What of English forces from the garrison at Carlisle, Sire? Campbell asked.
It cannot be more than a dozen miles from here. And Brampton nearer.
There will be a garrison there?
Carlisle is too far to menace us before nightfall. And Brampton will not hold sufficient men to endanger us. That danger will come tomorrow. Todays is that Haltwhistle and the Tyne will gain warning before we reach them.
Sire, Randolph put in.
I know this land. I was here, at Lanercost, with King Edward. Not all men would have admitted that, there and then.
There is a way through from Irthing to Tyne. Through the hills. A pass, by way of the Tipalt Burn. A small company could hold it, near where the Roman Wall crosses.
And so prevent any flight of folk to the Tyne and Haltwhistle A score of men sent there forthwith would not be wasted. Going round by Thirlwall Common.
Bruce looked at his nephew thoughtfully.
Well said, he nodded.
You have the sort of head on your shoulders that I need, Thomas. So be it. Yourself take them and place them. He raised his hand.
Come, then-enough of words. Now we act, Gibbie — 500 men for me
So the two squadrons parted to turn, one west, one east, round the north base of Banks Fell, hidden from the unsuspecting Irthing valley.
The dual attack was indeed a complete surprise. As far as Lanercost was concerned, it was not even an attack. Bruces party, emerging from the high ground behind the great Hadrians Wall, had only a mile to cover in sight of the splendid Abbey, and their breakneck speed gave the Abbots guard no time to assemble or even arm. Dispersing three-quarters of his force to deal with the large township of secular and domestic buildings surrounding the establishment, the King, with perhaps a hundred men, dashed up to the Abbey gatehouse, swept aside the dumbfounded porters, and rode into the precincts, calling loudly for the Abbot and Chapter.
His men did not wait for any such formalities.
When the flustered and appalled cleric, a heavy moon faced elderly man, was brought less than gently before the King, still sitting his horse in the wide courtyard, he was given no opportunity for protest, lamentation or plea.
My lord Abbot-I am Robert of Scotland, he was told briskly.
Your abbey has in the past given much comfort to my enemies. Here was plotted my ruin, my death, my kingdoms devastation.
The time has come for payment. I do not make war on Holy Church, unlike the Kings of England. But your treasure ought to be in heaven, rather than in your vaults! The late Edward, in gratitude, gave you much gold and silver and jewel, I understand.
Plate, chalices, ewers, censers, lamps and the like. Much of it stolen from Scotland. I require it. All, mark you-all. And quickly.
But… but… my lord! This is sacrilege! It is war, sir. And
retribution. Though not on the Church. On you. You have grown rich on the spoils of Scotland.
I… I will not, may not, do it. You will not rob Gods house? I will give you nothing, my lord.
Address me as King, Englishman! And if Gods house spills over with stolen treasure, should I respect it? I care not, priest, whether you give or I take. But all in this house is mine now.
Choose you whether to deliver it up decently, or have my men pull your abbey apart to get it.
The banging and crashing and shouting that sounded from all around did not fail to underline his point. And looking up, the Abbots pale prominent eyes widened as he saw the black smoke clouds begin to rise up from behind the precinct walls.
You already… burn! Destroy! he cried.
Only barns, mills, gardens, my lord Abbot. Nothing sacred!
Nothing that a man of God should set store by. But-your gold, now.
Silver. Jewellery. Decide quickly, sir priest.
Yes, yes. To be sure, my lord … Majesty. If you will spare the Abbey …
As your kings have not done in Scotland! In a hundred miles from my borders I have scarce an abbey, a priory or even a church with a roof to it! With doors to which abbots and monks have not been crucified! But… Sir Hugh. See that no chapels are damaged, no altars misused, no priests hurt. Sir Gilbert-go with my lord Abbot and take delivery of his treasure. All of it. And be not long about it. Abruptly Bruce reined his horse around and rode to supervise the destruction outside.
In ninety minutes the greatest, fairest establishment north of Durham was transformed utterly. The sacred buildings themselves remained entire, undamaged. But all else was smoking ruin, broken masonry, burning wood, trampled grain and garden and orchard, and the littered steaming car cases of slaughtered beasts. The Scots had had ample practice in the efficient spoiling of lands, their own lands; now they spoiled their enemies with a will. In ever widening circles the devastation grew, until even the sun was obscured by the vast rolling pall of smoke which covered the valley of Irthing.
Then Bruce, concerned with timing, and the fact that that smoke would be seen from Brampton, and far farther, called a halt. Detailing a score of men, under a young knight, to parcel up all the rich haul of the Abbeys treasure in emptied wool-sacks, and take it on a train of captured packhorses quickly and secretly back to Scotland, he assembled his now smoke-blackened followers and headed off up the wide vale towards Gillsland without any leave taking, abandoning Lanercost to its lamentations.
At least they are alive, to wail! he commented grimly to the somewhat doubtful Hugh Ross.
It was a westerly wind, and they rode, coughing, in the shroud of their own smoke that poured and billowed eastwards. But very quickly they were into still newer, thicker smoke, ruddy with fires and alive with fleeing folk, stumbling cursing men, sobbing women and wailing children, the sad exodus from blazing Gillsland, stricken to further abject terror and despair at the sight of this new looming host of grim horsemen.
Bruce found Campbell in charge at Gillsland, with Douglas superintending the spoliation of Irthing Priory a mile or so farther up the valley. The comprehensive burning, choking smoke clouds made all a chaotic nightmare, but Sir Neil declared that he thought there was not a single building left unburned in the town, or in a two-mile radius around. Catching and slaying the cattle had been the biggest problem. There had been no opposition worth mentioning.
Anxious about this vast pall of smoke being seen and interpreted from the Tyne valley five miles to the southeast, even above the hills between, the King ordered the trumpets to blow for disengagement and assembly. They rode southwards, out of the reeking, ravaged valley, almost an hour earlier than hoped for.
Now their route lay through the defile of the Tipalt Burn described by Randolph. The actual narrows of this comprised only the central mile or two; and well before this was reached the invaders found themselves having to plough through an unhappy flood of returning refugees streaming back northwards in renewed panic. Randolphs holding operation had served its purpose. When Bruce in due course picked up the little company strongly entrenched in the gullet of the pass, it was to be assured that no single messenger or escapee had got through to warn the Vale of Tyne-by this route, at least.
They were trotting through the final mile of the defile when, rounding a bend of its narrow floor beside the brawling burn, they came face to face with a mounted party of perhaps fifty, riding in the opposite direction. Bruce had not put out his usual scouting advance-guard on this occasion, no serious challenge being looked for, and as such would only be apt to offer prior intimation of something unusual happening. So this confrontation was a surprise to both sides.
However equal the surprise, reaction of course was quite otherwise,
with so few facing so many-even though they would not see a quarter of
them. Besides, these were not knights and men-at arms, but looked like
farmers and burghers on horseback. Almostcertainly they represented a
posse of Haltwhistle citizens hurrying to
see what the great bank of smoke signified. At any rate, they behaved with commendable unanimity and expedition now, disciplined or not. With a great scrabbling, rearing and sidling of struggling mounts, they pulled round and went plunging off whence they had come, each jostling to be foremost After them, Jamie! Bruce commanded.
With our first ten files. Quickly! Head them off from the town. They must not warn.
Almost before the words were out, Douglas was spurring ahead, yelling to the front ranks of their company to follow. Pushing past the Kings group, all but unseating some of them indeed, eager riders galloped in pursuit Bruce increased the pace of the entire host to a canter.
When they emerged, almost at right angles, into the open green vale,
wider than that of Irthing, it was to see the better-mounted Scots
dispersing the fleeing burghers left and right, like wolves amongst
sheep, far ahead The town of Haltwhistle showed grey beyond, its roofs
and spires catching the glow of the sinking
Ignoring the nearby castle of Blenkinsopp meantime. Bruce led his host directly and at fullest speed for the town, hooves drumming an earthshaking, terrifying first intimation.
If many of the Scots were grievously disappointed at the lack of opposition they met, at the sheer anticlimax of the whole affair, the King was not This was what he had planned and hoped for. By the time that they reached the first houses, the streets were quite deserted, no single face peered from door or window-although a few hones still stood tethered here and there. The host swept clatteringly through the town without meeting more than yelping dogs, squealing pigs and squawking poultry. It was not a large place, though larger than Gillsland; but it had a big and important church in its centre, with collegiate buildings attached. This church was a major reason for Bruces presence herefor, oddly enough, it belonged to the See of Aberdeen, with considerable property in the town and surrounding country, a relic of happier days when the English were friends, and thus had been almost a detached part of Scotland. Holy Church was powerful and international, and Haltwhistle Church represented a useful excuse for the Scots incursion when the inevitable Papal fulminations began-for of course the Bishop of Aberdeen had been deprived of its due revenues for many a long year. Bruce, therefore, turned back for this church, to make it his base and headquarters, sending for the Vicar. Meanwhile he placed contingents of his men to dominate every street, lane and alley, with strong pickets to patrol the entire perimeter. But he gave strict instructions that there was to be no assault, pillage or burning here.
The terrified Vicar, when he was routed out of hiding and brought before the King, was assured that since Haltwhistle was as good as a Scots town, its people need fear nothing-so long as they cooperated and behaved discreetly. He was required to furnish a list of all Aberdeen property in the area; and then to go, under escort, and bring the principal citizens to Bruce, for their instructions.
So in due course these alarmed worthies were assembled to learn their fate-and could scarcely believe their ears. Haltwhistle would not be burned. Nobody would be hanged, beaten, ravished or otherwise molested. No hostages would be taken. The town would be treated as would a Scots town. The King of Scots and his force would occupy it for a few days-but they would pay for their keep and lodgings. Obedience and cooperation, that was all that was required. That, and the collection of the overdue and accumulated revenues for the Bishop of Aberdeen, which the King would take back to Scotland, as was suitable and lawful. For the rest, peace and goodwill. Only, the least hint of treachery, of attempts to communicate with other towns or areas, and there would be immediate and dire punishment, with no mercy shown. Was that understood?
There were no arguments, no questions.
That night the King, and most of his people, slept warm and comfortable, with minor detachments out guarding the approaches to the town, by the Tipalt Burn and both reaches of Tyne, while others kept careful watch on the small local castles. Bruce had chosen carefully in this, as in all else; Haltwhistle, placed as it was, was as good as a citadel for them.
Sunrise saw the Scots trotting in disciplined ranks down the broadening Tyne valley, leaving a small garrison, under Randolph, in Haltwhistle, with scouts carefully placed all around. The villages of Melkridge, Henshaw, Bardon Mill and Chesterwood went up in flames behind them, and by noon they were at the small town of Haydon Bridge, important strategically. There was a modest castle here, to guard the vital bridge over Tyne, but the word of the Scots advance had preceded them down the river and they found the castle abandoned, and town almost so.
With the provisions of the whole missing community to sustain them, the
invaders made their midday meal here. They moved on again in two
sections, north and south of the river, under Douglas and the King
respectively. They were seldom out of sight.
Newborough, Fourstones, Elrington and Wharmley fell to them, with many farms, mills and lesser places, without a sword drawn.
All the vale behind was now hidden under a pall of smoke. The large town of Hexham, with its great and famous Priory, lay ahead, where North Tyne came in to join South.
Bruce had drawn up his contingent at West Boat, where there was a ferry by which Douglas came across to join him and receive orders, when scouts came to inform that a party under a white flag was riding out from Hexham. The King ordered the newcomers to be brought into his presence.
The white-flag party consisted of the magistrates and chief citizens of the town, looking very alarmed; and the Prior of Hexham looking magnificent, with even a silken canopy held over his head by four mounted acolytes on milk-white jennets, the stuff richly embroidered with a gold saltire on azure. Hexham had been a bishopric once, and its foundation in 674 by Saint Wilfred made it one of the most ancient and venerable fanes in all England. Undoubtedly the present incumbent was not disposed to forget it. Ignoring the genuflecting magistrates, Bruce addressed himself to the still-mounted prelate.
You must be the Lord Prior of Hexham, sir, come to meet me. I thank you for your courtesy, he said gravely.
How may I serve you?
Surprised, the other, a purple-faced, sagging-jowled man of strong features and intolerant eye, drew a much-be ringed hand over his thin-lipped mouth.
If you would serve us, my lord-then come and accept of our hospitality, you and yours, he answered stiffly.
But spare our city. And he waved his plump hand towards the ominous smoke-clouds.
Your hospitality it will be my pleasure to accept. But as to sparing your city, Sir Prior-tell me why I should?
Because it is a city of Holy Church. An ecclesiastical jurisdiction of great age and sanctity. As is all the country around-all Church land, Hexhamshire. Sacred to the blessed Saint Wilfred whom God loves, my lord.
Sire! James Douglas barked, at the Prior.
Eh …?
I said, Sire. Not my lord. Address His Grace as befits a king, sirrah. And get down from that horse.
After a moment or two, the other slowly dismounted, frowning.
He did not speak.
It was Bruce who inclined his head, not the other.
I have heard of Hexham Priorys fame, of course, he said.
Its greatness. And all this goodly land is yours also? This Hexhamshire? How far does it extend, my lord?
All around you. You have been on my land these last miles Since Allen River. Church lands. Hexhamshire comprises 50,000.
The King looked approvingly around him.
A goodly heritage indeed, be nodded.
Rich. Fertile. How much had you in mind, my lord?
The other opened his mouth, and shut it again, purple deeper.
Come, sir. You must have some notion of your citys worth?
And your 50,000 acres of Hexhamshire? You, and these others, came expressly to me. Came with a proposal to put to me, I think?
How much
? Out with it! That last was snapped in a very different tone of voice from heretofore.
The Prior blinked rapidly.
I… we would be prepared to make some small… tribute, Majesty, he conceded guardedly.
A token of… of goodwill.
A token, yes. In order that your town and country be not destroyed.
How much, man?
What can I say, Sire? The clerical voice held a note that might almost have been anguish now.
I am but a poor priest entrusted with the pastoral care and oversight of Gods flock in this place …
Your town, shire and treasure. How much? And when the other only compressed already thin lips, Bruce jabbed a finger towards the chief of the magistrates.
You, then-how much?
That was more than the Prior could in any way allow.
We have some few cattle, he jerked.
Wool. Grain. Forage …
And silver, Bruce added.
But little, Sire. We are not rich in moneys …
Tush, man-the rings on your hand alone do belie you! Your cattle and grain and forage I will accept. Such as I require. But to save your town and lands, you will pay me 2,000 mer ks in silver.
Forthwith. Is it agreed?
A stricken moan issued from the clerics-lips.
You cannot … you cannot mean it, Sire! Not 2,000! It is not possible. It would beggar us. Indeed, I do not have so much …
Then find it, sir. Sell your rings, perhaps? Or do you prefer that Hexham goes up in flames? Like Gillsland and others?
No! No, Sire-no! came from the magistrates, in a wailing chorus.
On payment of 2,000 silver mer ks Englishmen, or 1,300, pounds if so
you prefer it, Bruce went on sternly, I shall sign you a decree
declaring that the town of Hexham, with Hexhamshire, be free from all further tribute of reparation for English damage done in Scotland for the space of one year from this date. The Prior of Hexham to remain hostage in my hands until such payment is made. Agree to this now, or I command immediate advance upon your town, without mercy. Is it so agreed?
The Path of the Hero King bt-2 Page 39
