Berwick-upon-Tweed, 1st of October, 1346
Evening
‘He died an hour ago without regaining consciousness,’ Merrivale said. ‘I am sorry. I should have ensured he made a full confession.’
‘For God’s sake,’ Rokeby said impatiently. ‘You were an unarmed man, against an armoured knight. You’re damned lucky he didn’t kill you.’
‘He did try,’ Merrivale said dryly. ‘I heard there was fighting on the other side of town.’
‘Yes. The Scots came back and made a dart at the Magdalene Gate. I sent Coupland and Tom to outflank them, and they sheered off and rode away over the hills. It’s been quiet ever since.’
‘They were expecting Heron’s men to open the gate for them,’ Merrivale said. ‘They may leave you in peace now, for a little while, at least. I tried to arrest Nickson and Croser, but I suspect they have already deserted. I also went through Heron’s strongbox this afternoon. I’m sorry, Thomas, but there are letters and receipts for money dating back years. God knows how long he has been in Scottish pay.’
‘And he wasn’t even smart enough to destroy the evidence,’ Rokeby said. ‘I hope the bastard roasts slowly in hell. I’ll find out who else may have been working with Brotherton and Cheswick. What guarantees did you give Brotherton?’
‘I promised his life would be spared,’ Merrivale said. ‘Nothing else. I shall depart in the morning, Thomas. I need to see Lord Percy before it is too late.’
19
Durham, 2nd of October, 1346
Afternoon
‘Brother Oswald,’ said Hugh de Tracey. ‘You took your time.’
They were standing in the cloister of Durham cathedral, listening to rain drip from the eaves. ‘I ran into Brus,’ said Oswald of Halton. ‘He asked me to carry some letters for him. I thought it would be a chance to find out what he is doing.’
‘And?’
‘He has the Disinherited by the balls, I don’t know how or why. Brus’s friends raided their lands to put pressure on them. When they fought back, he rebuked them, and they cringed like little girls. I saw it myself.’
‘Where are they now?’
‘Vanished. But here’s the important bit. Brus is grabbing land, from the Knights of Saint John and from the church. And according to a rumour I picked up in Newcastle, he is making a play for the town as well.’
‘Newcastle!’ Hugh had kept his voice low, but his tone was vehement. ‘What do you mean, making a play?’
‘Exactly what I said. Some of the merchants are planning to open the gates when the Scottish army comes. They’re already bribing officers of the garrison. I heard something similar in Berwick too, but in Newcastle they were definite. Brus is planning to take the town for his own.’
‘Then he is exceeding orders,’ Brother Hugh said.
‘He damned well is. The instructions were clear. We parcel out the spoils at the end, to make sure everyone gets their fair share.’
Hugh made an impatient gesture. ‘What about the herald?’
‘I lost him for a while when Brus got his hooks into me. He had some rendezvous out beyond Hexham, I don’t know who with. Then he tried to win over the Disinherited, and failed. Last I heard he was riding off to Jedburgh to try and persuade the Scots to extend the truce. Oh, and Brus is trying to kill him, too.’
‘That’s not in the plan either,’ Hugh said sharply.
‘What about your nephew, Gilbert? The word among the religious houses is that he is trying to curry favour with the king. Does that mean he wants out?’
‘That is what I am trying to discover.’ Hugh looked at the friar. ‘Who do you work for now? Myself, or Brus?’
‘Brus pays better.’
‘I’ll double whatever he paid you. Now listen.’ Hugh leaned forward until his voice was next to the other man’s ear. ‘This is what I want you to do,’ he said.
Hawick, 2nd of October, 1346
Evening
It was raining north of the border too, the hills above Teviotdale shrouded in silver mist, the burns rushing and roaring with water pouring down the slopes towards the dark river. ‘And so, after one day, the glorious campaign of 1346 judders to a halt,’ said Sir William Douglas of Liddesdale.
Brus turned on him. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. You know we can’t get the army over the hills in this weather.’
Douglas shifted a little. Like Brus he was in near constant pain, from a wound taken during the attack on Carlisle the previous year. The pain did nothing to sweeten his temper. ‘You mean, we can’t get the king’s baggage over the hills, or the ladies and their pretty gowns. My hobelars travel in worse weather than this.’
Rain pattered steadily on the roof of the pavilion, painted with Brus’s red and gold saltire. ‘Then get them out into the field,’ Brus snapped. ‘The eastern march of England is already reduced to ashes. Let’s burn the west next.’
‘Patience,’ said Niall Bruce of Carrick. The bruises on his face were turning dull red and yellow, matching the colours on the canvas. ‘Nothing will burn in this weather. A day or two’s delay won’t kill us.’
‘Since when have you been the voice of reason?’ Douglas demanded.
‘He’s right,’ Brus said. ‘For God’s sake, Douglas, the archbishop’s force is a hundred miles away. Shorn of the Disinherited, and of the Percys and their friends, he will be lucky to raise three thousand men. We have four times that. All the nobles are falling into line now, even the Dunbars.’
‘Why?’ asked Guy of Béthune, the fourth man in the room. ‘What did you offer them?’
‘Something they couldn’t refuse. We’ll take Northumberland and Cumberland without a fight. We’ll have Durham too, unless the priory cooperates with us. It’s all turning out exactly as we planned.’
‘Exactly as we planned?’ Douglas said sharply. ‘We were supposed to seize Berwick yesterday, and that failed. We still don’t know why. This is not exactly an auspicious start, Brus.’
‘Berwick was one element in the larger plan,’ Brus said. ‘Give it time. When the rest of Northumberland falls into our hands, Berwick will fall too. We have come too far, gentlemen. Let’s not start doubting each other now.’
‘It’s not each other we’re doubting,’ Douglas said, still with an edge to his voice. ‘I want what I was promised, Brus. And if you fuck this up, it’s you I’ll be coming after.’
Béthune held up a hand for silence. Walking to the pavilion door, he looked out into the rain but saw nothing apart from a female camp servant carrying a pail of milk from the dairy. Closing the canvas sheet, he turned back to the others.
‘This is no time for disunity,’ he said. ‘We took oaths that we would make this happen. When England is destroyed we will refashion Scotland. That is what we promised, remember?’
Douglas said nothing. Béthune nodded. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Now, let’s go over the plan one more time.’
* * *
‘I could not hear everything,’ Tiphaine said. She had shed her nun’s habit and wore a shapeless brown kirtle with her hair tucked up in a scarf. ‘But they were falling out among themselves. Douglas is unhappy.’
Agnes of Dunbar nodded. ‘Nothing new there,’ she said. ‘But this could prove useful. Go on.’
‘I thought they were just discussing the army’s strategy. But then they checked to see if anyone was listening and closed the door. I dared not linger long after that, but I heard Béthune refer to an oath the three of them had sworn. To destroy England, which I understand, but also to refashion Scotland. I don’t know what that means.’
There was a long silence, broken only by the steady drumming of the rain. ‘Brus has some vision for making Scotland into a great power,’ Agnes said finally. ‘That is the notion he has put into the king’s head, that the country can be restored to the same position it occupied in its years of glory. Except those years never existed. Two hundred years ago, when England was racked by civil war, David I tried to seize and hold the north of England, but he faile
d. We tried again thirty years ago in the aftermath of Middleton’s rebellion, and seized part of Northumberland, but again we failed.’
She stirred a little, thinking. Black corkscrew curls of hair framed her face. ‘But this may be what Brus is imagining,’ she said. ‘These events may be his inspiration.’
‘But if so, why the secrecy?’ Tiphaine asked. ‘As you said, the king himself must be aware of Brus’s plan.’
‘Perhaps,’ said the countess. ‘But perhaps not all of it.’ She turned to Mora of Islay, standing by. ‘There is more to learn here, I think.’
Mora nodded. ‘We will keep working on it,’ she said.
Warkworth, 3rd of October, 1346
Afternoon
The rain had churned the roads to mud and the going south from Berwick was slow. It took two days for Merrivale and his companions to reach Warkworth, and by the time they arrived the wind had come up, blowing rain horizontally across the road. They could hear the surf booming on the bar at the mouth of the Coquet.
There were tents and pavilions in the fields around the castle, and lines of horses wrapped in blankets standing miserably in the rain. Merrivale looked around, doing a quick calculation of numbers. Riding beside him, Peter said quietly, ‘There’s Yorkshire coats here, sir, as well as Northumbrians.’
Merrivale nodded. The Percys had lands further south in Yorkshire too, and judging by the evidence they had stripped their estates of men. They were determined to fight, he thought. The question is, for whom?
He answered his own silent question. For us, of course. And it is my task to ensure that they do.
Lord Percy received them in his solar, granite-faced and silent. Dull light shone through the red and white diamond panes of the windows. A servant brought a jug of warm hippocras and Merrivale stood by the fire, his clothes steaming as he sipped his drink. ‘You have mustered a strong force,’ he said. ‘What about the other northern lords? Has Lord Neville called up his men as well?’
‘So I understand,’ Percy said.
Merrivale took another sip. ‘This must be costing you a great deal, to raise so large a retinue. The crown will reimburse you, of course, but you will have needed a lot of money up front. Even more difficult, now that Gilbert de Tracey is no longer your banker.’
Percy waited; by his face, he knew what was coming. ‘But of course, I am forgetting,’ Merrivale said. ‘Your new banker is the Seigneur de Brus. How much money have you had from him already?’
‘Damn you!’ Lord Percy said angrily. ‘I have never taken a penny from the French, or the Scots!’
‘I could order an inquisition to see if that is true,’ Merrivale said. ‘However, we are short of time. You were promised even more money if you joined the Scots, and more estates too. The towns of Berwick and Newcastle would be handed over to you.’
‘Mary told you.’ Percy stared at him, eyes still hard with anger. ‘I presume she also told you we rejected the offer. Turned it down out of hand.’
‘Ah,’ the herald said. ‘But did you?’
Percy said nothing. Merrivale banged his cup down hard on the table. ‘Because if you did, my lord, why is your army sitting here at Warkworth rather than marching to join the archbishop at Richmond? Because as I distinctly recall, those were your orders!’
‘Because it’s no good going to Richmond,’ Percy said. ‘It’s too far south, you know it yourself. Zouche has bungled it. He should have called the muster at Barnard Castle, or even further north. By the time we march all the way to Richmond and back again, it will be too damned late.’
‘So you’re going to stay here and protect your own lands,’ Merrivale said. ‘And if things go badly wrong, you can always take up Brus’s offer.’
‘That will never happen,’ said Percy.
‘Never is a long time, my lord. Incidentally, Brus has also promised Berwick to the Count and Countess of Dunbar, but I rather suspect he intends to keep it for himself. Berwick was bait. Once it was safely in his hands, Brus intended to invite you and your son to join him. Once you were inside the trap, you would be killed.’
‘How do you know this?’ demanded Percy.
‘One of the plotters confessed to me, just before he died. And after you were dead, I believe, Brus intended to seize your lands as well. The name and estates of Percy would be snuffed out. He will betray you, my lord, utterly and finally.’
The herald waited for this to sink in. He saw Lord Percy’s face change, and knew he had won. ‘You knew all along that this was a possibility,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ Lord Percy said finally. ‘Yes, I did. But I don’t trust Zouche to run a Whitsun fair, let alone command an army in the field. And after the last eight years of bungling and neglect, I am not even certain I trust the king. I decided to put my own interests first and yes, I believed what I wanted to believe. What man wouldn’t, in my position?’
‘The Wardenship of the March should belong to you and Lord Neville,’ the herald said. ‘I shall recommend this to the king. I believe the archbishop will be grateful to lay down this burden. Send word to his Grace that you will wait for him at Barnard Castle.’
‘I will need to leave some men to guard Alnwick and Warkworth. I cannot leave them unprotected.’
Inwardly, Merrivale sighed with relief. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘That is understood.’
Silence fell. ‘How much does London know?’ Percy asked finally.
‘You may expect a rebuke for not mustering your men quickly enough,’ said the herald. ‘Otherwise, there will be no further consequences. You have my word on it.’
‘Thank you.’ Lord Percy regarded him. ‘You’re a clever fellow. Perhaps the king should make you Warden.’
Merrivale smiled a little. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m only a herald.’
20
Newcastle-upon-Tyne, 4th of October, 1346
Afternoon
The rain had stopped but the wind was raw with sea damp when Merrivale rode up to Newgate in the north wall of Newcastle and demanded entrance. The guards saw his tabard and admitted him and his followers, all splashed and splattered with mud.
At Blyth’s house they were given hot water and clean clothes, and then Merrivale and Peter joined Blyth in the solar. To the herald’s surprise, Lady Mary was there too. ‘Where is Tiphaine?’ she demanded as soon as he entered.
‘She is well,’ Merrivale said, looking hard at Mary and hoping she would take the hint. ‘I have some other news for you, too. When we left Warkworth this morning, Lord Percy and Sir Harry were preparing to march. They are on their way to join the army.’
Lady Mary closed her eyes with relief. ‘Thank God,’ Blyth said. He held out a handful of birdseed and the linnets fluttered down and began to eat from his hand. ‘It is hard to doubt the loyalty of a man like Lord Percy, who has given so many years of service to the crown but… I had begun to wonder.’
‘It turned out that he was simply making a point. He is not happy that Archbishop de la Zouche was appointed Warden instead of himself. Dragging his heels was a way of showing London his displeasure.’
Lady Mary looked at him. He ignored her. ‘Not all the news is good,’ he said. ‘The Scottish army is on the march and has now crossed over the hills into Liddesdale. They are now within striking distance of Carlisle, and the only fortification between them and the city is Liddel Strength. And Liddel Strength’s captain is one of the Disinherited.’
Peter sat listening in silence. His home valley of Tynedale had not yet been raided, but it was only a matter of time. ‘They are going down the west side,’ said Blyth. ‘They will attack Cumberland and Lancashire next.’
‘Possibly. They could just as easily turn east from Carlisle down the valley of the South Tyne and attack us here. I have had further confirmation of a plot to seize Newcastle. Rollond de Brus intends to have the town for himself.’
‘Does he, by God?’ said Blyth. ‘If he tries, he’ll have a fight on his hands.’
‘It is difficult to figh
t against treason from within,’ Merrivale said. ‘Master Blyth, you volunteered to look at your fellow merchants and determine which, if any, might be in league with the Scots. I hate to press you, but time is growing short. Have you heard anything that might be useful?’
Blyth shook his hand gently and the birds flew away, trilling. He turned, dusting his hands. ‘I have investigated all of my colleagues in the Guild Merchant, discreetly of course. I would stake my life on the fact that none of them is in contact with the Scots. However, I was reminded of your interest in Bruges. There has not been time, yet, to find any evidence of large transactions between England and Flanders. But increasingly, I suspect that some of the foreign merchants may not be entirely loyal.’
‘Are there many of them in the town?’
‘A dozen or more, trading under licence, plus some tradesmen and craftsmen. The most prominent is a cloth merchant named Kristoffer Tielt. He does business with a wide range of merchants and bankers in Bruges, including the man we mentioned earlier, Oppicius Adornes.’
‘And does he have contacts in Scotland?’ demanded Lady Mary.
‘I don’t know. But there is a large colony of Scottish merchants in Bruges, and it is entirely possible that he has business dealings with some of them. In fact, it would be surprising if he did not. I have written to my friends in Bruges to ask for more information.’ Blyth looked unhappy. ‘Unfortunately, this too takes time.’
‘I understand,’ Merrivale said. ‘I appreciate everything you are doing for us.’
Blyth smiled. ‘I have done precious little to deserve thanks. And of course, it is an honour to serve my king and queen.’ A bell sounded from the hall below. ‘Shall we go down and dine? It might be our last peaceful meal for some time.’
* * *
After dinner Blyth left them, pleading the necessity of work. ‘A banker’s day is never done,’ he said. ‘And war of course brings its own problems.’
A Clash of Lions Page 21