by H A CULLEY
When Edward hadn’t heard anything more from Guy after a week he decided to ride over the Berwick again but both crossings over the Tweed were closed and there were armed men on the far bank wearing a device he didn’t recognise. When he got back to Otterburn he got his steward to look it up.
‘It’s the device of the earl of Fife.’ He was told. That gave Richard an uneasy feeling. What was Duncan of Fife doing so far south unless the Scots army was mustering? He sent messages to Alnwick, Wooler, Harbottle, Wark and Norham. He was, of course, aware of the rebellion by the king’s sons on the Continent and of the rising led by Hugh Bigod, earl of Norfolk, in England. He could only assume that the Scots were going to join in.
When the man he had sent to Norham Castle returned he asked to see Richard.
‘I couldn’t deliver my message, my lord’ he told him. ‘The castle was full of Scots and that red lion banner of King William was flying from the keep alongside the banner of the prince-bishop.’
‘Thank you. Keep that to yourself for now.’ Richard’s heart sank. It was obvious that Hugh de Puiset of Durham had thrown in his lot with the rebels. Not only would the Scots army be able to cross the Tweed unopposed, but it also meant that the border now effectively ran along the northern edge of the baronies of Wooler and the Cheviot.
Chapter Six – Prelude to Tragedy – 1174 AD
In the few months that he had served King William Jocelyn had come to admire him. The king was powerfully built, redheaded, and sported a moustache, whilst most Normans, who he emulated in most other respects, were clean shaven. As a man he had charisma and a strong personality. He was also a fair, if demanding, master. Jocelyn was proud to serve him and was now very happy with his lot. William sat in the great Hall of Berwick Castle with his council and senior nobles discussing the coming campaign. Jocelyn and his other squires served wine and so he was able to listen to the discussion. His one concern was for his family, and for Lord Richard de Cuille, as the plan took shape.
‘Sire, so many men have answered your call to arms that it will be impossible to control such a large army.’ Walter FitzAlan was showing his age. At sixty eight he had decided that he was too old for campaigning and his son, Alan FitzWalter, would accompany the king instead. ‘And they are becoming difficult to feed. You need to move them into England to forage soon.’
‘Why don’t we advance on a broad front,’ suggested Hervey de Keith, the marishal, who was in charge of the king’s personal bodyguard. ‘That way it will be easier to forage.’
‘We should be wary about dividing our forces in case we face a large English army.’ The earl of Fife didn’t think the marishal’s suggestion had much military merit.
‘I think that’s unlikely. The prince-bishop is on our side; although he doesn’t want to join us openly, he will remain neutral. The Northumberland barons will shut themselves up in their castles in the face of such a large host and further south the English are in disarray because of the rebellion of the earls of Norfolk and Leicester.’ William pursed his lips. ‘And it is a good opportunity to regain Cumbria as well as Northumberland.’ He looked at Robert de Brus. ‘You take your men of Annandale and those from Ayrshire and Glasgow together with de Soulis and his borderers and advance into Cumbria to take Carlisle.’
‘What about my men sire?’ Earl Duncan asked eagerly.
‘You and the highlanders can move down the coast. I’ll take my personal mesnie and the men of Lothian and advance down Glendale towards Alnwick so we will not be too dispersed in case we do face serious opposition.’ He then turned to Alan FitzWalter. ‘You will take the third column consisting of the Edinburgh trained bands and the men of Stirlingshire and Lanarkshire and strike down Redesdale to take the castles at Otterburn, Harbottle and Prudhoe.’
Two days later the great host started to cross the Tweed at Norham whilst Robert de Brus and his column headed down Liddesdale before advancing on Carlisle from the north. Before he left Jocelyn had managed to have a word with Guy and explained who he was. Guy had promised the young man that he would get word to Richard de Cuille and his wife that Jocelyn was safe and well, though he wasn’t sure how to do so, given the current situation.
~#~
Although Guy remained behind at Berwick he was asked to contribute five hundred men to the force raised in Lothian. Most of these came from his barony of Craigmor, the town of Berwick and from Berwickshire. The rest were Robert of Locksley’s men. King William was particularly pleased by their addition as the one thing that the Scots were woefully short of was archers. Just before they left the two men who had been sent on a mission by Guy re-appeared though they wouldn’t say where they had been. They did have a fat purse of coins each though.
They told Guy that Robert de Roos wouldn’t be troubling his cousin or Lady Claire again. He had been found in an alley behind a brothel in Helmsley with his throat cut. The two brothers had taken his purse to make it look as if robbery was the motive and, of course, to supplement the fee that Guy had promised them.
Robert de Muschamp watched the Scots swarm across the valley of the Till from the watchtower on the top of the motte in Wooler Castle. This was set on the lower slopes of the Cheviot Hills at the entrance to Glendale and to the east of Wooler itself. The town was protected by a palisade but he didn’t think it would keep the Scots out for long. Not that it mattered much. The townspeople had fled into the Cheviots with as much as they could carry with them. The castle was a different proposition though. Although the tower and buildings in the bailey were built of timber, the tall outer walls and the gatehouse were built of stone. As he watched several plumes of smoke started to rise from the woods in which his manor of Doddington sat. Other smoke was visible along the valley as Millfield and other villages were burnt to the ground.
Meanwhile Richard and Claire had moved to Harbottle and abandoned Otterburn, taking with them everything of value. No doubt the Scots would do a certain amount of damage to the empty castle but that could be repaired in due course. Harbottle was a strong castle and, with both garrisons to man its walls, Richard was confident of holding it against any number of Scots.
William de Vesci over to the east had moved his family to the virtually impregnable Bamburgh Castle sitting on its rock above the wild Northumbrian coast, but he decided to remain at Alnwick himself. The castle was now completely built of stone and he was confident that it would keep the Scots out. As sheriff he had sent word to Newcastle and prayed fervently that they would send reinforcements to help him. He wasn’t too hopeful, however. He suspected that the constable there would want as many men as possible to hold the town and the castle on the Tyne.
Duncan of Fife despaired of ever controlling the highlanders of whom he was theoretically in command. He had fifteen hundred of his own men but they were outnumbered five to one by the wild men from Perthshire and Moray, who seemed intent on committing every type of atrocity on their way south. Eventually his column reached Warkworth, a sizeable township on the River Coquet. The houses ran down the hill from the timber castle, which had been built by Prince Henry, King William’s father, to the ford across the river. The lord of Warkworth had decided that discretion was the better part of valour, leaving his castle empty and the town unprotected.
When the half-naked highlanders started to wade across the Coquet on Saturday the thirteenth of July 1174 the inhabitants fled into the Church of St. Lawrence for refuge. This building had been constructed of stone four decades previously and had windows set high in the walls to provide protection at times like this. The townspeople barred the doors once everyone was inside and fastened the shutters over the windows but this just incensed the highlanders, who brought up a felled tree to use as a battering ram. Meanwhile other clansmen rushed to the fields where they cut the unripe wheat. Once they had broken down the doors they set fire to the bundles of wheat and threw them into the packed church.
When the men, women and children inside were forced out by the smoke and flames they were cut down witho
ut mercy. Duncan and his men did their best to stop the slaughter, but after the highlanders started to kill the Fife men as well, he withdrew them to the castle and left the highlanders to it. The last image imprinted on his brain as he turned to ride uphill was of a small baby being tossed in the air to be impaled on a spear as the poor little mite came down again.
The next morning he surveyed the town, burnt to the ground for the most part, and sent for the clan chiefs. After a heated discussion they agreed to return home with their plunder. Duncan watched them go with some relief. After they had disappeared from sight, he sent his men to dig a mass grave and bury nearly four hundred corpses, some burnt to death but most just hacked apart.
~#~
Thirty miles upriver Richard looked down from the battlements of Harbottle Castle, perched high on its hill, at the besiegers camped either side of the River Coquet below him. He estimated their numbers at some ten thousand; countless times his garrison of three hundred. With those too old to fight, as well as women and children, there were over twelve hundred souls in the castle. Without proper siege equipment the Scots real hope of taking the place lay in starving him out. However, he had enough food for a month in the storerooms and he didn’t believe the Scots would stay anything like as long as that. The one thing he did crave though was news of what was happening elsewhere in Northumberland, particularly tidings of his mother’s family, the de Vescis, and of Claire’s family at Wooler.
Relationships with Claire had taken a turn for the worse when news of the death of Robert de Roos had reached Harbottle just before the Scots arrived. The pedlar who brought it, along with reports of the rebellion and what else was happening up and down the country, mentioned that de Roos had been found with his throat slit in an alleyway behind a brothel. The sheriff of Yorkshire had ascribed the killing to robbers but Claire’s eyes narrowed when she heard.
‘You had him killed, didn’t you?’ she accused Richard later when they were alone.
‘You heard what the pedlar said. It was robbery; presumably he put up a fight.’
‘Very convenient, Richard. I hated de Roos for abducting me, especially as that led to the loss of my poor brother, but to have him murdered is to make you worse than him.’
Richard wouldn’t lie to her, even though he had not personally commissioned the assassins, so he said nothing.
‘I see. Who did you get to do it? No, don’t say anything. I don’t want to know. I just want to try and forget that I am married to a murderer.’
From then on Claire maintained a frosty silence whenever they were forced into each other’s company, only speaking to Richard when she absolutely had to. Richard hated being estranged from Claire but the thought that he might now never have an heir bothered him more.
That night he sent out a small group, led by Elliot, to snatch one of the Scots for interrogation. Elliot and his three men crept down the slope from the postern gate into the woods at the base of the hill on which the castle stood. From there they circled around until they came to the edge of the trees fifty yards from where the enemy’s camp fires started. A sentry stood in the shadows underneath a large ash tree with an unstrung English longbow. At first Elliot wasn’t aware that he was there but then he moved slightly. Elliot was puzzled about the longbow. The Scots didn’t use the longbow as a weapon of war. They mainly relied on mercenaries for distance weapons, though they did have some who were armed with hunting bows. Elliot had also seen a number of Flemish crossbowmen in the camp of the besiegers. Occasionally they shot at the men on the castle battlements, but firing uphill their chances of hitting anyone were poor, especially as Richard’s own archers kept them at a safe distance.
Elliot silently worked his way behind the sentry and then, just as the man became aware of him, he jumped forward and clamped one hand round the sentry’s mouth and the other round his neck before pulling him violently backwards. As soon as they hit the ground two other men pinioned the sentry’s arms and legs and Elliot swiftly gagged him. After tying his hands together they hustled him through the trees and back up the hill into the castle.
When he was taken into the great hall for Richard to interrogate him Elliot could see that he wasn’t much more than a boy. The lad was trying to put a brave face on it but he had betrayed his fear by wetting his braies.
‘Start by asking him what his name is and who his lord is,’ Richard began. But before Elliot had done more than translate the first few words into Lowland Scots the lad spoke.
‘My name’s Wilfred and I haven’t got a clue what your Scot is saying.’ This was said in a broad midlands accent.
‘So you’re evidently not a Scot. Who’s your lord and what are you doing with the invaders?’
‘My leader is Robert of Locksley and we serve Lord Guy FitzRichard.’
‘You are one of Guy’s men? Is he here?’ Richard asked incredulously.
The youth shook his head. ‘Not here. Sir Robert used to be Lord Guy’s squire and so we came to serve him when we had to leave England. But Lord Guy stayed at Berwick.’
Richard realised where he had heard of Locksley before. ‘Robert of Locksley: isn’t he that outlaw who caused so many problems that King Henry put a price of two hundred marks on his head?’ Such an amount was a fortune to most men and represented about a year’s revenue even to a baron like Richard. ‘So he’s serving my cousin now is he? And how is he enjoying serving the Scots?’
The lad was somewhat naïve and answered honestly. ‘Not much. These Scots are barbaric. They even burned alive all the people of a place called Warkworth in their church. He says that he regrets having brought us here.’
‘Good God. Warkworth? Are you sure?’ Richard was stunned.
The youth nodded. ‘I think that’s what it was called. And they’ve raped and pillaged through all the villages north of here.’
‘What about Wooler? Have you heard anything?’
Wilfred shrugged. ‘Never heard of it.’
Richard described the location of Wooler and its castle.
‘Oh, yes. I know where you mean. They burned the town but didn’t bother to try and take the castle.’
Richard heard a gasp from the other end of the great hall and looked up to see Claire standing there. Their eyes met and a faint smile touched her lips as she nodded her thanks for confirming that her family was safe.
‘Thank you. Have you heard anything about any other castles?’ Richard looked back at the youth.
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘What about Alnwick?’
‘Oh, yes. King William is besieging it but it hasn’t fallen yet, as far as I know.’
‘One last question. There seems to be fewer in the camp than there were a few days ago. I take it there have been some desertions?’
Wilfred looked at the ground and said nothing.
‘I see. I think that answers my question. Are you hungry? Would you like some food to take with you?’ Richard asked shrewdly.
‘Yes, please my lord.’ The lad’s eyes lit up at the prospect. Then he realised. ‘Oh. Now you know we are running short of food, don’t you? Well, it’s true. The foragers go out but they either come back with little or nothing or they don’t come back.’
Richard smiled. ‘My people are adept at hiding themselves and their livestock in the countless valleys of the Cheviots. You would be lucky to find them and, if you did, they know the country. In the hills the hunters can become the hunted.’ He patted the boy on the shoulder. ‘Good lad. You have been very helpful. Now I’m going to let you go but I want you to take a message to Robert of Locksley for me.’
The outlaw looked years younger than his actual age of thirty nine. He had accepted Richard’s offer of safe conduct and stood before him with Wilfred and a large man called John Little on either side of him. Robert looked around at the bare walls and compared the austerity of Harbottle with the much larger great hall at Berwick with the rich tapestries which covered the cold stone. He brought his attention back to the man
in his late twenties who faced him.
‘Sir Robert, it is good to meet you at long last. You fame, or perhaps I should say infamy, precedes you.’
‘Thank you, Lord Richard, but presumably you didn’t invite me here merely out of curiosity?’
‘No, I didn’t. I know you have sworn fealty to my cousin, Lord Guy, but I want to make you an offer which I hope will make you reconsider your options.’
‘As you say, I am Guy FitzRichard’s liege man, as are all my men. I can’t see how that can be changed.’
‘Guy needed you at the time to make up his numbers to meet the king’s demands. Things will be very different once this is all over.’
‘Maybe. But perhaps it would help if you told me what you had in mind.’
Richard indicated a pair of simple wooden chairs that stood by the empty fireplace. The two men sat and a page poured them a goblet of wine each before offering John and Wilfred the same. However, they were left to stand behind Robert’s chair.
‘I am constantly plagued by incursions over the border. I am not talking about the present invasion but raids by the Scots who live in Liddesdale. The village of Byrness stands four miles into Redesdale from the border pass at Carter Bar.’ Richard explained. ‘Although I have built a tower there it needs extending and garrisoning with enough men to patrol the border in reasonable strength.’
‘So you want me and my men to man your outpost for you?’ asked a puzzled Robert.
‘Not quite.’ Richard smiled. ‘I’m offering the lordship of the manor of Byrness to you and a home to your men and their families.’
‘Oh. I see. That’s very generous of you.’ He thought for a moment. ‘But, apart from the fact that I am pledged to your cousin in Berwick, there is still the problem of being outlawed in England. I think we would be safer over the border.’
‘I’m sure Guy would release you from your oath if I asked him nicely and Nottinghamshire is a long way from here. We tend to be left alone this far north in the main. But it might be an idea if you dropped the name Robert of Locksley. It has too much notoriety attached to it.’
