by H A CULLEY
‘Try not to fall off again, brother,’ Simon yelled as his face grew serious again as they now approached the dense ranks of infantry.
The men-at-arms in the front rank held steady but the ill-trained town bands and the peasant militia took one look at the massed horsemen bearing down on them and broke and ran. The thin line of men-at-arms never had a chance and the two wedges swatted them aside without breaking stride. At that point James could have led his men onwards to Scotland and safety but that wasn’t the Black Douglas’ way.
He halted his men a hundred yards beyond the smashed line of infantry and reformed them. This time they formed up in line, four ranks deep, and charged back into battle. The men-at-arms knew that they couldn’t stop them and many didn’t try, just ran out of their way. The few who stood their ground died as the Scots charge swept onwards towards the disrupted lines of cavalry. This time the Scots hit the serjeants first. The eighty who had survived the first charge were heavily outnumbered by the six hundred or so Scots who had made it through on the first pass. Leaving the hobelars and mounted borderers to deal with them, James and his knights and his own serjeants left them to it and continued the charge into the broken line of less than thirty knights now left. Momentum was with the Scots and they drove the remaining knights from the field, killing several more, including the Governor of Carlisle.
Simon and Edgar had ridden in the second rank immediately behind the knights they served. However, Simon’s horse had collided with that of an English serjeant and had been forced to halt. His horse was winded and he was vulnerable as he sat on it, especially as he was carrying a banner in his right hand and so couldn’t defend himself, except with the shield on his left arm.
The big serjeant whose horse had stopped his progress brought his horseman’s axe down on Simon’s head. If the blow had landed, it would have split Simon’s helmet and his skull in two. However, he just managed to raise his shield in time. The heavy blow nearly broke his arm and it became too numb to use. Furthermore, the axe blade had embedded itself in the shield, making it too heavy to hold onto. Simon dropped it and tried to draw his dagger left handed. By this time his opponent had drawn his sword and he thrust the point towards Simon.
It was a poorly executed thrust and the blade was deflected so that it scrapped along the side of Simon’s chain mail hauberk. Had he been wearing a gambeson, he would have been dead or, at best, badly wounded. The hauberk had been part of the loot from Corbridge and James had given it to his squire.
The enraged serjeant decided to use the cutting edge of his sword instead and raised it over his head in order to deliver a crushing blow to Simon’s shoulder. Even if the chain mail held, his shoulder would have been smashed. The blow never landed. Suddenly the man’s horse reared up in pain and bolted, taking its rider with it. Simon shook in relief at his narrow escape and then saw Edgar looking at him with another wide grin splitting his face.
‘What did you do?’
‘Stuck my dagger up his horse’s backside.’
Simon started to laugh and found he couldn’t stop. Reaction to his adrenalin rush had set in. Edgar looked around and saw that it was all over. Those who hadn’t fled were busy surrendering. Edgar got off his horse and ran over towards Simon, who stuck the banner in the ground and dismounted just as his brother reached him. The two embraced and hugged each other so tightly that they risked breaking at least a couple of ribs.
As they drew apart Simon put his hands on Edgar’s shoulders.
‘Thank you for saving my life.’
‘Seemed only right after you saved mine.’ Edgar grinned again.
‘How did you know I was in trouble?’
‘That banner you are so proud of carrying was waving around wildly so I came racing back. Luckily I didn’t meet any of the enemy before I reached you.’
Simon was quiet for a moment.
‘Friends again?’ he asked quietly.
‘Even better, I think I have my brother back. By Jesus and all the saints I have been an idiot.’
‘We both have. Let’s make sure that nothing comes between us again but, if it does, we must sit down and talk about it instead of letting things get out of hand.’
‘Agreed. Now let’s see if we can find me a nice hauberk like the one you are wearing. Any more fights like that one and I might just need it.’
~#~
James Douglas arrived at Melrose to find the king there, having just arrived from Ireland where he had been visiting Edward Bruce.
‘How are things with Edward?’
‘You mean the High King of Ireland, don’t you?’
The two men grinned at each other. They both knew how inordinately proud Edward was of his new title.
‘Well, Carrickfergus Castle has surrendered at long last and Edward is firmly in control of Ulster. However, his Irish allies are driving him to distraction. The petty kings and chieftains keep falling out or someone at home takes advantage of their absence to depose them and seize the throne for themselves. Consequently, no sooner does he capture an area but he loses it again.’
He sighed and signalled for a page to bring him and James a flagon of wine each.
‘But, the good news is that Edward of England is having to divert more and more resources to Ireland to prop up his government there.’
‘At least that stops him from considering another invasion up here.’
‘Well, that was the idea in the first place. How did the raid go?’
‘Better than I could have hoped, especially as the country has suffered badly from famine this winter.’
‘If this bloody rain doesn’t stop, the harvest this year will be ruined too.’
‘It already is. We are going to have to use some of the money I managed to wring out of Durham and elsewhere to import supplies from the continent.’
‘Grain you mean? You seem to have brought back enough livestock for now.’
Douglas shrugged. ‘Some animals are badly undernourished so we’ll have to fatten them up before we can eat them.’ He paused before continuing. ‘Do you think that these raids will force King Edward to negotiate a peace with us?’
‘That was my hope but I hear that, far from discussing terms, he has appealed to the Pope, who is sending two papal legates here to enforce a peace treaty on us. A treaty, I might add, which doesn’t recognise me as King of Scots but only as Governor of Scotland, and which declares Edward to be my superior.’
‘How did you learn of this?’
‘Luckily our Scots churchmen are loyal and one has a good friend in the Vatican.’
‘What will you do?’
‘Other than return to the ranks of the excommunicated when I refuse, you mean? Oh, I think that their eminences might have to encounter some outlaws on their way here and disappear for a while whilst I work out what to do. Is that something that you could take care of for me, Jamie?’
‘Without making it obvious that you are behind it, you mean? Well, I might well be able to but I don’t suppose that I will be able to keep them hidden for long.’
Robert thought for a minute or two.
‘Perhaps just long enough for you to get to me whatever documents they are carrying so I can peruse them and then return them to you before you release them. That way I will be forewarned about their contents.’
~#~
The two cardinals were accompanied by the newly appointed Bishop of Durham, Louis de Beaumont, the previous incumbent having died shortly after the raid by James Douglas the previous year. Their escort was commanded by Sir Henry de Beaumont, the new Bishop’s brother. He was young and inexperienced and didn’t bother either to send scouts forward or to insist that his men travelled fully armed and in armour. The cardinals travelled in some style, accompanied by over twenty clergy of various types, including a French bishop and an archdeacon. They themselves were dressed in rich red velvet vestments, trimmed in ermine and sported several jewelled rings.
As they drew near Durham they relaxed even more a
nd were therefore taken completely by surprise when they were ambushed by Gilbert Middleton, a renegade knight who led a band of robbers and outlaws. Amongst Middleton’s men, disguised as members of his band, lurked James Douglas; his brother, Malcolm Douglas; William Keith and their three squires. Both Simon and Edgar had been given crossbows and they used these to cover the escort of a dozen serjeants at the rear of the cavalcade.
Suddenly one of the serjeants raised his crossbow and levelled it at Sir Gilbert as the apparent leader of the robbers. Without thinking, Edgar raised his own crossbow and, in one smooth movement, squeezed the trigger immediately he had lined it up. His quarrel sped towards the serjeant’s right eye, killing the man instantly as the quarrel smashed into his brain a fraction of a second after exploding his eye like a squashed plum. As he toppled sideways from his horse, his crossbow jerked upwards at the moment of release and the quarrel sped harmlessly past Middleton’s head.
The death of the serjeant persuaded the rest of the escort not to offer resistance and they dismounted and threw down their weapons when ordered to do so. James Douglas noticed the soft leather document pouches slung over the shoulders of two of the clergy and motioned for Simon to ride forward and take them. One of the priests tried to hang onto his pouch, so Simon hit him hard in the face with the pommel of his dagger. The latter clutched at his broken and bloody nose and gave up his grip on the pouch’s strap. Simon was wearing a hood pulled low over his forehead but, nevertheless, he worried that the man had seen his face. When the delegation eventually arrived it would be prudent to keep out of their way. He realised that Edgar’s hood had fallen off his head when he brought his crossbow up into the aim, so he too would have to be discreet to save giving away the fact that Lord Douglas was behind the ambush.
Light rain had started to fall and water droplets splashed down onto Sir Henry de Beaumont, the clergy and the escort as they resentfully stripped down to their braies and under-tunics. The miserable, wet group were then allowed to depart on foot for Durham, leaving the two cardinals and the new Bishop of Durham as prisoners of Sir Gilbert Middleton. He blindfolded them and led them away to Mitford Castle, near Morpeth in Northumberland, where they were incarcerated in a tower room.
King Robert got his scrivener to cut open the seals on the letters and other documents with a hot knife so that they could be sealed again. The interference with the seals would be obvious on close examination but, hopefully, the two papal legates would think that it was Middleton who had read them.
The first document was an innocuous general letter from the Pope urging all those involved in the dispute between England and Scotland to reach a fair and lasting peace. ‘A load of soft soap’ was James Douglas’ verdict on the letter. The second document was addressed to ‘Robert Bruce, formerly Earl of Carrick, now Acting Governor of the Province of Scotland’. Robert grew puce with rage at being addressed as such but, overcoming his wrath, he bade the scrivener read it. This was a letter stating that a truce between the realm of England and its province of Scotland had been declared by the Pope and he threatened to sentence anyone who broke it to excommunication.
Bruce pondered the implications. Obviously the Pope was siding with King Edward and effectively declaring Scotland to be part of the latter’s realm. The only thing he could do was to refuse to accept the letter.
The third document was the Pope’s written authority to the two papal legates to excommunicate in the Pope’s name, anyone who broke the truce. The second pouch contained the detailed arrangements for the truce. The preamble stated that Scotland was in unlawful rebellion against their liege lord, Edward of Caernarvon. It went on to include a clause whereby Berwick upon Tweed was to remain a part of England. As this had been Scotland’s premier port and commercial centre, it was an unacceptable clause. There was much else in the document that was intolerable but at least these clauses were limited in duration to the two years proposed for the truce.
Thoughtfully Robert ordered the documents resealed and asked James Douglas to restore them to the two cardinals. James chose William Keith for the task and he, Edgar and an escort of six serjeants set off for Mitford the following morning.
It was another gloomy day, though it had not yet started to rain. Mist hung around close to the ground as the party crossed the Tweed south of Jedburgh and made their way along paths through the Cheviot Hills intending to hit the road to Durham well south of the border. They were travelling in plain brown and black gambesons with nothing to identify them as Scots, though they were obviously soldiers.
They were travelling along the Ingram Valley to join the main road when Edgar suddenly realised that they would meet the road just north of Powburn, where he was bound to be recognised. He rode forward and shared his concern with William Keith. The knight pondered the problem, wondering whether Edgar could just hide his identity by his hood but decided it as too big a risk.
His solution was to tie Edgar’s body over his horse’s saddle as if he was dead. Once well clear of the village, he was released and, ruefully rubbing his chafed wrists where they had been tied to his boots under the belly of his horse, Edgar muttered that it must be damned uncomfortable for any corpse to be transported like that for any distance. At first there was an uncomprehending silence, then Sir William burst out laughing and his men joined in; all except one: a large dependable man but one who was slow on the uptake. He still hadn’t understood the joke by the time that they reached Long Framlington, just seven miles from their destination.
The rain which had been threatening all morning had started ten minutes earlier and it was now pouring down. As a result, Sir William and his men were not as alert as they should have been. As they rode into the centre of the village they ran into Henry Percy, Baron of Alnwick, and his escort, which consisted of several knights and twenty serjeants.
~#~
Robert Bruce lay in bed with Elizabeth in the house he had commandeered in Jedburgh. His mind had been fully occupied by the problem of the two papal legates and their unwelcome missives so he had been distracted to pay attention when his wife was talking to him.
‘Robert, you are not listening to a word I’m saying, are you?’ she asked with some asperity. ‘You amaze me when it is a matter of such importance.’
‘Mmm? Sorry my love. I’m trying to decide on how best to deal with these two wretched cardinals. Perhaps I can get the King of France to intercede with the Pope for me?
‘I doubt that. Ever since Louis declared war on the Flemings, who are our most important trading partners, you have hardly been his closest friend.’
‘He is still my ally though; both of us want to keep England at bay. In his case he is still in dispute with Edward over the latter’s failure to pay him homage for Gascony.’
‘You forget that Edward is a spent force on the Continent; he has too many problems at home to get involved over a province he has never even visited.’
Suddenly their discussion was interrupted by a discreet cough from beyond the heavy curtains that shielded them from the drafts that swirled around the house and gave them privacy from the eyes of Robert’s squire, who slept on a pallet by the door. Robert pulled back the nearest curtain angrily.
‘Your purpose in life is to stay there, out of sight and out of mind, and keep quiet unless I need something or unless we are attacked. Is that clear?’
‘Sire, I merely wanted to inform you that I heard this evening that King Louis is dead, and that his infant son, John, who succeeded him, died five days later.’
‘Why haven’t I been told?’
Iain Ross was tempted to say that the servants always knew things in advance of the nobility but he wisely held his tongue.
‘I didn’t know until just now that you hadn’t been informed, Sire.’
‘So if Louis and his baby son are dead, who is now King of France? Do you know that as well?’
‘I believe that Philip the Tall, King of Navarre, was crowned at Reims three weeks ago Sire.’
‘France and Navarre united under one king, eh? That ponce Edward won’t like that. It makes his chances of hanging on to Gascony even more remote. Thank you Iain, I’ll need to send an embassy to the new king as soon as possible.’
He withdrew behind the curtains, then stuck his head out again.
‘But in future close your ears to everything you hear in this room. Understand?’
‘Yes, Sire; of course.’
Iain Ross turned over on his uncomfortable pallet and wondered how the devil the king thought that he could do that; he couldn’t even help knowing how many times his master made love to the queen each night. By the sounds coming from the four poster bed, King Robert was just about to start again. However, this time he was stopped.
‘Robert, you obviously haven’t heard a word I said to you earlier. I’m expecting another child.’
Two days later a messenger sent by the Count of Flanders handed him a letter saying that Philip of Navarre was now King of France and had approached the count offering to start peace negotiations with him.
~#~
Edgar recognised the Percy banner of a blue lion rampant on a yellow field and whispered to Sir William as the two parties approached each other. William immediately signalled for his men to move aside and give way to the other group. Edgar, being the only one there who didn’t have a broad Scots accent, called out ‘give way to the Lord Percy.’ His Northumbrian accent had become muted in recent years and was now an interesting mixture of the two dialects of English but he could still put on the broad brogue of his native Powburn when he wanted to.
Henry Percy nodded to William and Edgar as he passed, looking at them with idle curiosity. Then he suddenly hauled on his palfrey’s reins.
‘Whose men are you?’ His curiosity was no longer idle, it seemed. He expected William to answer but it was Edgar who replied.
‘We are mercenaries in the service of the Bishop of Durham, my lord. We have been employed to scour the countryside trying to discover the bishop’s whereabouts but, alas, without success.’
