now enclosed, and it was easy to prevent all supplies from reaching him. He remained obstinate for several weeks; but as the winter drew on he saw the probability of ultimate starvation, and asked for terms of surrender.

Again we see that Edward was not that ruthless and ambitious man which he is often represented. The Welsh prince had been formally declared contumacious, and the forfeiture of his fief was the ordinary penalty. There was no way of escape for him; Edward had only to maintain his blockade, and the surrender and banishment of the Welsh prince, and the entire conquest of the principality, were inevitable and close at hand.

But Edward’s guiding principle in all such cases was that which we have already cited from his own lips, “May show mercy!—why, I will do that for a dog, if he seeks my grace!” Llewellyn had no sooner asked for mercy than it was granted to him. His offence had been great; to make war upon a superior lord was treason; and the king showed his sense of the offence by imposing hard conditions of peace.

Llewellyn must pay a fine of 50,000 marks for the heavy expenses he had caused the king; must cede to England the four “cantreds” lying between Chester and the Conway; must hold Anglesea of the king at an annual rent of 2000 marks; must do homage to the king, and deliver ten hostages for his fidelity. This was a just sentence, and Edward merely vindicated the majesty of the law by pronouncing it; but the natural generosity of his mind very quickly cancelled the hardest of the conditions. The very next day the fine was remitted. Soon after the rent to be paid for Anglesea was cancelled, and the ten hostages returned. And now that the Welsh prince had submitted, all was grace and favour on Edward’s part. The young Eleanor de Montfort, who had been detained in the queen’s household, was sent for, and in Worcester Cathedral, in the presence of the king and queen, Llewellyn received his bride. In another respect, the king conferred on the Welsh prince a very substantial benefit. David, Llewellyn’s brother, had often been at variance with him. On one occasion the two brothers met on the battle-field, and David was taken prisoner. To remove David from Wales was to confer on Llewellyn a favour of a very important kind. The king took this hostile brother with him to England, gave him £1000 a year in land (equal to £15,000 a year at the present time), and married him to an earl’s daughter. “Thus,” says Lingard, “Edward flattered himself that what he had begun by force he had completed by kindness. To Llewellyn he had behaved rather with the affection of a friend than the severity of an enemy, and his letters to that prince breathe a spirit of moderation which does honour to his heart. To David he had been a bounteous protector. He had granted him the honour of knighthood, extensive estates in both countries, and the hand of the daughter of the earl of Derby.”

Surely the prejudice must be of an extraordinary kind which can see in this first war in Wales, and in the manner in which it was terminated, any signs of an ambitious or overreaching disposition in the conqueror. He had voluntarily given away an opportunity of making Wales his own; he had preferred to endeavour to make the two Welsh princes his friends, by heaping kindnesses and benefits upon them.

The marriage of Llewellyn and Eleanor took place on the 3rd of October, 1278, and the bride and bridegroom spent the following Christmas with the king and queen at Westminster. As this year was the seventh of Edward’s reign, and affords an opportunity of a pause in the story, we will briefly notice, before we close the chapter, a few events which occurred at various intervals between the coronation in 1275 and the Welsh prince’s marriage in 1278.

In the autumn of 1276, to encourage his nobility and gentry in the practices and usages of chivalry, the king held in Cheapside a grand tournament, when such an assemblage of young nobles and gallant knights was seen as England had never before witnessed.

In Advent, 1278, the king and queen were present at the consecration of the new cathedral of Norwich. This ancient church had been destroyed by fire in a riot towards the close of king Henry’s reign, and nearly seven years had been occupied in its restoration. A great gathering of prelates, earls, and barons attended Edward and Eleanor on occasion of this ceremony. A few weeks later, on Easter Sunday, the king and queen visited the renowned abbey of Glastonbury, where they remained several days. On the Wednesday of Easter week there was a solemn opening, in the king’s presence, of the tomb which was deemed to be that of king Arthur. Edward deposited in the tomb, which was immediately reclosed, a record of his visit and inspection.

In the autumn, this revival of the memories and traditions of the famous British king bore fruit in an attempt, on the part of Roger Mortimer, to imitate the far-famed “Round Table.” In Kenilworth castle, the king and queen were entertained for ten successive days, while a hundred knights and their ladies graced the tournament in the morning and the feast in the afternoon. The loyal host was greeted, before Edward had departed, with the title of “earl of March.”

The remaining history of these three or four years is of a less pleasing character. It is evident, from the records of the first seven years of this reign, that foremost among all the disorders and grievances of the time, stood the extortions of the Jews. Again and again do we meet with inquiries and regulations intended to check these evil practices. Florence of Worcester tells us, under the date of 1275, that “the Jews throughout the realm were forbidden to lend money on usury; but were in future to gain their living by commerce, under the same rules and laws as Christian merchants. They were also ordered to pay to the king an annual capitation-tax of threepence for each person.”

But we see various tokens of the uneasiness caused by the extortions of these people. In October, 1274, only two months after his coronation, we find Edward issuing an order concerning the Jews; in December, 1276, another; in May, 1277, a third; and in July, 1278, a fourth. All these mandates, we may be assured, were framed by his great chancellor—a man of a just and upright purpose. But it appears as if these restraints placed upon the open practice of usury, drove the Jews to secret devices of a still more nefarious kind. In the seventh year of Edward’s reign the deteriorated state of the coinage had grown to be an intolerable evil. “The nation,” says Carte, “had suffered for some time from the clipping of the coin; which had raised the price of all the necessaries of life, and had almost ruined its foreign commerce. The king saw the necessity of a great reform in this direction, and his measures were such as we might have expected from the decision which marked his character. To have merely ordered a new coinage, while these nefarious practices went on, would have been useless. The first thing to be done was to strike a blow at those who were depraving the coin—a blow which should inspire terror and crush the evil at once and for ever. On one evening in November, 1276, the houses of all the Jewish money-changers were visited and their private chambers searched. On a second evening all the goldsmiths received a similar visitation. Large sums of clipped money were found, with the tools and implements used in these evil works.” The criminals thus detected and apprehended were very numerous. A Special Commission was issued for the trial of these malefactors; and its sittings, commencing after the Christmas holidays, were continued until Lent, and were resumed after Easter. Between two and three hundred were convicted and sent to execution, most of whom were Jews.23 A terrible example was necessary to eradicate so serious an evil. When this severe check had been given to this sort of crime, immediate measures were taken for the issue of a new coinage. Exchanges were opened in various places, at which the old coin was taken in at its value, and new money issued. “Edward,” says Rapin, “is supposed to be the first king that perfectly fixed the standard of our coin.”

Each of the years which had passed since Edward’s landing at Dover, had witnessed the assembling of a parliament. The year 1275 saw the first of these gatherings which assumed that name, and which placed upon the statute-book of England the “Statute of Westminster.” In October of the same year a second meeting of the same kind took place, at which the Welsh controversy was discussed. In 1276 a parliament assembled in Westminster, another at Winchester, and, towards the end of the year, a third was held in Westminster. In the sessions held this year, 1276, three new statutes were passed—that of Bigamy, that on the Office of Coroner, and one concerning Justices. In the next year, 1277, parliament was again convened, to grant the king an aid. Throughout the Welsh controversy, as well as on all the other “hard questions” of his reign, we see the king constantly resorting to the advice of his parliament. The maxim which he avowed in a public document several years after this, seems to have governed his thoughts and actions from the very beginning of his reign—that “what concerns all, should be by all approved.”

In the year 1278, the war with Wales having terminated, the king visited Worcester to witness the celebration of the nuptials of Llewellyn and young Eleanor de Montfort. He then held a parliament in the neighbouring city of Gloucester, at which the important “Statutes of Gloucester” were placed upon our statute-book. One or two of our historians have described this reign, as if the ratification of the Great Charter and of the Charter of the Forests had been wrung from the king with great difficulty, and in the hour of his necessity. But for such a representation there is no foundation whatever. In 1276, being in a state of peace and of great popular esteem, the king issued, entirely of his own accord, a proclamation for the observance of the Charter of Liberties, and the Charter of the Forests.

At the same time we see in his whole conduct abundant signs of a feeling that these documents belonged to the past; and that his office was to open to the realm and people of England views of constitutional liberty, of which no mere observance of Magna Charta, in its largest interpretation, could ever have given them any idea.