After Bannockburn

by H A CULLEY

  ‘Don’t worry. We’ll sort something out after the funeral but I don’t want to talk about it just now.’

  There was the odd flurry of snow in the air as Gertrude was laid to rest, not in the Eyemouth graveyard as her daughters had expected, but in the family cemetery at Lamberton. It contained members of the family that used to be lords of the manor but she was the first of Simon and Edgar’s family to be buried there. Simon, in particular, felt that it made him feel more at home at Lamberton, knowing that his mother would always be close.

  There was no special family cemetery at Ayton, just the communal one for the villagers near the small timber church, so Edgar asked Simon to make sure that he was buried beside his mother when the time came.

  ‘Aren’t you forgetting something, brother, you’re the younger and will probably outlive me.’

  ‘Then tell John to bury me there.’

  ‘Alright, I will, when he’s old enough to understand. But you’re only twenty-one, you have your whole life ahead of you yet.’

  ‘I hope so but we live in uncertain times.’ He paused, debating with himself whether to continue.

  ‘Come on, spit out whatever it is that you’re dying to tell me.’

  ‘You know me too well. I didn’t want to say anything until the funeral was over but Catriona is expecting another baby.’

  ‘That’s fantastic! Well done to both of you. Do you know when?’

  ‘She thinks it was conceived just before we left in September, so she thinks it’s due in May.’

  ‘I wonder why Bridget hasn’t told me?’

  ‘Because Catriona asked her not to, she wanted me to tell you that we’re catching you up, old man.’

  ‘You’ve reminded me that there’s something we need to discuss.’

  Edgar looked at him quizzically.

  ‘Abigail is nearly sixteen and it’s high time she was betrothed. We need to think about Millicent too in the not too distant future. The problem is, who to? They are neither fish nor fowl. They moved up a step when mother married a tailor, so they stopped being peasants but they’re not your typical sister of a laird either. I’m not being a boor but who do we look for as a suitable suitor?’

  ‘Good heavens, you’re blind sometime. Haven’t you noticed that Abigail and your steward have been making cow eyes at each other ever since she moved up here a week ago.’

  ‘But Geoffrey’s only seventeen!’

  ‘Yes, and so only a few months older than Abigail. There’s no law that says the bride has to be younger than her husband you know. He has his own house, so what’s the problem?’

  Chapter Thirteen – The Truce of Bishopsthorpe

  January 1323 to June 1324

  Andrew Harclay, Earl of Carlisle, was determined to end the conflict between the English and the Scots. He felt strongly that it was being perpetuated for one reason, and one reason only, to satisfy the vanity of King Edward. The king’s father had called himself Lord Paramount of Scotland and Edward, who had always lived in his father’s shadow, seemed determined to turn the self-awarded title into fact, whatever the cost.

  Harclay was angry about the impoverishment and the suffering inflicted by King Robert on Northern England but he realised that it was mainly aimed at forcing his vain fellow monarch to recognise the status quo, so he decided to do something about it. It took him a month of delicate negotiation but at the start of January 1323 he received a safe conduct and crossed into Scotland to meet Thomas Randolph, Earl of Moray, at Lochmaben Castle.

  Two months later the snow was falling heavily as Simon made his way back from Berwick, where he had been staying for the past two days to see his sea captains and the foreman of his warehouse. The brothers’ merchant shipping business was proving profitable but it was taking up more and more of his time. They owned the business equally but he was more interested in it than Edgar and, although he was careful to consult him, he found that he was doing all the work and Edgar was just reaping the benefits. He wasn’t happy about it but he didn’t feel like raising it with Edgar.

  Whilst he was in Berwick he learned what was happening elsewhere in the country and he was full of the news. He decided to head for home first then go over and tell Edgar tomorrow. He and Rollo struggled on as the snow got deeper and their horses began to flounder as they became more and more exhausted. It was difficult to see where the road went now and Simon became concerned that they might not be able to make it. Then Rollo’s horse stopped and refused to go any further.

  It was an expensive jennet which Simon had bought his squire for his fifteenth birthday to replace the rouncey he had previously ridden. His own horse, an even more expensive palfrey, seemed to be coping with the conditions, so Simon took the boy up behind him and, now free of Rollo’s weight, the jennet struggled on.

  Normally the short journey from Berwick to Lamberton would have taken less than an hour but it was four hours after they had left Berwick when they sighted Lamberton in the growing twilight. Both Simon and Rollo gave a silent prayer of thanks as they rode into the gate in the palisade, just as Callum was closing it for the night.

  ‘We weren’t sure you would set out in this weather, Sir Simon.’

  ‘We should have stayed in Berwick, Callum, but the snow didn’t start to come down really hard until just after we had left. I’m always glad to be home but never so much as tonight.’

  He looked toward the doorway of the hall where Bridget stood, wrapped in a fur lined cloak, hugging little Cara to her and with a hand on the shoulder of five year old John. Abigail and Millicent stood behind her, peering over her shoulder. He smiled and waved a greeting before handing the reins of his horse to a stable boy and trudging through the snow to hug them all.

  ‘What are the tidings from the outside world then?’ Bridget asked him once he had warmed the chill out of his bones by the fire and taken a swig or two from the flagon of warmed wine that Ian Logan had brought him. His sisters stood behind Bridget’s chair and his children at his feet as he started to tell them. He glanced over to the other side of the room where Rollo stood, itching to go and get some warm, dry clothes on but Ian and Lachlan wouldn’t let him go until he had told them what he knew.

  At that moment the door opened and shut again as Geoffrey came in, followed by an eddy of snowflakes. He came and stood by Abigail and the two exchanged a shy smile.

  ‘Well, you know that The Earl of Carlisle met the Earl of Moray at Lochmaben in January and they agreed a truce between the North of England and us? I have heard that it was rather more than just a truce. Not only did Carlisle recognise Robert as King of Scots but he agreed that he would support Scotland against its enemies if we would do the same for Northern England; a sort of mutual support agreement.’

  He paused and took a long drink of the hot wine before calling Ian over to refill his goblet. Rollo and Lachlan followed him over and listened to the rest of the news from Simon’s lips.

  ‘Goodness knows what Carlisle thought King Edward was going to make of such an agreement but he went ahead and proclaimed the terms throughout the North of England and even sent a copy to Edward. He and Moray also proposed that King Robert pay forty thousand marks as recompense for the raids against Northern England and pledged that his son, when he has one, in marriage to Princess Joan, Edward’s year old daughter.’

  ‘Anyway, several of the magnates supported the proposed treaty so Edward had to tread carefully. He called a meeting of his council at York and ordered Carlisle to attend. The upshot was the council, much as they liked the terms of the agreement, decided that the earl had no power to negotiate with the Scots and, as they were considered the enemy, he was declared a traitor. Ten days ago he was stripped of his earldom and, as plain Andrew Harclay once more, he was hung drawn and quartered in his town of Carlisle. The good news is that Edward has killed his best commander, the bad news is that there is plainly little chance of peace whilst Edward still lives.’

  Simon was wrong. Within weeks of Andrew Harclay’s death
, Edward had sent an embassy to Robert Bruce proposing a peace conference to be held at Newcastle. The envoys met but could make no progress. The English refused to recognise Robert as King of Scots and the Scots refused to discuss a truce unless he was so recognised. The negotiations were broken off.

  However, Edward tried once again and the negotiators from both countries met at Bishopsthorpe, near York, in May 1323. This time no mention was made of Robert’s title, the peace being between the peoples of England and Scotland. It was to last for thirteen years and both sides agreed not to further fortify their respective sides of the border.

  King Edward also made a major concession. He agreed not to oppose an attempt by Robert to get the interdict on Scotland, imposed by the Pope, lifted and for himself to obtain absolution. Edward sealed the truce on thirtieth of May and Robert did the same at Berwick on the seventh of June.

  Robert wasted no time and immediately dispatched Thomas Randolph and William Lamberton, Bishop of St. Andrews, on an embassy to the Pope in Avignon. They arrived at Lamberton en route, the place where co-incidentally the bishop had been born as a younger son of the then bailiff.

  ‘Simon, we need to hire two transport ships from you, one for the delegation and one for our horses and baggage, and three escort vessels to see us safely to the French coast. If you would like to accompany us on to Avignon you would be most welcome.’

  ‘My lord, I am honoured by the invitation and I will come with you to Berwick to arrange the ships tomorrow, however I need to stay here to manage my estate and my shipping business. However, my brother Edgar may well be glad of an opportunity to see something of the world. His wife has just given birth to a baby daughter so he might welcome the excuse to get away for a month or two.’

  He didn’t add that Bridget was pregnant again and, as the baby was due in September or October, he didn’t want to risk not being back for its birth.

  Catriona was less than pleased at the prospect of Edgar leaving her for two or three months but she saw how eager he was and didn’t feel she could object too strongly. They had named the new baby Gertrude. It wasn’t a name that Catriona was fond of but Edgar wanted to name her after his mother. However, she did object to his next request.

  ‘Obviously I’ll take Patrick with me but, as we are travelling, I’ll need another couple of servants to help him. I thought that Alexander might enjoy the adventure. It would be good experience for him too.’

  Catriona was envious of the fact that Bridget had two pages whist she had to make do with one. She was about to object when her husband went on.

  ‘You need more pages in any case. I meant to tell you earlier but Sir Bertram over at Auchincrow mentioned to me the other day that he needs to place his two sons as pages. They’re eleven and ten. He’s left it late but his wife was unwilling to let them go before now. She’s just had a daughter and is besotted with the baby. This means she is more amenable to the prospect of losing her sons, hence the request. It’s a bit difficult as Alexander is only nine and he would become the junior. So I thought that being away whilst the new pages settle in might help.

  Catriona smiled and kissed him before nodding her agreement, delighted that she would now have three pages to Bridget’s two.

  ~#~

  Alexander had never been outside Berwickshire, let alone abroad , nor had he been afloat before. He was delighted that, whilst his brother Patrick kept feeding the fishes with his stomach’s contents, he was proving to be a good sailor. Sir Edgar had chosen one of the ship’s crew, a lad called Anselm, who had been one of the other novice monks that he had rescued from Lindisfarne with Geoffrey of Wooler, to be his other servant. The boy was nearly sixteen and he had impressed Edgar with his intelligence. Had he had the same education and experience as Geoffrey had whilst a novice, he might have done better for himself. Edgar was mindful of the fact that the bailiff back at Ayton was old and, as his second son had died unexpectedly several months ago, he really needed to find him an assistant that he could train up to take over from him eventually. Perhaps Anselm might be prove suitable. This journey would give him a chance to get to know him better.

  Sadly the other boy he had rescued with Geoffrey and Anselm wasn’t cut from the same cloth. He had proved to be something of a trouble maker and Edgar was glad when he was told that he had jumped ship in Antwerp.

  As the five ships sailed south the westerly breeze freshened and off the Humber Estuary they had to shorten sail. Although the bishop was in possession of a safe conduct from King Edward permitting them to sail through English waters, everyone thought it prudent to stay well off the coast. When the captain changed course and appeared to be heading inshore Edgar was quick to reassure the earl and the bishop.

  ‘Cogs are relatively flat bottomed and so the wind pushes them sideways as well as filling the sail so that they sail forwards. The stronger the wind, the more they skid sideways over the water. This is called making leeway and the captain has to allow for it when deciding in which direction to steer.’

  Neither Thomas Randolph nor William Lamberton were entirely convinced but they knew Edgar was an experienced seaman and they ceased to worry about their course. As the wind grew stronger they became more worried about it though. It was howling through the rigging and water had started to break over the high gunwale. Occasionally a big wave would crash into the hull and the ship would stagger before ploughing forwards again. It was heeling further over too.

  Much to the amazement of the two men, Edgar and the captain seemed to be enjoying the experience. Seeing his important passengers looking worried, Edgar walked over to them, his steps across the deck seeming somehow to anticipate the latter’s movement under him. They felt that if they gave up their hold on the main mast, to which they clung for dear life, they would stagger and fall overboard.

  ‘Don’t worry, my lords, this is but a bit of a blow and it’ll soon pass. We call it a squall. If you want to experience some real fun, you should be out here in a proper storm.’

  If Edgar’s words were meant to calm the two men down, he had failed dismally. However, a quarter of an hour later the squall had passed and the sailors let out the reef in the mainsail and they resumed their original course.

  Alexander had relished the wind and the exciting movement of the ship; not so his brother who was now below decks vomiting. As there was nothing left, he was bringing up his stomach acid.

  ‘Just leave me here to die, Alexander,’ he moaned to his brother.

  ‘No-one has yet died of sea sickness, or so Sir Edgar says. Here, let me help you up onto the deck. The squall has passed and you’ll feel better in the fresh air. To Patrick’s surprise, Alexander was right and he did start to feel a little better. He even managed to swallow some of the water that Alexander brought him to wash away the taste of his vomit.

  A week later they arrived at Ouistreham in Normandy, the port for Caen. Patrick had rushed down the gang plank, anxious to be back on dry land but he was confused when his legs refused to obey him and he fell in the dirt of the quayside. When he tried to get up again the earth seemed to be moving under him. Edgar followed him off the ship and stood there laughing.

  ‘You have to get used to being on dry land again, Patrick. You’ve become accustomed to the motion of the ship, which is why the land seems to be moving.’

  An abashed Patrick stood up and took a tentative step then, gaining in confidence took two more. Something made him look back up at the ship, where he saw Alexander laughing at him. He scowled and vowed to get even with his brother.

  The journey to Avignon was uneventful except for one evening when they were staying at the town of Valance eighty miles to the north of their destination. The group was too large to stay in one tavern and had to spread themselves between three. The bishop and his chaplain, scribes and servants were lodged in one, half the escort in another and Thomas Randolph, his entourage and Edgar and his stayed in a third. Anselm slept in the stables with some of the other servants and the serjeants to guar
d and look after the horses. Edgar shared his room with Patrick, who slept by the door as usual, and Alexander, who slept on a truckle bed in one corner.

  The page had discarded his hose, shoes, under tunic and padded over tunic all over the floor around his bed, sleeping in just his braies. Patrick thought it would be a joke to throw his clothes out of the window to pay his brother back for laughing at him in Ouistreham and so he had lain awake waiting for Edgar and Alexander to fall into a deep sleep. Just as he had started to get up to gather up his brother’s clothes he heard the stairs creak outside the room.

  At first he shrugged, thinking that the earl, who was in the next room, had sent his squire on an errand. Then he heard the same creak again. There must be two people outside in the corridor, which seemed strange. As he listened, he heard a hastily whispered conversation. He knew then that whoever was out there was up to no good. He went over to the bed and woke Sir Edgar and briefly told him what he had heard. The knight nodded and got out of bed naked, grabbing his sword and drawing it quietly from its scabbard. He nodded at Patrick, who had grasped his dagger and they moved to the door, throwing it wide and stepping out into the corridor.

  They found not two but three men, one of whom had opened the earl’s door as was just stepping over the threshold. Two held daggers and the third a crossbow. Without thinking, Edgar thrust his sword into the neck of the crossbowman before he could bring his weapon around to point it at them. As the man collapsed, he pressed the trigger and Patrick felt an intense pain in his left leg. He went down on one knee and stared stupidly at the quarrel stuck in the bottom of the door jamb and the blood pouring out of a deep gash in his bare thigh.