Seeking Jerusalem

by H A CULLEY

  ‘I’m glad you have brought David back safe and sound, Alan. I only hope that Tristan is equally fortunate. Do you have any idea when King Richard will return with the rest of the army?’

  Alan shrugged. ‘His plan, as far as he confided in me, which wasn’t a great deal, was to march on down the coast and then strike inland for Jerusalem from Ascalon. If Arsuf, Jaffa and Ascalon, not to mention the Holy City itself, put up as much resistance as Acre, it could be years. However, now that Philip Augustus has left as well, he may feel that he needs to leave soon to protect his lands in France.’

  ‘But the Holy Father has issued a decree that anyone who tries to steal lands from a crusader will be excommunicated,’ exclaimed Edward.

  Alan shrugged. ‘We shall see.’

  A month later Alan was in council with King William when Philip de Valognes, the lord chamberlain, raised a matter which had come to his attention.

  ‘Sire, Sir John Beauilly, the Deputy Sheriff of Derbyshire, came to see me two days ago. He has laid a claim to the barony of Craigmor on behalf of his wife.’ He shifted in his seat a little uncomfortably as the king and the high steward were both glaring at him.

  ‘And who is his wife, pray, that she thinks she has a claim on Lord Edward de Cuille’s lands?’

  Philip looked at the king for a moment before replying. ‘Well, it is a little complicated, sire, but she claims to be the grand-daughter of Lord Guy FitzRichard de Cuille, the father of Blanche…’

  ‘Yes, we know who Lady Blanche is, thank you Lord Chamberlain.’

  ‘Yes sire. Well, Beauilly’s wife is Margaret de Cuille, daughter of Marjorie, now dead, who was the daughter of another Margaret, Lord Guy’s first wife.’

  ‘And she is this Marjorie’s sole heiress?’ Alan FitzWalter put in.

  ‘Well, no. That would appear to be Sir Waldo Cuille, who is presently on crusade.’

  The king looked enquiringly at Alan.

  ‘No, I don’t recall meeting him but that means nothing. There are a lot of knights in Richard’s army.’

  ‘So, if this Marjorie had a claim it would pass to Waldo, not to his sister. I’m afraid I don’t understand.’

  ‘This Sir John has heard a rumour that Waldo is dead, or so he says.’

  ‘You don’t believe him?’

  ‘He seemed a trifle shifty to me, sire.’

  ‘Why has this other claim just come to light? I am totally against breaking up the Craigmor barony. Along with Berwick and Dunbar it is the key to the security of the whole of Lothian.’

  ‘I agree. Well Philip, why haven’t I heard about this rival heiress to Blanche de Cuille before this?’

  ‘It seems that Lord Guy lodged an affidavit with my predecessor declaring that he wasn’t the father of this Marjorie. It seems his wife was abducted and raped by someone at the time of the Anarchy in England and Guy agreed to acknowledge the child as his for the sake of his wife’s name.’

  ‘Hmmm, if he acknowledged the girl as his I’m not sure that he can change his mind later, can he?’

  ‘Well, he must have clarified things in his will. That should settle it.’

  ‘That’s just it sire. If Guy FitzRichard had made a will there wouldn’t be a problem. Presumably he thought that the affidavit made one unnecessary.’

  ‘So he never made a will?’

  Philip de Valognes shook his head. ‘I fear not.’

  ~#~

  Thomas de Muschamp pulled his horse to a standstill as he heard a faint crump come from up ahead. At first he thought that he had imagined it but then two more crumps came in quick succession. He was riding over to Harbottle to visit Turstan to fulfil a promise he had made to Richard de Cuille to keep an eye on things whilst he was away on crusade. Thomas wasn’t wearing armour and had only brought his squire with him, so he was a bit dubious about riding into what sounded very much like trouble, but his curiosity got the better of him.

  He and his squire retraced their steps then turned off the track and followed a stream up the hill that lay to the south west of Harbottle. Near the top he dismounted and, handing the reins to his squire, he walked to the top. From there he could look down on the small village and across to the castle, which lay to the west. The village looked deserted but the area around the castle was a hive of activity. There was a tented camp a third of a mile from the castle astride the track which led on to the village of Alwinton. From the pavilions and the smaller tents he estimated that it might house a couple of hundred men.

  The crumps were coming from the far side of the castle from where Thomas stood. He couldn’t see how much damage had been done to the curtain wall of the outer bailey but he could just see three small mangonels and a trebuchet on the flat ground beyond the castle.

  That evening he arrived at Alnwick Castle to be told the same as Edwin; Lord Eustace was still at Bamburgh. He had already sent his squire back to Wooler to tell his constable there to raise as many men as he could as quickly as possible and bring them down to Alnwick. Unlike Edwin, Thomas had the sense not to ride on as the night approached, but at dawn the next day he set off to see Eustace escorted by two serjeants from Alnwick. By early afternoon he had briefed Eustace de Vesci and the call had gone out for de Vesci’s men to mobilise as well.

  On the fourth day the siege engines had done enough damage to the curtain wall for Gilbert d’Umfraville to attempt an assault through the partially demolished wall. However, as the crusaders had found at Acre, trying to make your way over a mass of rubble cannot be done in a hurry and Turstin’s six crossbowmen and the ten archers from Byrness soon inflicted so many casualties on the attackers that they were forced to beat a hasty retreat. When stretcher bearers came forward under a flag of truce, Turstin allowed them to take away the casualties and he noted with some satisfaction that twenty eight men had been killed or seriously wounded. Gilbert wouldn’t want to try that again in a hurry.

  ‘What do you think they’ll do next?’ one of Turstin’s few knights asked him.

  ‘If it was me I’d try a night attack but two can play at that game.’

  Two hours after dark six of the defenders left the castle by a small postern gate in the north wall and cautiously made their way around towards the trebuchet and the mangonels. They didn’t have to worry too much about noise as it was obvious that the d’Umfraville men were moving forwards for a night attack on the breach. In the dark the archers couldn’t see the enemy and so looked as if it would have to be hand to hand fighting to defend the breech.

  When Turstin’s six men got to the emplacements where the siege engines were they made short work of the sentries, who were craning their necks trying to see what was happening at the breech. They quickly smeared the tar they had brought with them on the ropes of the machines and then on the supports before using a tinder box to set fire to it. Within a few minutes the three mangonels and the trebuchet were ablaze and the six men melted back into the darkness.

  On the wall either side of the breach the archers and crossbowmen waited. It was a cloudless night but it was a new moon so they could make out little except for the odd shadow flitting here and there. Then the attackers were backlit by the blazing siege engines. It started as four small glows but then, suddenly, the sky was lit up by the flames, by the light of which the archers sent arrow after arrow into the enemy. Even the crossbowmen had time to fire two quarrels before the attackers faded back into the darkness. Judging by the screams more than one had broken their legs in the rubble in their haste to get away.

  Turstin had no idea how many more of the attackers his men might have accounted for as the casualties were spirited away in the night. However, the sight that greeted him as the sun rose gladdened his heart. Although the wooden frames of the mangonels and the trebuchet were only blackened, the ropes had gone and the partly burnt beams were probably weakened; too weakened to use safely anyway.

  That morning saw a cessation of hostilities as the garrison got some rest and Gilbert sent out parties to cut more wood an
d to look for rope. Shortly after midday, Turstin saw a large force of mounted men and foot soldiers coming out of the village and halting two hundred yards from the attackers’ camp. He smiled in relief when he recognised the banners of de Muschamp and de Vesci but wondered why it had taken them so long to respond to Edwin’s plea for help. At a rough count the two barons had only brought about a hundred men with them but it should be enough to convince d’Umfraville to call off the siege.

  After a brief interval Turstin saw Gilbert and another knight ride out of his camp and the two barons went forward to meet him. Ten minutes later d’Umfraville returned to his camp and Thomas de Muschamp rode up the hill to speak to Turstin.

  ‘Thank you for coming to our rescue, my lord,’ Turstin called out to him as he rode in through the gates, which were quickly shut behind him again.

  ‘I fear it’s not quite as simple as that, Turstin,’ Thomas replied after he had dismounted in the outer bailey. ‘That wretch d’Umfraville has a document from Prince John granting the castle and the manors of Harbottle and Alwinton to him.’

  ‘But he can’t do that. The Pope has expressly forbidden the transfers of any lands belonging to crusaders; in any case it’s the co-regents who rule in the king’s absence, not John of Gloucester.’

  ‘That’s what Eustace and I told him but he won’t have it. He has given us until this time tomorrow to leave or he will drive us off before resuming the siege.’

  ~#~

  As a lowly squire Edwin was having trouble getting to see the prince-bishop. Privately he thought that the bishop’s chaplain had probably been bribed by Sir Thomas d’Umfraville to make sure he didn’t get to see Hugh de Puiset. He was waiting despondently in the anteroom with half a hundred other hopefuls when there was a commotion at the door and a tall man in his forties strode into the room followed by several lords and knights.

  The chaplain appeared out of nowhere and bowed to the new arrival. ‘My lord, we weren’t expecting you so soon. I’ll let the prince-bishop know you are here.’

  ‘What, so I can kick me heels standing here like a supplicant? Don’t be so crass, father; just get out of my way.’

  Before the chaplain could move Edwin seized his chance. ‘My Lord of Pembroke, I have urgent news for you.’

  William Marshal turned and looked in surprise at the squire who had spoken. Then he spotted the device on his gambeson. The shield of Richard de Cuille was slightly different to that of his first mentor, Guy FitzRichard, but William recognised it as belonging to a branch of the family.

  ‘What news? But be quick.’

  Before Edwin could speak the chaplain ran between them fluttering his arms like a started chicken. ‘My lord, this way; the prince-bishop will see you now.’

  William slowly turned towards the anxious chaplain, who wilted under the ice cold stare. ‘Get out of my sight before I do something I might regret,’ he hissed. The priest hesitated for a second too long and he found himself seized by the arms and frog-marched out of the room by two burly knights, squawking his indignation.

  ‘Now, get on with it.’

  ‘Briefly then, Gilbert d’Umfraville is besieging Harbottle Castle, the property of Lord Richard de Cuille, who is away on crusade.’

  ‘Is he now? And I can guess who put him up to it. Thank you my boy. You can leave this matter to me now.’ With that, Marshal strode across the anteroom as the occupants scattered before him and through the door into Hugh de Puiset’s private chamber. Edwin heard him say ‘Hugh, it seems we have several urgent matters to resolve. . .’ before the door shut behind him.

  Not knowing the situation at Harbottle, Edwin was eager to return to Alnwick in the hope that de Vesci had now returned. On the other hand, he wanted to know what William Marshal might do to help. He was still debating with himself when Marshal sent for him half an hour later, so he could relate his story to Hugh de Puiset, who was vacillating about whether to intervene or not.

  ~#~

  In Edinburgh the Lord Chamberlain sent for John Beauilly, who had been left kicking his heels for four days. Beauilly was getting more and more irate as each day passed. As an Englishman he had an unfortunate tendency to regard his fellow Normans who served the king north of the border as being somehow inferior.

  After the usual preamble, Philip de Valognes eventually told Beauilly the outcome of the deliberations in council. ‘There would appear to be a case for regarding Marjorie de Cuille as co-heiress with Blanche de Cuille insofar as Guy FitzRichard’s personal estate is concerned. However, it is a case that would have to be decided in court as it is a complex matter.’

  ‘I’m sure that any court would see the validity of my wife’s case….’ John started to say but Philip held his hand up.

  ‘I’m not finished yet, Sir John. Even if the court should decide that Marjorie de Cuille would have had a case, sadly she is dead. This means that the only person who can present such a case is her heir who is, we understand, Sir Waldo Cuille. So it is up to him to make a case if he wishes.’

  ‘But he is on crusade. Who knows when – or if – he will return?’

  ‘Well, if he doesn’t, your wife can pursue the matter then.’

  John Beauilly got up without saying a further word and made for the door, barely containing his frustration and anger.

  ‘Oh, and one final thing, Sir John.’ Beauilly turned and glared at the Lord Chamberlain. ‘We are only talking about Lord Guy’s personal possessions. The barony of Craigmor was granted to Guy FitzRichard by the king. The king can just as easily take the barony away and bestow it on any man he thinks is fit to be its lord. Good day to you.’

  Philip de Valognes smiled to himself as the frame shook at the force with which John Beauilly slammed the door behind him.

  ~#~

  Turstin, Eustace de Vesci and Thomas de Muschamp sat in the great hall at Harbottle and debated what to do next.

  ‘D’Umfraville has given us another day to surrender the castle to him or he will attack, first us and then the castle again,’ Thomas said morosely.

  ‘He’s only done that because he needs the time to repair his mangonels. The trebuchet is beyond repair, thankfully,’ Eustace observed.

  ‘Another fifty men from his estates in Yorkshire joined him this morning; that brings his numbers back up to over two hundred,’ Turstin put in.

  ‘Well, we’ve been joined by another thirty from my barony too, but that still leaved us significantly outnumbered. I’ve sent for another hundred men from my Cheshire estates but it will take them the best part of a week to get here after the call to muster goes out.’ Eustace’s grandmother had inherited several manors in Cheshire which were a lot more populous than those in Northumberland.

  ‘I had hoped that by now Edwin would have told Hugh de Puiset in Durham about the situation here so he could intervene, but if my son never reached you Lord Eustace…’ Tristan’s voice trailed away. He was seriously worried about his son’s whereabouts.

  At that moment Edwin was at Hexham, where William Marshal had spent the night. Marshal was determined to nip the problem of Harbottle in the bud before it spread. He was well aware that it could easily suck in men from Yorkshire and Cheshire as well as setting Northumberland alight. He was also worried that William the Lyon, despite his promise to King Richard that he wouldn’t take advantage of the latter’s absence on crusade to attack across the border, might very well do just that, especially if Edward de Cuille got involved to protect his brother’s property. Marshal wasn’t to know, but Edward was very tempted to do just that; however, he was under strict instructions from King William not to cross the border.

  Hugh de Puiset had been worried about alienating the d’Umfravilles as they were strong supporters of his but, in the end, William Marshal had threatened to complain to the Pope about his refusal to support the papal edict about violation of crusaders’ property and he had given in. He had even sent a contingent of his household troops, including Sir Thomas d’Umfraville, under the Constable of
Durham Castle, with Marshal and the escort he had brought with him from London. In total, William’s force numbered only about a hundred, excluding squires, but forty of them were knights. In any case he wasn’t expecting any defiance of his authority as co-regent.

  The earl and his men reached Otterburn at midday. The second de Cuille stronghold was only lightly manned as most of the garrison had been transferred to Harbottle, but the steward, who had been left in charge, offered to feed everyone before they pressed on over the hills to Harbottle. However, William was in a hurry. Not only did he want to resolve matters here as quickly as possible, but there were many other pressing matters further south he needed to deal with.

  The steward handed out bread, cheese, dried meat and wineskins for the men to consume on their way and then they set off again. Now the going was more difficult as they had to follow a track so narrow they had to ride in single file. Edwin took the lead as the only one who knew the area and the long column wound its way through the heather and along the valleys through the Cheviot Hills. The day had started out overcast and now it started to drizzle, making everyone huddle into their cloaks. Then the drizzle stopped and patches of blue sky started to appear. By the time the column joined the old Roman road down into Coquetdale, everyone had dried out and cloaks were put away again.

  When they reached the River Coquet Harbottle village only lay two miles further up the valley so William deployed his men into a column five men wide and everyone armed themselves for trouble; the knights donning helmets, taking lances from the squires and bringing their shields onto their left arm from its normal carrying position on their backs. The three banner bearers shook them out – the earl’s red rampant lion on green and yellow, the prince bishop’s gold cross on blue with a white lion rampant in each quarter and the royal banner of England: three gold leopards on red. They made a brave show as they rode through the deserted village and emerged a few hundred yards from the besiegers’ camp.