The King's Dogge

by Nigel Green

  I nodded in confusion. The day was turning out to be rather different than I had anticipated.

  ‘I have a job for you,’ continued Gloucester. ‘I want you to go to the West March and restore order in that region. Recruit men, drive the Scots out and make it peaceful. I will keep Sir William, as deputy, in nominal control, but he’ll stay here with me. You will be in charge there by my express wish.’

  ‘You’re putting me in charge!’

  He nodded.

  ‘Ratcliffe told me that Montague anticipated you would be an excellent soldier one day and, frankly, the place needs a lot of attention and someone with skill. We can talk tomorrow about what resources I can help you with, although these are few.’

  ‘I do not know how to thank you, Your Grace.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ he suggested gently, ‘you could call me Richard, and do not thank me yet for it will be a hard job, but you will always have my support and friendship.’

  I walked on happily; the future looked suddenly very exciting.

  ‘Tell me about Montague’s plan at Barnet,’ Richard said. ‘What was he aiming to do?’ He grinned. ‘Edward thought that we would have great difficulty in winning the day.’

  I hesitated. I still felt immense loyalty to my old masters Warwick and Montague, and it seemed to be wrong to betray them by revealing their battle plans. On the other hand, Richard of Gloucester plainly trusted me and had requested my friendship.

  Richard gave me an amused glance. I guessed he could read my thoughts. With reluctance, I told him of the plan and he whistled softly when he learned of how Oxford should have turned Edward’s flank.

  ‘That would have crushed us,’ he said soberly.

  ‘How did you overcome Exeter on our left flank?’ I asked with growing confidence. ‘He had a good defensive position and the support of Warwick’s reserve.’

  ‘By luck mainly,’ said Richard. ‘In the fog, we overshot his line and came up on his flank.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘To be truthful, Francis, I am not sure how committed to Warwick he or his men were. They did not put up the resistance they should have done.’ He smiled. ‘I expect one day Exeter will pay the price for that.’4

  I made no reply. The talk of Barnet had brought back memories which saddened me and, for a fleeting moment, I felt a sudden surge of resentment towards the small man who walked alongside me.

  He stumbled suddenly; instinctively I grabbed him to prevent him from falling. He straightened himself and glanced down curiously at the uneven ground before smiling up at me.

  ‘I trust you will support me this well in the West March,’ said Richard of Gloucester.

  CHAPTER 4

  It was with considerable misgivings that I led the small party of servants, guards and three wagons to Carlisle, the capital of the West March. Richard’s ducal council had, I learned, been less than enthusiastic about my appointment and I feared a similar reception in Westmorland and Cumberland. I was, after all, only nineteen and a squire with limited military experience who knew nothing of the region. I had talked of my fears to Richard Ratcliffe after my final briefing at Middleham.

  ‘As I see and understand it Richard, the duke sees the situation there as being a mess. Carlisle was successfully defended against the Scots in 1461, but since then the city and the castle have been allowed to decay. Most of the people in the region have little time for the duke – he admitted as much, saying that they were all Warwick’s people and feel no desire to pledge an oath of allegiance to him. To top it all off, this is the one place on the border where the Scots are particularly belligerent.’

  He nodded soberly.

  ‘It’s worse than that, Francis,’ he replied. ‘Certainly many of the people there were Warwick’s men, but with his death there is a void. The duke cannot afford to spend time there and all the old families – the Musgraves, the Salkeds, the Armstrongs and so on – do not know him.’

  He snorted.

  ‘They have little time for the king either. He has never been there, and all he wants from them are their taxes. They argue that, instead of paying, they should receive financial help against the Scots, but they receive nothing. Since Warwick’s death – and he did help them – they have become more independent. They will defend their lands and homes but ask them to fight outside their own region or in Scotland; they will laugh at you outright.’

  ‘So what is Richard of Gloucester expecting me to achieve? A miracle?’ I said in exasperation. ‘How am I supposed to motivate these people when neither the king nor his brother are prepared to help and the one person they did respect is dead?’

  Ratcliffe shrugged.

  ‘In reality I don’t suppose anyone is expecting you to achieve a great deal. Just do the best you can.’

  The only comforting factor I could think of was that I had the backing of the Duke of Gloucester and, apparently, his friendship. He had acted decisively in sending messengers to announce my appointment. I had been given wide-ranging powers at a young age to assess the situation and take what actions I deemed suitable to repel the Scots and improve security. Having done this, I was free to harry the Scots.5 In a year’s time, I should report back to the duke, although Ratcliffe would come over from time to time to see how I was managing.

  Built on a defensive ridge to control the crossing from Scotland on the River Eden, Carlisle had been established by the Romans and had remained the main fortress in the western part of the borders since those days. It should have been a thriving city with its cathedral and markets full of bustling pilgrims on the way to St Ninian’s or St Kintigern’s in Glasgow. I found it quiet and depressing.

  ‘The number of citizens has declined with the decrease in trade,’ explained Sir Christopher Moresby, the keeper of the royal castle in Carlisle. ‘There is a prohibition against trading with the Scots and merchants fear to bring their goods up so close to the borders for fear of raiding parties.’

  ‘There is no port nearby?’ I asked.

  ‘Maryport is the nearest and then there is Ravenglass further to the south, but we cannot safeguard the track between here and Maryport,’ replied Sir Christopher. He looked grim. ‘We cannot protect the merchants or the pilgrims and, given their condition, I am not sure we can defend the city walls or even the castle for very long.’

  We left the cathedral and walked up to the castle. I noticed the masonry at the main gatehouse was badly decayed, although the drawbridge seemed sound.

  Inside, the castle’s condition was much the same with the defences weakened. In theory, once an enemy broke through the gates he would find himself in the outer bailey under fire from all sides. In reality, parts of the walls were actually crumbling so only limited firepower could be used. I felt downcast at the signs of neglect evident everywhere. I asked after the garrison’s strength.

  ‘The castle should have 300 men,’ Sir Christopher replied. ‘With that I could maintain an effective defence and keep the paths in the immediate vicinity secure. Currently I have sixty-two.’

  ‘Why so few?’

  ‘Lack of wages,’ came the prompt reply. ‘Soldiers tend to desert when they do not get paid.’

  ‘Your own wages?’ I asked suspiciously.

  It would not be the first time a garrison commander had pocketed his men’s wages. He looked at me steadily.

  ‘I am owed two years’ pay,’ he said firmly, ‘since the little we actually receive I give to the men.’ He paused and frowned. ‘The whole place has been allowed to decay, Gloucester ignores us, and so before you run back to him, Lovell, I’ll tell you what I believe, so that there are no misunderstandings.’

  He paused in thought for a moment, a small earnest man with grizzled hair and a determined expression.

  ‘There are three Marches. The Earl of Northumberland has the East, and he has the money, the resources and the castles to make that secure. The Middle March is also safe. But here? Gloucester is our warden, but he does not come. He has sent no money, no soldiers and,’ he waved his hand about,
‘you can see the result.’

  He looked at me defiantly.

  ‘In Warwick’s time, the place was prosperous. The Scots kept their distance so there was security and trade. Since then, as you have seen, the city is quiet and will soon be almost empty. The Scots are rampant and people are frightened.’

  I looked at him curiously.

  ‘Then why do you stay?’ I asked.

  The defiance faded from his face; he spoke calmly and with total conviction.

  ‘I was appointed as constable here and I will remain as constable for as long as I am able to. I won’t just run away.’ But then his expression hardened. ‘I have always done my duty. Given help, I could make this castle strong and maintain order in the surrounding area. Given encouragement, I could persuade others to assist against the Scots, and with money I could pay my men and recruit more. But we have had none of these things,’ he said sadly. ‘Our appeals are ignored.’ He eyed me up and down. ‘And now Richard of Gloucester sends us a young squire without lands and influence, and we are expected to obey him.’

  He gave a little laugh.

  ‘You asked why I have remained as constable, Lovell? I don’t suppose I’ll be in the position much longer when you run back to your absentee duke to tell him what I have just said. Frankly, I don’t much care. It might actually make him do something useful in the region he is supposed to command.’

  He looked at me contemptuously.

  ‘So, will you leave tonight or wait until tomorrow?’

  For a moment I was tempted to leave there and then. The situation was much worse than I’d imagined, and already my authority was being questioned. Evidently I was seen as a stranger and a servant of an unpopular lord. I looked down at him squarely.

  ‘Neither, Sir Christopher.’

  He blinked rapidly.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘What I just said,’ I replied. ‘I am not going back to the duke. I have been appointed to do a job and I will do it. If you wish to remain as constable here, I would be pleased. If not, then go.’

  He looked confused.

  ‘But we need help!’

  ‘And you will get it,’ I said.

  He looked doubtful.

  ‘In the meantime, prepare quarters for me and my people in the castle.’

  He nodded and turned away.

  I sat quietly rubbing my chin. Despite my brave words, I had not the slightest idea of what to do first.

  ‘With the extra men, we will need to make further changes to accommodate them all in the castle,’ Sir Christopher observed cheerfully at dinner.

  It had taken six months to win over this prickly little man, but now that all the arrears of pay had been settled and recruitment for another two hundred men had begun, he had begun to lose his distrust of Richard of Gloucester. By the time the masons had been summoned to provide estimates to replace the worst of the stonework and the carpenters had rebuilt the stables, he had become positively enthusiastic. So much so, in fact, that he was begging me to approach the duke for money to recreate the defensive ditch in the courtyard.

  ‘Extra arms too, my lord,’ continued Sir Christopher.

  My title was now in common usage in the castle, since it was assumed that I had some extraordinary ability to coax money out of the ducal council.

  ‘We still have not resolved the bigger issue,’ observed Sir Thomas Broughton, ‘of how we are actually going to stop the Scots from raiding.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘Unless you can ask the duke to send us some Saracen horsemen – I hear they are the best in the world.’

  I laughed heartily; I liked Sir Thomas. He was a landowner from southern Cumberland with black, straggly hair and a wild beard. It was curious that he and Sir Christopher were friendly, I thought. They seemed to have so little in common. Sir Christopher was devoted to his position in the castle, while Sir Thomas was a natural wanderer. He had spent many years travelling in Europe, although he was vague about what he had actually been doing in this time. I suspected he had been a soldier of fortune, until he had finally returned to England with a French wife half his age.

  His position in the castle hierarchy was ambiguous. He had arrived a few weeks previously to see his old friend and had stayed on to help. Like Sir Christopher, he had little time for the country’s recent wars; what mattered to him was overcoming the danger of the Scots. I found him humourous, his common sense invaluable and his military knowledge extensive.

  ‘Strengthening castles alone won’t stop the Scots,’ continued Thomas. ‘I accept that they have to be maintained but the Scots are manoeuvrable and we’re not.’

  I had heard it all before. The Scots on their short, shaggy ponies were capable of covering an amazing sixty miles in a day and a night. They were a fearsome foe with their eight-foot spears, swords and knives. For protection, they had sleeveless jacks, helmets and small shields; most worrying of all was their ability to move with the minimum of supplies and raid freely in Westmorland and Cumberland.

  Such troops as could be mustered on the West March were primarily infantry used to defend fortifications that the Scots largely avoided. Attempts to use our archers, supported by men-at-arms as infantry patrols, proved useless. The supply chains required for such a force slowed our men down and the Scots raced around burning villages and farms carrying off livestock, and attacking solitary farms and travellers.

  To my mind, the solution was obvious. I determined to build up our own force of light horse, which could not only counter the Scottish raids but, in due course, raid into Scotland. The problem was that I had neither the men, nor money, horses or anyone to train our force. Additionally, with the Duke of Gloucester abroad with the English Army in France, I could neither ask for his authorisation or support. But I knew it was the right policy and Ratcliffe agreed. Hesitantly, I took the problem to Thomas Broughton.

  He stroked his wild beard.

  ‘You are serious about this, aren’t you, Francis?’

  ‘It is the only way to stop the Scots.’

  He pondered for a while but then grinned at me.

  ‘We will have to start to bluff,’ he said. ‘If it goes wrong, you will be in so much trouble you would have done better if you had died at Barnet.’ He winked. ‘Mind you, if it works out then you will have bound both counties firmly behind Richard of Gloucester, which is probably what he wants.’

  He paused.

  ‘You’ll have to tell lies and make promises you can’t guarantee to keep, but, with Moresby and myself to back you, you’ll win a lot of support. Then, all you have to do is to get the duke to agree to what you have already done.’

  His unkempt hair fell over his forehead; impatiently, he pushed it back.

  ‘Mind you, that should not be hard with all that he currently owes you.’

  I looked up sharply.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He grinned.

  ‘Sir Christopher might believe that the costs of repairs and funding of the wages for the garrison all came from the duke, but I don’t,’ he said. ‘You’ve spent your own money and are now probably heavily in debt because you believed it was the right thing to do. Am I right?’

  I nodded bashfully.

  ‘Well it needed someone to do something,’ he said, ‘so that’s why I’ll help you in Cumberland and get Moresby to do the same in Westmorland. You are probably completely mad – but we will help.’

  Leaving Moresby in Carlisle, we journeyed south to Broughton Hall. I was surprised to see that this far south it had a piel tower, but Thomas advised that it was a necessary defence against the Scots. Having sent out messages, we began to tour the county to visit the homes of those men who had previously supported the Earl of Warwick. The message we put over to them was simple: Warwick was dead. I had been with him when he died – I received surprised looks at this point. Gloucester was not only the warden of the West March but also Sheriff of Cumberland and the Earl of Carlisle. More importantly, he had married Warwick’s daughter. Their son wou
ld be Warwick’s grandson. Furthermore, Gloucester – despite all his other duties – had shown an interest in the West March. As testament to his efforts, Carlisle Castle had been strengthened and partially rebuilt. I argued with them that to remain permanently on the defensive was not a sensible military option. We needed to create a mobile force better than that of the Scots to stop the raids and harry them over the border. Gloucester had promised to supply horses and men to train the troops but, in the meantime, he needed their support in men and loans to raise a force of 1,000, and perhaps even more than that.

  It was solely due to the influence of Thomas Broughton and, later, Christopher Moresby that we got the support of the landowners, and when eventually I realised that we had 1,000 men pledged for two years’ service, I judged it advisable to go to meet Richard of Gloucester.

  I found him at Sheriff Hutton. I reported the situation I had found as concisely as I could to him, beginning with the decayed situation in Carlisle and the antipathy of the gentry to anyone who was not the Earl of Warwick. I briefly described the improvements we had already made to Carlisle and the plan to establish a mobile force to wage war on both sides of the border.

  ‘So Richard of Gloucester heard you out in silence and told you that he would give you his decision in the morning,’ Ratcliffe clarified.

  I shifted uncomfortably.

  ‘Yes, I assume that he will want to take advice before he agrees or disagrees with what I have done.’

  ‘What we have done,’ Ratcliffe quickly corrected me. ‘Don’t forget I authorised your plan to commit Gloucester to pay for your horsemen.’

  ‘I had not realised that I would drag you down with me, if things go against me,’ I apologised.

  Ratcliffe fell silent and I guessed that he was assessing how great the threat to us was. In truth, I was not optimistic of the outcome since Gloucester would obviously turn to his ducal councillors for advice. The problem was that I had heard that many of them were already prejudiced against me. It seemed that a number of them felt that a more experienced man should have been appointed to the West March. Doubtless they would listen carefully when Richard presented them with an account of my actions, but then would happily recommend my dismissal on the grounds of impetuousness and irresponsibility. I passed on my opinion to Ratcliffe gloomily. He glanced round the little chamber that had been allocated to him and absent-mindedly rolled two of the scrolls on the table from side to side.