The scene that met their eyes was dramatic as it was chaotic. All this
part of the town was already ablaze, the sea-wind fanning the flames
and causing them to leap the narrow lanes and venn els
Against the red and ochre glare, and amidst the rolling smoke clouds, black figures were silhouetted, running, darting, wrestling, falling. Frequently steel flashed, reflecting the fires. Shouts and fierce laughter, screams and wails, penetrated the roar of the conflagration. Hell had come to Berwick that night!
Frowning, the King eyed it all. This was not as it should be. Berwick
was a Scots town, its greatest seaport, an important part of his realm however grievously it had been forced to cooperate with the enemy. Seventeen thousand had been massacred here by Edward Longshanks; in 1296, as an example to other Scots -hence perhaps the subsequent cooperation. It was no part of the King of Scots policy to emulate.
Find me Dunbar. Also Douglas, he ordered his companions.
And command this slaughter to cease. Our enemies are in Berwick Castle, not in this town. Quickly. I shall stand here.
Douglas was first found. He came running, eyes streaming, features blackened with soot.
Thank God you are come, Sire! he cried, panting.
I can do nothing with the man Dunbar. Earl Patrick. Nor can Thomas. He will have the whole town ablaze. His men are sparing none. They heed no word of mine …
I have sent for him. This slaughter of citizenry must be stopped.
But-the castle, Jamie? What of the castle?
Thomas watches it. He holds the Castlegate. That before all else.
They have not sought to break out. Into the town. Horsleys garrison.
As yet.
As well! And the other? This Witham? The town governor?
I have him. Captured. Drunken, and bedded with a whore.
The town is mainly in our hands. A few pockets of Englishry still hold out, but not many. Mainly by the harbour. But, see you, our men are much scattered. Or Dunbars men are. If there was a sally in force from the castle, and Moray could not hold it, all might yet be lost.
I know it. Get your men gathered together, Jamie. How many have you?
Near 600. Moray has half that.
And Dunbar?
Who knows? Perhaps 1,500.
Aye. Well, leave Dunbar to me. Gather your men, and reinforce Thomas at the Castlegate. At all cost we must contain Horsley. He has the name of a fighter. And keep the remnants of Withams force from reaching the castle likewise.
The King waited on the high wall, above the holocaust, where he could be found, while Douglas made off again, to dodge and double, threading his way to avoid the burning streets.
Hay brought the Earl of Dunbar and March to his monarch at length-as High Constable of Scotland his authority was undisputable.
My lord, Bruce snapped, at once, I am much displeased.
Who gave you leave to burn this my town of Berwick?
Your Graces town of Berwick is a nest of adders that should be smoked out, the other returned coolly.
That I do.
Douglas commanded here, in my name, as Warden of the Marches. His orders were to spare the town. He has been besieging Berwick for a year-Berwick Castle. As you know well. At any time he could have contrived that the town should burn. Such was not my will. You. knew it, my lord. Yet you have chosen to do this. You will tell me why, anon. Meantime, you will halt this folly, this carnage, immediately. Have your men withdrawn.
All burning, and slaying of the citizenry to cease. You understand?
If you wish Berwick Castle to fall, Sire, you will think again, the
Earl declared thinly.
This town protects it like a breastplate. I remove that breastplate for you.
Silence, sir! Do you debate my commands with me, the King?
Bruce cried.
My lord Constable-see that the Earl of Dunbar calls off his men forthwith. No further delay. Have them assemble at the Salt-market. There is room there.
Bowing stiffly, the Cospatrick was led off.
But it was not so simple as that. Dunbar, it proved, had but little hold over his irregular force of Mersemen, many of whom had old scores to pay in Berwick town. Men inflamed with passion, liquor and rapine were not to be restrained, controlled, assembled, now scattered wide as they were. They continued to run riot, roaming where they would. In his efforts to bring them to heel, the King had to order the detachment of large numbers of Douglass and Morays veterans, thus greatly endangering the entire venture.
Bruce made his own way through the inferno to the narrow, climbing
Castlegate, which rose steeply from the town to the frowning fortress
which dominated all from its rocky eminence high above the Tweed. If
Sir Roger Horsley and his large garrison chose to clear this Castlegate
with volleys of missiles flung from their great slings and mangonels
* as they could readily do-and then sallied out in force, the depleted Scots force could by no means hold them. As cork for this bottle, Bruce knew his stopping-power to be quite inadequate.
That Horsley continued to hold his hand was surprising.
All that grim night the situation remained unresolved, with a confusion
of fighting in narrow flame-lit streets, as much between Douglass
veterans and Dunbars local levies as between Scots and English. Yet
no break-out was attempted from the castle, no stones and projectiles
were hurled down the Castlegate -which even in semi-darkness could not
have failed to be effective, so narrow was the gullet. Bruce stood
through the long hours, in the throat of the ascent, with a mere handful of men-although trumpet calls could have brought at least a hundred or two others fairly swiftly. Lights shone up at the citadel, but no stir of movement-that same castle where exactly twenty years before Edward Plantagenet had so deliberately humiliated him before Elizabeth, before all, at the Ragman Roll signing.
A chill grey dawn brought no immediate easement, for though the fighting and burning was tailing off, through weariness and satiety rather than any major imposition of discipline, the danger from the castle was heightened, since Horsley could now see how comparatively few he had to deal with; and missile-fire- and worse, arrows-could now be used accurately. But still no sally developed. Gradually Bruce began to breathe more freely. For some reason Horsley did not commit himself. To help matters along, the King ordered much blowing of trumpets from various parts of the smoking town, much unfurling and parading of standards.
And he sent an impressive deputation, under the High Constable and the Warden of the Marches, to within hailing distance of the fortress gatehouse, to demand the immediate surrender of this Scots citadel to the King of Scots in person, offering honourable terms and safe conduct for the garrison to Durham. Also he hanged a couple of score of Dunbars looters and rapers, from beams made to project from Castlegate windows-as much to impress the garrion as to enforce his authority and punish the men, on the principle that any commander who could so afford to deal with his own troops must be very sure of his own strength. The Earl of Dunbar was constrained to officiate at these hangings, for sufficient reason; also it allowed the King to give it out that it was punishment for in discipline against the Earls own orders, a face saving device that was important if this powerful noble was not to be totally estranged and thrown back hereafter into the English arms.
By midday, although there was no response from the fortress to the surrender demand, Bruce was satisfied that there was not now likely to be any break-out. Even with his siege-machines, however, he could not effectively assault the citadel, so secure was its position.
But at least it was now cut off from the harbour, as from the town, and from reinforcement and supply by sea and land. Giving orders for such salvage
and aid operations as were possible in the unhappy town, the weary and hollow-eyed monarch allowed himself to be persuaded to take a few hours rest on the late Governor Withams bed.
Prior Adam de Newton arrived back in Berwick that same morning, having been unaccountably delayed en route. His Minorite priory had been spared the flames, and his precious letters and Bull were intact.
Wisely he decided that the moment was scarcely ripe for any attempt at presenting them to his difficult liege lord. First things probably came first, and there was ample for priests to do in Berwickon-Tweed for the moment. The lords Cardinal would surely understand.
It was not long before Sir Roger Horsley recognised realities, saw that if he had been going to attempt any counter-measures, he had left them too late, and decided to accept the terms of honourable surrender. It said something for the Scots Kings reputation, as a man who kept his word, that the Englishmen were prepared to trust to it; for at the last siege of Berwick, Edward of England had likewise offered honourable terms to the Scots castle garrison, after the capture and massacre of the town; and when Douglass father Sir William, the governor, had submitted on those terms, the Plantagenet had laughed aloud, put him in chains, and sent him to walk, thus, with common jailers, all the way to London, for imprisonment in the Tower-thereby creating more than one deadly enemy. His son, grim-faced, watched the English garrison ride out from the castle and town, swords retained and flags flying, a few days after the fall of Berwick, on their way to Durham; but he made no protest.
Berwick was a tremendous prize, in more than the mere cleansing of the
last inch of Scots soil from the invader. It was one of the most
renowned fortresses in the two kingdoms, and its loss a damaging blow
to English morale. It dominated the Border, and all of Northumberland
right to Newcastle. It gave the Scots a first-class seaport. And it
endowed them with a mighty collection of warlike engines collected
here, springalds, cranes, sows, ballista and the like, such as they had
never had before. Above all, of course, Berwicks restoration to
Scotland, before the Papal edict anent it had been made public,
invalidated the said edict-which was Robert Bruces urgent
preoccupation meantime, in this strange contest of wits with the Holy See.
Ever a believer in striking while the iron was hot, and in order
further to demonstrate to the Papal envoys that they were backing a
losing side, Bruce sent for his son-in-law, the Steward, to come south
with as large a mounted force as he could quickly raise. This, with
Douglass own Border contingent, was to form one of the swift
hard-hitting raiding columns beloved of the King, to stage one more deep penetration of England, for the cardinals benefit mainly. Douglas and Moray would lead it-for though Bruce dearly would have liked to do so in person, he could not fail to recognise that in his present state of health this would be foolhardy and might endanger more than the operation itself. Walter Stewart would take over the governorship of Berwick meantime.
On learning of these preparations, Master Adam de Newton summoned up his courage and once again presented himself at the Kings door, this time complete with his letters and Bull. Sir Alexander Seton received him, as before, turning the sealed letters over in his hands.
To whom are these sent, Master Prior? he asked, as though coming new to the whole matter.
To the King, sir. To King Robert.
It does not say so. You have failed to address them properly, I
fear.
That was not for me to do, Sir Alexander. I am but the bearer.
I cannot change the superscriptions. Nevertheless, they are written to the King, and none other.
We have but your word for it, man. And you admit that you are but the bearer. I cannot take these to His Grace. All must be in the proper form, for King Robert. It is as much as my neck is worth!
But, sir-this is of vital import. This is the voice of Holy Church.
From the Holy Father himself.
The more necessary that it is properly directed and addressed.
Take it back, Master Prior. Take it to those who gave it to you.
I dare not…
You dare not do other, Sir Priest! It is the Kings command.
How think you he will look on one of his own subjects who contests his royal decision? In favour of a strangers?
These … these are Princes of the Church. The spokesmen of Holy See.
They will be very wroth …
More wroth than The Bruce, angry?
The other swallowed.
I dare not counter them. They could un priest me. Their patience is ended.
Is it so? I wonder? For the man Witham, whose house this was, tells us that King Edward much consoles Their Eminences in their waiting at Durham, in many ways! In especial, he has conferred pensions upon them. Pensions for their lives. Why, think you?
The Prior shook his head, wordless.
Go then, Master Newton-and bring back your letters properly inscribed. His Grace will then read them. He does not reject the letters of His Holiness. Only requires that in so important a matter there should be no mistake. Seton shrugged.
If he wrote a letter and sent it to the Bishop John, calling himself Pontiff, at Rome? How then? Would the Pope receive it?
I know not. It is not for me to say. But… something other is.
He drew himself up, as with a physical bracing.
Other than these letters to deliver, I have a second duty. A message to proclaim. To all. A verbal message, Sir Alexander. I have delayed too long in proclaiming it. If King Robert will not hear it, his subjects shall.
He turned. Quite a crowd of citizenry and soldiers had collected, as at any development around the Kings house. The Prior raised his hand.
Hear me, good people-in the name of His Holiness the Blessed John, Pontiff and Vicar of Christ. His Holiness blesses you all. He desires and decrees that a truce of two years duration is now in force.
Between the peoples of Scotland and England, their rulers and councils. In this evil warfare which has shed so much blood, and denied the fair face of Christendom. His Holiness decrees that none soever, be he named Robert Bruce or other, shall raise hand or sword against the English, from now on, for the space of two years. Nor any at his behest or command …
Newton had been raising his voice as he went on, to counter the murmuring of the crowd. But he got no further than this. The murmur rose to a great and angry shout. The mob surged forward, gesticulating furiously.
With difficulty Seton extricated the alarmed Prior from the outraged crowd, pulled him inside the house and slammed the door.
Then he hustled him through the building, past the kitchen premises, and so to its backdoor courtyard, and there ejected him into a lane.
Off with you Sir Prior, before worse befall you, he said.
Happily, I did not rightly hear your message-which may well have been treasonable, I do very much fear! Thank you your saints that I did not. To Durham with you-and come back better instructed.
Quickly-before they find you! See-you have dropped your Bull…!
Master Adams troubles were far from over, even though he did manage to
escape amongst the warren-like burned-out streets of Berwick. Only a
few days later, as King Robert rode south westwards a little way with
Douglas and Moray, on the start of their punitive raid into England,
news was brought him that the unfortunate Prior had fallen into the Hands of more broken men, some way to the south, in the region of Belford, presumably Northumbrians.
Heathenish scoundrels, anyway. He had been most roughly used, his servants beaten, and all he had possessed taken from him, even his very clothing, so that he was left to c
ontinue his journey to Durham on foot, barefoot, and completely naked-a latter-day martyr, no less.
Gravely the King listened to these shameful tidings, and desisted from making anxious enquiries about the safety of the Priors precious documents.
Bruce parted from his friends on the banks of the Till near Etal, to turn back for the ford at Coldstream and his return to Dunfermline.
Go where you will-but take no greater risks than you must, he told
This is no invasion, see you, but only a demonstration.
Take heed-for I need you both. More than you know.
And do not be gone too long.
How far shall we press, Sire? How far south? Moray asked.
I care not-so long as you press south of Durham! I would like to see my lords Cardinal make for London. In a hurry! But not you see you! No probing for London, this time. Yorkshire will serve very well. If you seemed to move in eastwards somewhat, once past Durham, so much the better.
Douglas smiled.
Your Grace does not wish a captive Prince of Holy Church?
God forbid…!
Chapter Sixteen
St. Andrews had known many stirring occasions in the past, not least Bruces first real parliament nine years before, after he had completed his conquest of the Highland area, the Rosses and the MacDougalls. But this outdid all. Indeed it was probably Scotlands greatest spectacle and celebration ever, to date, both church and state combining to make it so, each with good reason.
William Lamberton was as anxious as his monarch that faraway Rome should hear of this glittering event, be aware of the splendid edifice erected to Gods glory and Holy Churchs pride, in the ecclesiastical metropolis of Scotland, and to perceive that this far northern kingdom was no rude, impoverished wilderness, inhabited by semi-barbarians, but one of the most ancient, vigorous and cultured nations of Christendom and a strong buttress of Christs Church. He had even invited the Popes two representatives, from London, to be present for the occasion-after carefully ascertaining that they had already departed for France, on their way back to Rome, in high dudgeon, following upon their undignified scuttle south from Durham.
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