by H A CULLEY
-X-
Sir John Swinton watched from a nearby hillock as his thirty borderers, reinforced by another sixty men on foot, sprung the ambush they had set for the English invaders. Edmund, Earl of Lothian, was a wily man and he had bribed Swinton to pretend allegiance to Etgair mac Mael Cholium in order to gain intelligence about his brother’s intentions. However, it was Swinton’s idea to ambush the vanguard as soon as he was given command of it. He was certain that Edmund would thoroughly approve and would reward him accordingly. What he didn’t know was that neither Edmund nor his uncle Donald Bane were men to be trusted. Donald, in particular, despised those who could be bought for coin, knowing that if he could bribe them, then so could his enemies. Sir John’s only reward was likely to be a quick death as soon as he had outlived his usefulness.
Please with the success of his ambush, Swinton rode back the way he had come to put the other part of his plan into operation.
Odinel’s men had been caught off guard and were spread out. He had been so intent on catching up with Swinton before he reached Berwick that he cast all caution to the wind. The site chosen for the ambush was the steep sided Hambleton Hill; this dominated the approach to Berwick from the west and sat above the Tweed with marshland between its base and the river. The dirt road ran along the lower slopes just above the boggy area.
The squires leading the packhorses were some distance behind the knights and were therefore unable to arm their masters with lances. Many knights had also left their shields on the packhorses with their lances. By the time that they became aware of their danger it was too late to do more than don their helmets and draw their swords. The charging Scots had the advantage of momentum as they charged down the hill whereas the knights were unable to build up any speed as they belatedly turned and laboured uphill to meet the enemy. The Scots crashed into them and drove them back to the road and across it into the bog. Odinel and his men were in danger of being massacred.
The squires watched appalled from a safe distance not knowing what to do to help when Tristan rode up behind them. He took in the situation at a glance and formed his conroy up in two lines stretching up the slope of the hill, his knights snatching lances and shields from Odinel’s squires rather than wait for their own squires to join them. A few minutes later they cantered forward, changing to a gallop a hundred yards before they hit the first of the Scots.
The latter hadn’t seen the other conroy coming and were taken completely by surprise. Tristan thrust his lance into the body of a mounted borderer before letting it go and snatching up the wicked looking axe hanging from the pommel of his saddle. He brought the blade down on the unprotected head of a foot soldier before knocking two more men flying with his destrier. The latter, trained for war, reared up as two spearmen tried to pierce its chest and smashed their heads in with his hooves. Tristan found himself in the midst of several more Scots on foot but, having seen what had happened to their fellows, they were unwilling to come to close to the horse. Tristan dug his golden spurs into the destrier’s side and the horse leapt forward scattering the enemy. Tristan brought his axe down again and again on the heads and shoulders of the borderers until he ran out of men to kill.
He looked around him and saw that many of the Scots were in full retreat back up the hill; others had chosen to flee along the road in the direction of Berwick, which was a mistake. About half of Odinel’s knights had been killed or wounded before Tristan had come to his rescue and a dozen of the survivors were now pursuing the routed enemy intent on exacting revenge. However, Odinel wasn’t amongst them. He had paid for his folly with his life and when Tristan rode up his body was being cradled in the arms of his younger brother, Robert, who glanced up at Tristan, puzzled at first by the red shield with the golden clover leaf on it – the insignia of the d’Umfravilles. Tristan dismounted, dropped the shield and removed his helmet.
‘We borrowed shields and lances from your squires rather than waste time waiting for our lads to bring up the packhorses,’ he explained. ‘I take it your brother is dead, Robert?’
‘Yes, I tried to stop him chasing after Swinton. I knew it was foolhardy in enemy territory, even if I didn’t know then that Sir John was a traitor.’
‘I’d say I was sorry but I fear that would be hypocritical of me. I hope, however, that we can call a truce between our families now?’
Before Robert d’Umfraville could reply one of the squires from Tristan’s conroy rode up and told him breathlessly that his father had ben ambushed crossing the Whiteadder.
‘I bring what’s left of my men to help you, Tristan.’
The latter nodded his thanks and climbed back on his horse before yelling for his men to follow him. As they raced back to the ford he prayed that he wouldn’t be too late to save his father.
-X-
Edwin watched helplessly as the Scots closed in on Hugo and his knights. A few unwise men on foot tried to wade into the river to attack the three knights who had started to ford the Whiteadder but they had misjudged their entry point. The river ran deeper away from the ford and they were swept off their feet and drowned. The rest crashed into Hugo’s conroy and swept around the flanks of the wedge formation of knights.
Hugo led from the point of the wedge and speared a mounted Scot with his lance as the two sides met. From the wail that greeted his kill he knew that he’d managed to slay one of their leaders. Pulling his sword from its scabbard he proceeded to lay about him as his horse, and the rest of the wedge, were forced to a halt by the sheer pressure of enemy numbers.
Meanwhile, a plan had formed in Edwin’s mind. He wasn’t the senior squire by any means – at seventeen there were half a dozen who were older than he was - but he was Sir Hugo’s squire and he was confident that most of the others would follow his lead. He turned to the youngest of his comrades and sent him over the now deserted ford to find Sir Tristan and tell him of their plight. He then detailed off the younger boys to look after the pack horses. All the rest were part way through their military training and all had used a lance against the quintain.
‘Quick, grab a shield and arm yourselves with lance and any spare swords, maces or axes you can find. We have to support our knights,’ he yelled at the others. They hesitated but then the oldest of them, Sir Alain’s twenty year old squire, told them to do as Edwin said and they sprang into action.
Squires wore gambesons and leather caps to give them some protection but they didn’t fight. The only weapon they normally carried was a dagger and that was more symbolic than useful. Soon all twenty four were ready and Edwin divided his small force into two, explaining to Alain’s squire what he wanted his dozen to do.
By now the wedge was stationary and the knights were surrounded. Several had already fallen and the rest were hard pressed to keep the milling Scots at bay. Edwin was excited at the prospect of battle and gripped his lance tightly as he’d been taught. He held his shield in front of his left side to protect it and aimed the point of his lance at a man in armour mounted on a rouncey. As most of the Scots were unarmoured and those who were mounted rode small garrons, he was certain that the man was one of the enemy leaders. The man wasn’t even aware of the approaching band of squires until Edwin’s lance point struck the side of his hauberk dead on and the chain mail links parted. The point smashed through his ribs and lodged in his right lung. He was hurled from his horse as Edwin let go of the lance and pulled the mace with a spiked ball from where it hung from his saddle pommel.
He brought it down on the heads of several Scots before the adrenalin rush wore off and he began to find the mace too heavy to wield. At that moment a spearman managed to thrust his weapon into the chest of his rouncey and the horse fell to its knees, spilling Edwin onto the bloody ground. He tried to get to his feet but he slipped in the churned up mud. That saved his life as a mounted Scot swung his sword at where his neck had been a moment before. Instead of decapitating him the blade struck the crown of the cap he wore, splitting the leather and slicing off some hair a
nd the skin which covered his scalp. Luckily his skull was intact and, although his head hurt like hell, no serious damage had been done.
However, Edwin was now afoot in the midst of the enemy where his mace and dagger would be of little use against the spears and swords of the Scots. As blood trickled down his head and into his eyes, partially blinding him, he gradually became aware that the enemy were fading away. A minute later they were in full retreat as Tristan’s men erupted from the ford and tore into them. He felt an enormous relief just before he fainted and collapsed into the mire.
Chapter Fifteen – Scotland and Normandy
1097 - 1098
A month later his wound had healed sufficiently for Edgar the Aetheling to knight Edwin as well as several other squires in the chapel of Edinburgh Castle. Hugo had acted as his sponsor and he had offered him a post in his own mesnie, along with Alain’s former squire, who had also been knighted. Edwin was still only seventeen but his courage and initiative had earned him his early accolade. Hugo had lost several of his household knights, including Sir Alain, in the fight on the banks of the Whiteadder as well as a dozen other members of his conroy and his personal mesnie was still under strength. Simon, his erstwhile squire, now became the captain of his mesnie. Nothing could have pleased the young knight more.
D’Umfraville’s conroy had suffered even greater losses as only fourteen had survived, and half of those had been wounded. Edgar had restructured the remnants, reducing the three conroys to two under the command of Hugo and Robert d’Umfraville respectively. If Tristan resented losing his command and becoming a member of his father’s unit, he hid it well.
Swinton had been the man in a hauberk who Edwin had killed. His sons had been with him; they had escaped but were now fugitives, probably somewhere north of the Highland Line, and their father’s barony had been confiscated. Etgair had given the manor of Swinton to another Scottish lord called Hume. The rest of the treacherous Sir John’s manors had been given to various landless English knights in order to provide a core of heavy cavalry on which Etgair hoped to build. However, it was not a popular move with other lords north of the border.
Most of the Berwickers who supported Duncan and his nephew, Edmund, had been with the force who had attacked the vanguard near the Whiteadder and so the town surrendered to Etgair without any opposition. Edmund had tried to harry the English army as it moved north through Lothian but increasingly the Scots in the area came in to submit to Etgair.
Etgair was very conscious that he needed to protect Lothian from pillaging and foraging by the English army. If he was to replace Donald and remain on the throne as Rufus’ ally he would need the support of his people. He pleaded with Edgar and, albeit reluctantly, the Aetheling arranged at some expense for his army to be resupplied from the sea, once Etgair had undertaken to repay him in due course. This necessitated marching up the coast, which followed a circular path rather than marching across country, to their destination. Whilst Edgar chaffed at the delay, his nephew welcomed the time in which to recruit more Scots to his banner. By the time that the army reached Edinburgh a quarter of the men in it were Scots.
The town and the nearby port of Leith surrendered immediately but the castle refused to acknowledge Etgair as king. The latter left his uncle besieging the castle standing high on its rock above the city and made his way to Scone with those Scottish nobles and bishops who had acknowledged him as their rightful monarch.
On a cold, dank day in September as the mist swirled around them and penetrated their clothing they watched as Causantín MacDuff, the Mormaer of Fife, placed a golden circlet on Etgair’s head. As the English army was still besieging Edinburgh Castle, he led his Scots supporters to Dunfermline where Donald Bane was reported to be. By now his uncle was sixty four years old and becoming a feeble old man. His council urged him to flee into the Highlands but he retorted that he was too old to lead the life of a fugitive. He didn’t even put up a fight when Etgair arrived but told his men to lay down their arms.
‘What do you intend to do with me, nephew? Kill me?’
‘No king should kill another, however unworthy that king might have been. No, uncle, you will abdicate in my favour and I will spare your life.’
Etgair was true to his word but he didn’t intend to give the wily Donald Bane a chance to do what he had done to Duncan in 1094. He wouldn’t feel safe on his new throne until Donald was no longer a threat, so he cast him into the dungeons of Rescobie Castle in Forfar. Still not satisfied that Donald had ceased to be a threat, he had his eyes put out. No-one would follow a blind king.
Meanwhile Edgar the Aetheling had been fretting over the capture of Edinburgh Castle. He knew that Edmund, Etgair’s brother, was within its walls and so he decided to try negotiation. He had an archer fire a message tied to an arrow over the walls and Edmund responded by sending out a herald to speak to Edgar.
‘My noble lord, Edmund mac Mael Cholium, Earl of Lothian, greets his younger brother, Etgair mac Mael Cholium, and requires that he desists from the rape and pillage of Scotland and returns to exile in England before he comes to harm.’
Edgar didn’t feel the need to employ a herald to respond and spoke himself.
‘Tell my nephew that his brother is currently at Scone being crowned as King of Scots. Therefore all within the castle who resist his rule are traitors and will hang from the castle walls if it’s not surrendered by noon tomorrow.’
‘Brave words, Aetheling,’ the herald sneered, ‘but how exactly are you going to capture the castle in order to hang us all. King Donald will shortly arrive with his army and drive you and your Norman curs back south of the Tweed.’
With that the herald turned and rode back through the castle gates.
When he had time to think about it, Edgar regretted his threat to hang every man in the castle. It would only make them more determined to hold out against him. Luckily a messenger arrived the next morning with the news that Donald Bane had abdicated and Etgair was now the undisputed ruler of Scotland. Another message tied to an arrow was fired over the castle walls and once more the pompous herald rode through the main gates and stopped out of arrow shot of the walls.
Edgar rode forward holding the letter from Etgair and handed it to the sceptical herald in silence. The man read it, nodded and handed it back before riding back into the castle. Half an hour later the gates opened again and Edmund himself rode out with a small escort. This time he halted within range of the battlements.
‘I’ve come to negotiate terms for surrender to my brother, uncle,’ he called across the intervening space.
‘Your brother would probably do what he did to Donald Bane, blind you and incarcerate you in a damp dungeon until your death.’
‘That hardly encourages me to surrender, does it?’
‘Etgair’s not here; I am. If you hand the castle over to me and your men swear allegiance to Etgair, they may depart unharmed but they are to leave their weapons behind.’
‘That is fair, but what about me?’
‘I know the Abbot of Montacute Abbey in Somerset quite well. He is always looking for more monks. If you give me your solemn oath never to take up arms again and to live out your days there, I will provide an escort to make sure you get there safely. The alternative is to try and negotiate with your brother when he returns.’
Edmund smiled wryly. ‘I’ll think I’ll take your offer, uncle. The castle is yours.’
-X-
In late summer William Rufus returned to England, not because of the situation in Scotland – that seemed to be progressing satisfactorily, especially since Etgair had been crowned. He was more concerned with the continuing revolt in Wales. With most of his army in Normandy and the rest with Edgar in Scotland he was desperate to raise a new one and cast about for those of his tenants-in-chief who he could bully more men out of. One of those who had always resisted providing him with knights and men-at-arms for military service was his old adversary, Anselm, Archbishop of Canterbury. He therefore deman
ded that Anselm provide him with more knights and soldiers from his manors for the forthcoming Welsh campaign. When the archbishop refused, he tried to charge him scutage in lieu so that he could hire mercenaries on the Continent.
Anselm was unwise enough to try and negotiate with William, demanding that in return the king should fulfil a promise given in 1094 to alter the balance of power between church and state. This would give the Church more autonomy over the clergy and the king less, so William refused. Anselm decided that he had enough of the acrimonious relationship between him and the king and he resolved to take his grievances to Rome and appeal to the Pope
There an army of French crusaders had finally deposed the anti-pope and installed Urban, removing William’s delaying tactic of playing one off against the other. William’s response was to deny him permission to leave England. The stalemate continued until William’s patience was exhausted and he gave Anselm the choice of exile or unconditional submission to him as king. William warned him that, if he left, he would seize the estates belonging to the Archbishop of Canterbury and never again receive Anselm as archbishop. On the other hand, were he to elect to stay, William would impose the scutage he claimed was due to him and force Anselm to swear that never again would he appeal to the Pope.
It wasn’t a difficult choice for Anselm to make; he had never really wanted to be archbishop, but had acceded to the wishes of his fellow clergymen. In October 1097 he left England only to return after William Rufus’ death. The revenues from his estates gave William the money he needed to pursue his Welsh campaign, not that that achieved much, but the dispute had weakened still further his relationship with the Church in England and alienated the now undisputed Pope.
