by H A CULLEY
‘What do you suggest?’
‘Sir Robert of Byrness perhaps?’
King William sat in his tent conferring with his war council. He sighed glumly and signalled Jocelyn to fill his goblet with wine again.
‘So, to sum up: Earl Duncan here sent the highlanders home after the massacre at Warkworth and they pillaged their way back across Lothian. We have a stalemate at Harbottle, the force besieging Carlisle has been defeated by Roger de Vaux and his Cumbrians so de Brus and his men have withdrawn to Scotland again, and the siege here isn’t going anywhere either. The only castle we have captured so far is Otterburn and that was deserted, having been emptied of all its valuables’
‘Harbottle is a difficult castle to attack sire, given its location. It might be easier to capture Prudhoe,’ suggested Alan FitzWalter, who had travelled over from his siege of Harbottle for the council.
‘Um, perhaps. It’s worth a try I suppose. Duncan, this is your chance to redeem yourself. You and Alan combine your forces and go and take Prudhoe for me.’
A frantic banging at the door woke Richard and Claire, They still shared the same bed – to do otherwise would only occasion gossip – but there might as well have been a sheet of ice down the middle diving them.
‘What is it?’ called Richard irritably.
‘My lord.’ One of his knights poked his head around the door. ‘The Scots have gone.’
‘What! Are you sure?’
He threw on his braies, shoes and a tunic and rushed up to the top of the keep. The area around the castle was deserted, apart from the detritus that the Scots had left behind. The only tents remaining were those of Robert and his archers. Fifteen minutes later he rode down the hill accompanied by an escort, just in case it was a trap. Robert came out of his tent and walked to meet Richard as he dismounted.
‘They’ve gone right enough. They’re off to Prudhoe to try their luck there.’
Richard grunted. ‘I wish d’Umfraville joy of them. Have you decided?’
‘Yes, if Guy FitzRichard will release us then I and my men will gladly take up your offer.’
‘Good. I’m pleased. I think you will enjoy living in the Cheviots. There’ll be plenty of game for you to hunt; both four legged and two legged.’
~#~
Ranulf de Glanville, sheriff of Westmorland, approached the gates of Newcastle at the head of nearly a hundred and fifty men – knights, squires and serjeants. His banner of three gold crescents on a red field cracked and whipped over his head in the stiff breeze. It was late in the day and the sun was setting behind his column so it was difficult to make out his device at first but as he neared the gated the captain of the town watch appeared on top of the gatehouse and yelled for the gates to be opened.
Without stopping de Glanville led his men through the narrow streets, scattering adults, children and animals alike as they rode on until the came to the entrance to the castle. Here the drawbridge was down and the gates open but the portcullis had been lowered.
‘Ah, Glanville, good to see you, the constable called down to him.’ Turning he yelled ‘raise the portcullis, quickly now.’ and the heavy structure made of vertical and horizontal metal bars welded together slowly trundled upwards.
As soon as it was raised high enough Ranulf rode into the bailey, his banner bearer remembering just in time to lower the banner as he passed underneath.
‘I’ve been sent here by the king to pull your chestnuts out of the fire,’ he told the constable and the senior knights of the garrison; a statement which didn’t endear him to anyone.
A few hours later another mounted column arrived at the castle, this time led by Bernard de Balliol. With defection of the prince-bishop to the rebels Bernard had been appointed to lead the loyal troops of County Durham and he had brought nearly a hundred mounted men with him. One of these was Edward de Cuille, now a twenty four year old knight in his mesnie. Edward had grown into a tall, muscular young man, much like his brother Richard. The difference lay in their approach to life. Whereas Richard was serious-minded and responsible, Edward loved life, almost too much, and was developing a reputation as something of a rake.
‘Now we are just waiting for Robert de Stuteville. I hope we don’t have to wait too long,’ Ranulf grumbled after greeting Bernard. De Stuteville was the sheriff of Yorkshire and was supposed to be bringing the largest contingent of over two hundred mounted men.
As soon as the Yorkshiremen arrived the next morning there was a brief council of war. De Glanville opened proceedings by reminding the others that the king had appointed him to lead the relief column tasked with defeating the Scots invasion.
‘Yes, that’s all well and good, Ranulf, but how are less than four hundred knights and serjeants going to defeat tens of thousands of Scots?’ Robert de Stuteville wanted to know.
‘When you are dealing with a poisonous serpent the trick is to cut off its head.’
‘You mean kill or capture King William? How on earth do we do that?’ Bernard asked.
‘By a dawn attack on his camp. But that will only succeed if we have someone who knows the area around Alnwick where we believe he camped at the moment.’ Runulf looked at the constable of Newcastle hopefully but the knight just shook his head.
‘Wait a moment.’ Bernard snapped his fingers. ‘Of course, one of my knights is the son of the baron of the Cheviot. He should know the lie of the land.’
Five minutes later Edward de Cuille was ushered into the council. ‘I’m sorry my lord but I left there ten years ago and my memory of Alnwick is hazy; I don’t think I went there above two of three times.’ He paused as the men in front of him looked disappointed. ‘But my brother, who is now baron of the Cheviot, would know it well and my mother is de Vesci’s sister.’
‘Do we know where they are?’ Ranulf looked round the table but everyone shook their heads.
‘Well, my mother lives at Harbottle Castle and I should think that Richard will either be there or at Otterburn Castle.’
‘That’s it then.’ Ranulf stood up. ‘We ride to Harbottle in an hour. Thank you Sir Edward, you have been very helpful.’
~#~
Guy FitzRichard took a deep breath before broaching a subject he had been avoiding up to now. ‘Emma, Blanche is now fifteen and its time she was married. She isn’t even betrothed yet. We’ve been very remiss. I just don’t know where the years have gone.’
‘Do you have anyone in mind?’ Emma hated the idea of losing her baby, as still thought of her youngest child and only daughter.
‘Well, given the present situation I think it would have to be someone this side of the border.’
‘But who is there?’ Emma couldn’t think of anyone who she would be prepared to surrender her daughter to.
‘Well I was thinking of Patrick.’
‘Patrick of Dunbar? He must be in his late twenties now. Isn’t he married already?’
‘He was, but she died in childbirth last year.’
Emma shuddered. ‘What a terrible omen.’
‘Nonsense it happens all the time. It’s not a jinx on Patrick. Just remember how lucky we were that he took Nicholas to safety fifteen years ago.’ He thought back for a moment to the days of King Malcolm. He might not have been a strong ruler but at least he would not have gone off on a fool’s errand to try and recapture Northumberland. He knew somehow that only disaster would follow in the wake of the invasion.
‘And she would be a countess in due course when Patrick succeeds his father as earl of Dunbar.’
‘You don’t think you are aiming rather high?’
‘It can’t do any harm to sound him out.’
At that moment there was a knock on the door of the solar. A page entered to tell him that Sir Robert of Locksley had returned and was asking to see him.
‘Well, why have you returned Robert? Does FitzWalter know you are here.’
‘No my lord. He is off besieging Prudhoe Castle whilst my men are still at Harbottle.’
‘Ha
rbottle!’ Guy tutted. ‘I can’t believe that my men are investing my cousin’s castle. What a mess William has got us into.’
‘That’s just it, we aren’t any longer.’
‘You had better explain.’
‘Well, Richard captured one of my men, a young lad of sixteen, and after interrogating him he sent him back to me with a message requesting a meeting. I was increasingly unhappy about the direction the campaign was taking, especially after they burned the population of Warkworth to death in their church.’
Guy shuddered. He had heard something about the atrocities being committed, but not about this one.
‘Well,’ Robert continued ‘the upshot is that he has offered me a manor at Byrness. I replied that I was bound to you and that is why I am here. To ask you to release me from my pledge of fealty.’
‘I see. Byrness is something of a poison chalice, you know.’
‘Yes, I know. Lord Richard has explained why he wants me and my men there.’
‘Well, I don’t know what the outcome of this adventure will be, though I don’t expect it to be a happy one. If it ends as I suspect it might I probably won’t be in a position to continue to offer you employment so, yes, I release you from service. With all the deserters that appear to be heading home with their booty now I don’t suppose that the loss of a knight and a few archers will make much of a difference’ Guy said gloomily.
Chapter Seven - The Battle of Alnwick - 13th July 1174
As they rode towards Harbottle Edward was surprised when a squire riding a jennet and leading a packhorse trotted up to join him. He glanced at the youth and saw that he wore the device of his former master, Bernard de Balliol, on his gambeson. He was appeared to be about sixteen. In some ways, Edward realised with a start, he reminded him a little of his brother Richard.
‘Forgive me for introducing myself Sir Edward but I couldn’t resist it when I found out that we share the same surname.’
‘We do?’ said Edward even more surprised. He couldn’t think who the lad could be.
‘Yes, I’m Waldo Cuille. I dropped the de ages ago. Many of us Normans are doing so now, you know.’
No, Edward didn’t know and he thought that the boy was being more than a little supercilious. The last thing that Edward could be described as was pompous but he wasn’t particularly happy about a squire implying that he was old fashioned. However, he decided to treat it as a joke.
‘Really, now let me see. Can I recall hearing about a Waldo Cuille? No, my memory must be going. You are going to have to remind me how we are connected.’
Waldo wasn’t in the least put off by Edward’s teasing. ‘My father came from the senior branch of the family in Maine but my mother is Lord Guy of Berwick’s daughter.’
Edward knew vaguely that his father’s cousin had a daughter in Derbyshire somewhere but he knew more about the family in Maine.
‘Ah. Now I’m with you. My great, great grandfather, Hugo, was the elder brother of your ancestor in Maine I seem to recall. Not that I care greatly which branch is the more senior.’ he replied dismissively.
‘Perhaps you’re right,’ Waldo replied, quite unperturbed.
Edward didn’t normally take against people at first meeting but this lad was certainly an exception to the rule.
‘Waldo, most people would describe me as fairly easy going but, even if we are distantly related, I find you have a knack for getting up my nose. You are a cocksure young man and my advice is to learn your place or you will make enemies.’
To his astonishment Waldo just laughed.
‘What’s so funny.’
The boy looked at him with a twinkle in his eye. ‘You are. You are a mere household knight whereas I own a number of manors in the High Peak. I am just serving my time as squire until I am eighteen, then I will be knighted and take over my inheritance.’
With that the boy dropped back to resume his former place in the line of march.
Edward was fuming. When he had calmed down a little he tried to think what he knew about Waldo’s branch of the family. It was then that he remembered that Waldo’s father had been murdered by the outlaw Robert of Locksley.
~#~
King William sat in his tent near Hulne Priory by the River Aln below Alnwick Castle. He had chosen to pitch his pavilion two miles away from the sprawling camp of his besieging army. The Priory had been destroyed by his marauding soldiers, which was a pity as it would have been more comfortable than a tent during such a hot spell of weather. He was feeling more depressed with every passing day. Having put down the revolt on the Continent, King Henry had forgiven Henry, the Young King and his brothers and restored them to his favour, but Queen Eleanor remained in custody. Henry Plantagenet apparently had no illusions about the real instigator of the rebellion.
Henry had then landed in England and did penance through the streets of Canterbury for the murder of Thomas Beckett. It can’t have been easy for such a proud man to be scourged and crawl on his hands and knees but, as a piece of theatre it was magnificent. The king’s standing throughout England had never been higher. He then went on to defeat the rebels with astonishing speed. William’s brother, David of Huntingdon, had been arrested and the revolt everywhere had completely collapsed. Roger de Beaumont was in prison and had been deprived of his earldom of Leicester, his lands and his castles. Hugh Bigod, earl of Norfolk had fared rather better but the king had still confiscated all his castles. William was beginning to feel very isolated.
His remaining hope was to capture one of the major castles in Northumberland and to use that as a bargaining counter to secure a favourable truce, much as his grandfather had done after losing the Battle of the Standard nearly four decades previously. But it was a vain hope. Henry Plantagenet was no weak king like Stephen.
Prudhoe had repulsed several attacks and still held out, so he decided that he had to take Alnwick and quickly. He therefore ordered his men to construct scaling ladders and they took up positions for a full scale assault at dawn the next day. Jocelyn and his two other squires cleaned and polished his armour and washed his surcoat and his destrier’s caparison, both of a rich yellow colour emblazoned with the red lion rampant. William was particularly proud of his horse. It was one of those bred and trained at Craigmor and it stood two or three hands higher than any other warhorse. By the time the squires had finished it was dark.
When William retired to try and get some sleep that night he told Jocelyn to wake him early so he could be armed and ready before dawn.
~#~
Whilst Jocelyn was polishing the king’s armour that afternoon some twenty miles away Richard de Cuille was watching with amazement. Below him three hundred and fifty knights and serjeants and a hundred squires poured onto on the same area below the castle that only a few days previously had been vacated by the Scots. Seven knights rode up the path to the gates and he recognised with some relief the three banners of the sheriffs of Yorkshire and Westmorland and of Bernard de Balliol. Then he saw his brother bringing up the rear and told the sentries to open the gates.
‘So let me see if I have understood you correctly, Lord Ranulf, your plan is to travel at night and attack the Scots camp at dawn with the intention of either killing or capturing their king?’
‘Our knights and serjeants combined with yours come to about four hundred, ignoring the squires who are non-combatants. I am well aware that the Scots have about ten thousand encamped around Alnwick, if my sources are correct,’ Ranulf paused for a moment. ‘But, and this is what makes my plan feasible, I am told that William is camped near Hulne Priory with just his personal bodyguard. That’s just over two miles from the town and so must be at least a mile or more from the nearest other Scots troops. We are going to have to strike hard and fast. That’s where you come in. You know the area well, I understand?’
‘Well, I know where the priory is and how to get there from here, if that’s what you mean.’
‘Good we leave as soon as it gets dark. I don’t want any en
emy scouts getting wind of our approach.’
At that moment a page came in and whispered in Richard’s ear.
‘Excuse me a moment gentlemen.’ Two minutes later he returned. ‘I have some good news I think. I can add forty mounted archers to our force. I have in mind that they may be useful in keeping the main Scots army from interfering with our attack on King William’s camp. At the very least they may be able to hold off a counter attack until we can achieve our objective.’
‘Excellent. Where did they suddenly spring from?’ Ranulf de Glanville asked in surprise.
Richard wasn’t expecting the question and he paused to think for a moment. ‘It’s Sir Robert of Byrness and his men from the other end of Redesdale.’
Ranulf’s eyes had narrowed in suspicion for a moment when Richard had hesitated but he said. ‘Yes, that is good news. As you say, they can take position between the priory and the town to buy us some more time.’
Richard watched as Ranulph de Glanville left the keep to mount his horse for the ride back down to his camp. Robert of Locksley, or Byrness as he was now known, was with his men holding their horses to one side of the bailey waiting for the others to leave. Ranulph walked his horse over to Robert and had a word with him before leaving.
‘What did he ask you?’ Richard wanted to know.
‘How long I had been in your service.’
‘And what did you say?’
‘That I had been in the service of the de Cuilles since I was a squire.’
‘A very clever answer, Robert.’
‘I only lie if I have to. It is much better to tell the truth; it’s so much easier to remember.’ He said sardonically.
~#~
