Caging the Lyon

by H A CULLEY

  William had found it difficult to get to sleep, so much hinged on tomorrow’s attack. When Jocelyn shook his shoulder to wake him it seemed as if he had only been asleep for a few minutes. He climbed wearily out of bed and held up his hands so another squire could put his under tunic over his head then he walked outside to relieve himself. It was a chill morning and the air was full of moisture. He looked up expecting to see the moon and the stars but all he could see was a grey mist. He yawned, scratched and went back into his pavilion where Jocelyn was holding his braies ready for him to step into. He tied them round his waist himself so that they felt comfortable then held up his hands again to receive his padded overtunic.

  Next he sat on the bed whilst Jocelyn pulled on a pair of woollen stockings that came up to his knees. Two squires then held one chause each for him to step into. These were made from chain mail, covered the foot and came halfway up each thigh. The straps that held them up were tied to his waistband. The king held his arms out for his hauberk. This was a chainmail shirt with full length sleeves that ended in mail mittens that could be slipped off or over the hands as needed. Jocelyn laced up the front and then slipped his surcoat over his head. Whilst he fastened his sword belt round William’s waist another squire placed the chain mail coil on his head and settled it on his shoulders. Normally an armoured knight would wear a great helm to protect his head but William wanted to able to watch the assault without the restricted vision imposed by its narrow eye slits so he opted for a flat topped open helmet with a leather strap. Just as a squire was fastening the strap under the king’s chin William heard a commotion and then a clash of arms.

  He rushed outside to see what was happening. The mist that had shrouded the camp when he had first gone outside half an hour ago had nearly burned off as the sun climbed into the sky. He looked towards source of the noise and was alarmed to see a large body of horsemen bearing down on the camp at full gallop having evidently fought their way through the picquets placed outside the perimeter to protect the camp.

  ~#~

  Over four hundred knights and serjeants had left Harbottle Castle just as the sun was setting the previous evening. They were all dressed in full armour but their helmets were slung from saddle horns. They were followed by the squires, each riding a spare war horse and leading a packhorse laden with lances, shields, and a variety of other weapons. The squires would arm the knights with lance and shield before they attacked. The packhorses also carried crossbows, quivers of quarrels and horsemen’s axes for the serjeants to use and morning stars and maces for the knights. Behind the squires came Robert and his archers as the rear guard.

  Richard rode at the head of the column in front of de Glanville and the other two barons with Elliot on his garron to path find and to warn of any problems or danger. Normally they would be some way in advance of the main body but at night they had to stay just in sight or else risk losing the whole column.

  The night was clear as they descended the track that led to the village of Rothbury, which they reached just before midnight. From here they wound their way up onto the high moors that led to Alnwick some twelve miles away. As they climbed through the heather onto the top of the ridge above Eglingham the first tendrils of mist began to appear. An hour later it was so thick that visibility was reduced to fifty yards. This meant that all sound was deadened. The downside was that it wasn’t long before the rear part of the column lost contact with the front part.

  Luckily the men at the rear of the vanguard realised that they had got separated almost immediately and sent a rider forward to tell de Glanville, who halted everyone. Elliot rode back down the column until he eventually found the missing half. They were milling about wondering what to do and it took him some time to reunite them with their colleagues. All this took time and Lord Ranulf began to fret that they wouldn’t be in place before dawn. What was worse Robert insisted that they slow the pace down so that everyone could keep up. The three barons didn’t seem to realise that, for some reason that no-one could explain, those at the rear of a long column had to march at a much faster pace than those at the front just to keep up.

  By the time that they reached the place a mile to the west of the priory where they were to arm themselves and get into formation the sky was beginning to get lighter, though everywhere was still shrouded in mist. Half an hour later the mist started to dissipate and the long lines of horsemen got ready to charge. They had arrayed themselves in four ranks. The knights were in front with lances held aloft and shields held ready. They were followed by three ranks of sergeants with the crossbowmen on the wings. Their job was to protect the flanks. At the rear sat Robert and his bowmen. They would peel off to the right as the charge went home to ford the Aln and take up a position on a ridge between the camp and the town. Robert had brought Miles and several boys with him to hold the horses once they had ridden into position.

  The squires would move forward as far as they dared after the charge went in to provide spare horses and weapons to any knight who needed them. If the serjeants lost their mounts they were expected to fight on foot.

  The mist thinned and the attackers caught glimpses of King William’s camp and the ruined priory beyond it. Ranulf could see that the Scots were already up and dressed and he cursed. He had hoped to catch them still asleep. Then a cry of alarm went up and he spotted several picquets each a dozen strong halfway between his men and the camp. He couldn’t afford to delay any longer so he yelled his war cry and dug his spurs into the flanks of his destrier. The whole mass leapt forward as one and changed towards the camp. As they neared the picquets the knights couched their lances and the three dozen Scots on guard were panicked by the deafening pounding of hooves and, having taken one look at the oncoming line of lance points, most of them ran. A few brave souls fired their crossbows or prepared to sell their lives dearly but, after an all too brief clash of weapons, they were killed and the relentless tide of armed men swept on.

  The fleeing picquets were ignored by the knights who wanted to reserve their lances for more worthwhile targets. But the serjeants following on brought their wicked horseman’s axes down on the heads of the running Scots, splitting their skulls in two, whether they were protected by a helmet or not.

  A few knights of the king’s mesnie had managed to find and mount their horses but they were disorganised. Most fought on foot, where they were at a considerable disadvantage. There were only about sixty knights in the king’s mesnie so they were hopelessly outnumbered from the start.

  Meanwhile Robert and his men had taken up position but, as they prepared to deal as best they could with an attack by the many thousands of Scots before them, they were amazed to see the Scots all running in the other direction to attack the walls of Alnwick Castle.

  As the leading rank of knights reached the outskirts of the camp one of William’s squires brought him his destrier and he hauled himself into the saddle just as Jocelyn came running up with his lance. Many of the attacking knights had already found a target for their own lances and were now wielding swords, maces and morning stars against their opponents. Richard de Cuille was one of those who had yet to find a target for his lance when he suddenly saw the king of Scots sitting on a huge horse in front of him. A squire handed him a lance but, before King William could couch it, Richard’s lance struck his shield and the force of the impact knocked him off his horse. Richard dismounted and, drawing his sword, went to take the king’s surrender. But he had forgotten about the squire. As he put the tip of his sword to William’s throat and asked him to yield he saw the man rushing at him out of the corner of his eye.

  Jocelyn had watched in horror as the king was unhorsed. As adrenalin coursed through his veins he completely failed to recognise Richard’s surcoat and rushed to pick up the first weapon he could find – a discarded mace. He saw the enemy knight about to thrust his sword into the king’s throat and screaming in horror he rushed at him with mace raised on high. Richard reacted instinctively and whirled round thrusting his sw
ord into his assailant’s chest. It went straight through the squire’s unarmoured body and out of his back, nicking his heart as it did so. It wasn’t until he put his foot onto his chest and went to pull his sword out of the dead youth that he recognised Jocelyn’s familiar face. He stood there numb with shock. It couldn’t be; it just couldn’t be. What on earth was Jocelyn doing here, serving the king of Scots?

  He was so distressed that he was completely unaware of his surroundings. Anyone could have cut him down and he wouldn’t have known until the blow landed. By rights the reward that would be due to the man who took the king’s surrender should have been his. But Richard didn’t care. All he could think was that Claire would never, ever forgive him. De Glanville looked at him curiously as he dismounted and took King William’s surrender himself. He wondered what was wrong with de Cuille, not that he cared overmuch. He would be high in Henry Plantagenet’s favour as the man who had captured William and the reward would make him even richer than he already was.

  Having secured the king’s person he set about taking those that remained alive in the camp prisoner as well. These included the marishal, Hervey de Keith, who had signally failed in his duty to protect his king.

  ~#~

  William de Vesci watched as the hordes of Scots rushed towards the walls of his castle carrying scaling ladders. As the ladders went up against the walls and men began to climb up his men thrust the ladders away from the walls using pitchforks. The climbing men fell on those waiting their turn below. Then William gave the signal and gallons of hot oil poured down on the attackers quickly followed by burning torches. The smell of burning flesh was almost overpowering and he retched over the battlements as the acrid smell caught at the back of his throat.

  Yet more scaling ladders thumped against the walls and, yet again, they were pushed away from the walls. Here and there a few Scots succeeded in reaching the top of the wall before being killed as they tried to climb through the crenels between the merlons that topped the walls. Those that did get onto the parapet were quickly cut down.

  Then the cry went up that the king had been taken by the English and the assault on the castle crumbled. An hour later the last of the Scots army could be seen heading back north whence it had come.

  Ranulf de Glanville rode up to the castle and called up to William to say that he had captured the king of Scots and he would be taking him back to Newcastle, there to await King Henry’s pleasure. William invited him inside but Ranulf declined, saying that there were still thousands of Scots about, especially the army besieging Prudhoe, and the sooner King William was held securely somewhere the better.

  When he rode back to the remains of the Scots king’s camp he found that Richard had loaded the dead squire’s body across a packhorse. The rest were left to rot and feed the carrion birds. Richard had recovered enough to explain that Jocelyn was his wife’s brother but Ranulf wasn’t interested in his tale of woe. He brusquely thanked Richard for his help and then he led his men back towards Newcastle. King William was mounted on a packhorse with his hands tied together and his feet secured beneath the horse. A halter was placed around his neck and the end given to a burly serjeant, just to make sure he didn’t try to make a run for it; although it was difficult to see how he could do this, trussed up as he was. He had been stripped of his armour and surcoat so he was just dressed in his braies and overtunic. He wasn’t even given shoes to wear, just left in his stockings.

  Richard watched them go then dejectedly. He would have been even more depressed if he had known that Waldo Cuille had overhead Ranulf de Glanville confide to Waldo’s master that he wondered if Robert of Byrness could actually be the notorious Robert of Locksley. Waldo vowed then and there to come back and kill the man who had murdered his father.

  PART THREE – REPERCUSSIONS

  1174 TO 1189 AD

  Chapter Eight – The Treaty of Falaise

  Richard wasn’t fated to face Claire’s anger straight away. When the others departed south with the king and other captives he headed over to the castle and told William de Vesci what had happened. If he was hoping for sympathy from his mother’s brother he was sadly disappointed. William’s attitude was these things happen in war. However he did dig out a fine bottle of wine or two so that Richard could drown his sorrows. He felt so ill the next day that it wasn’t until two days after the battle that he left with Jocelyn’s body. By this time the corpse had been washed and wrapped in a shroud. William lent Richard a small cart and a simple wooden coffin to transport the body so it didn’t suffer the indignity of arriving home draped over a horse.

  When he arrived at Wooler he found that tragedy had struck there as well. A few years before, in 1171, three deaths had occurred in quick succession: Richard’s great uncle John at Harbottle, Margaret de Cuille, who had been his grandfather’s cousin and the mother of Robert de Muschamp,, and thirdly Robert’s wife and the mother of Thomas, Claire and Jocelyn. Now he learned that Robert de Muschamp had himself been killed by marauding Scots.

  Robert had set out for the village at Barmoor with his newly knighted son, Thomas, taking a sizeable escort. He wanted to see whether the tower he had built there had survived the invasion. He had small hope that the village had done so. When he approached Barmoor he saw that the village had indeed been burnt to the ground but the tower still stood. The surrounding area was occupied by Scots, resting on their way back across the border with cart loads of plunder and more stolen livestock than existed in all Robert’s estate. The tower had evidently been attacked in the first wave of the invasion and presumably the garrison and the villagers had all been killed. Robert was furious and attacked immediately with his knights, serjeants and several armed men from Wooler mounted on a mixture of horses and garrons. The Scots, caught unprepared, had fled leaving most of their plunder behind.

  Whilst the men from Wooler rounded up the cattle and sheep Robert rode up to the open gate in the wooden palisade that surrounded the stone tower. He was wearing chainmail but had opted for an old fashioned Norman helmet with a nasal guard instead of wearing a great helm to protect all of his head. Like King William’s flat-topped helmet, this made it much easier to see and breathe. Suddenly a quarrel shot out of a crossbow fired by someone at the top of the tower. It glanced off the nasal guard of Robert’s helmet and ricocheted into his left eye, killing him instantly. Thomas dismounted and rushed to his side then, finding his father was dead, he got back in the saddle and charged into the bailey. He drew his sword and rushed up the circular staircase leading to the top of the tower. When he burst through the door onto the roof he could just make out two Scots through the red mist of his rage. One was trying to reload the crossbow using a windlass and the other was holding out a fresh quarrel.

  Without pausing, Thomas chopped his sword sideways at the neck of the one holding the crossbow. The blow had all his fury at the unnecessary death of his father behind it and the sharp blade sliced clean through the Scot’s slender neck. The head leaped clear and tumbled away over the battlements to land in the courtyard below, nearly hitting a knight who was about to follow Thomas into the tower.

  Without pausing Thomas thrust his bloody sword through the chest of the one with the quarrels. He then collapsed sobbing against one of the merlons. It wasn’t until two of his knights had helped him to his feet and he looked at the bodies of the two dead Scots that he realised that they were only about ten years old. The boy who had killed his father must have had to rest it against the top of a crenel to fire it. It would have been far too heavy for him to hold otherwise.

  ~#~

  Richard left Jocelyn’s body at his father’s castle in Wooler and set off again for Harbottle but he hadn’t gone very far down Glendale when he encountered a large body of men coming the other way.

  ‘Richard, I’m glad I’ve found you.’ Bernard de Balliol greeted him. ‘May I introduce Humphrey de Bohun and Richard de Lucy.’ He waved his hand airily towards the two men riding either side of him. ‘My lords, this is Richa
rd de Cuille, baron of the Cheviot and Redesdale, who has a very useful troop of mounted archers, as you can see.’

  If they could, they must have had exceedingly good eyesight as Robert and his men were riding at the rear of his column. Richard had to think for a moment. The names de Bohun and de Lucy were familiar to him, though he hadn’t met them before. De Bohun was the constable of England who had defeated the earl of Leicester’s army earlier in the year and de Lucy was the chief justicar, one of the most powerful men in the country, after the king. He bowed his head to them.

  ‘My lords, I am honoured to meet you.’ Neither man said anything but just nodded in acknowledgement. He turned his attention back to Bernard.

  ‘I thought that you were taking King William to Newcastle with de Glanville?’

  ‘No,’ de Balliol gave a brief chuckle. ‘I think that he wants all the glory for himself.’

  ‘De Balliol, we haven’t time to sit here gossiping’ Humphrey de Bohun barked at him. ‘Tell de Cuille here why he is to join us and let’s get moving.’

  ‘Of course, my lord,’ but Bernard de Balliol seemed quite unperturbed by the rebuke.

  ‘Richard, the king has ordered us north into Scotland to seize Berwick and its Castle and to give them a taste of their own medicine. You and your men are to join us as you know the territory.’

  ‘And we are to seize Norham Castle from that traitor Hugh de Puiset on the way’ de Lucy added, referring to the prince-bishop of Durham, who was strongly suspected of supporting the rebellion.

  Richard felt trapped. God knows, Claire would never ever forgive him for killing Jocelyn as it was. If he now went off on a punitive expedition into Scotland she would assume that he was too much of a coward to face her. If only he hadn’t lingered at Alnwick. But he didn’t have a choice by the sound of it so he nodded, but he did send one of his serjeants off with a message for Claire. At least it would be better than if she learned of Jocelyn’s death third hand, especially just after the sudden death of her father. That done, the column was reorganised. Richard was astounded that de Bohun hadn’t seen fit to put scouts out ahead of the main body and he even seemed surprised when Richard suggested it. However, he agreed when he was told that there were still a lot of Scots about.