Marshals showed the men where to make camp and find hot food. De Lisle, Umfraville, Wake and Merrivale rode across the bridge over the Tees and up to the castle gate. Banners hung from the towers, and he saw the archbishop’s crossed keys and the blue lion of Percy and white saltire of Lord Neville of Raby alongside many others. The northern lords had assembled, and now their numbers were complete. For the first time since he rode north, Merrivale felt a sense of hope. Possibly, he thought, just possibly, we can pull this off.
Gently, he helped Sir Robert down from his horse. He had left his stick behind at home, and now he used his sword as a prop, leaning on Merrivale’s arm as he hobbled up the steps into the hall. The others followed. The hall was full of people, staring at them in astonishment: Zouche, Lord Percy with his granite face, Harry his son, a big broad-shouldered man who must be Lord Neville. Then he blinked with astonishment. Lady Mary was there, standing with her brother-in-law, and next to her was Tiphaine. She wore a green gown that did not fit her very well and was probably someone else’s but was, he thought, an improvement on her tattered servant’s kirtle.
De Lisle inclined his head towards the archbishop. ‘I give you greeting, your Grace,’ he said, his voice hoarse. ‘And I give you apologies also for our lateness. I trust we have arrived in time.’
‘You have, and you are welcome,’ Zouche said, his face full of relief. ‘I had begun to wonder if you would come at all.’
‘Have no fear,’ said de Lisle. ‘The Disinherited know their duty. And they will do it to the end.’
Barnard Castle, 14th of October, 1346
Night
Being a royal herald had its privileges; the rest of the army was under canvas or sleeping in the open along the banks of the Tees, but a room was found for Merrivale in the castle, a small chamber in one of the towers overlooking the river. Mauro and Warin were waiting for him, their faces full of relief. ‘We are glad to see you, señor,’ said Mauro. ‘We were not certain if we would.’
‘You should have more faith,’ Merrivale said. His writing case was on a table and he knew he should write a report for the archbishop and the queen, but he could not face the task. He was weary to the bone, exhausted from strain and tension and endless hours in the saddle. Then he was briefly ashamed; what he felt was nothing compared to the pain Sir Robert de Lisle was enduring.
He heard footsteps and a swish of skirts on the stair outside his room, and smelled an unfamiliar scent. Tiphaine stood in the doorway, Lady Mary behind her. ‘I thought I had better bring her myself,’ Mary said. ‘She tends to get lost.’
‘She does,’ Merrivale acknowledged. Her hair had grown again. ‘Was Newcastle no longer safe?’
‘Newcastle is safe as the Tower of London,’ Lady Mary said. ‘I found out who the traitor was. It was Blyth.’
‘The queen will not be pleased,’ Merrivale said after a moment. ‘She trusted him.’
‘A lot of people did,’ said Mary. ‘We think he may have fled to Bruges. He has family there, and his accounts showed payments to people there.’
‘You saw his accounts? Was John of Hainault among those mentioned? Or Guy of Béthune?’
Lady Mary nodded. ‘Both of them, frequently. I found the entire affair deeply disturbing, if I am honest. If people so close to the king and queen are traitors, what hope is there for us? Still, at least the birds are free.’
‘There is that,’ Merrivale acknowledged. ‘The answer, my lady, is that none of us is safe, or will be safe until the man from the north and his allies are exterminated from this earth. We are fighting a hydra. We cut off one head at Crécy, we have cut off another in Blyth, but new heads still keep sprouting.’
‘Are you any closer to knowing who it is?’ Tiphaine asked.
‘A little, possibly. Gilbert de Tracey knew who it is, but he decided to bargain with me. That cost him his life. If he had told me sooner, I might have been able to save him.’
‘That is the least of my regrets,’ Tiphaine said quietly.
‘Mine also.’ Their eyes met. ‘I will find him,’ Merrivale said. ‘For Peter’s sake, if nothing else.’
They continued to look at each other. ‘I will leave you two alone,’ said Lady Mary, and she turned and went down the stair. Mauro and Warin followed her. Merrivale and Tiphaine looked at each other in silence for some time.
‘I know how much you thought of him,’ she said.
‘He would never have made a herald. But he would have been a very good leader of men.’
‘And what about her? Yolande?’
‘What about her?’ the herald repeated.
‘Is she still the only woman in the world for you?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘That is not a very satisfactory answer,’ she said after a while.
‘I know it isn’t. The only thing I have learned is that a window separates us from the past. We can see it through the glass, admire it, remember its glow and even feel the warmth of the sun shining through. But we can never touch it again.’
‘You can shatter glass,’ she said. ‘When the window is broken, you can walk through it.’
‘But when you do, everything changes,’ said the herald.
She laid a hand on his arm, and reached up and kissed him softly on the cheek. ‘You are grieving,’ she said. ‘And you are white with exhaustion. I will leave you now to rest. Simon?’
‘Yes?’
‘It is good to see you again,’ she said softly, and she turned and went down the stair.
Hexham, 14th of October, 1346
Night
‘Things aren’t going well,’ said Brother Oswald. ‘Are they?’
They were standing in Brus’s pavilion in the camp near the ashes of Hexham. ‘Go to hell,’ Brus said.
He looks tired, the friar thought. Perhaps his wound is paining him. He tried to feel sympathy, and failed.
‘Blyth has been exposed, and your plan to seize Newcastle has collapsed,’ he said. ‘Percy and Neville have joined the English army, and now the Disinherited are on their way as well. Your men were unable to stop them. And you’ve lost Clennell, I hear.’
Brus turned on him. ‘Kindly refrain from pointing out the obvious. What is the situation in Durham?’
‘Hugh de Tracey has broken with you. He wants nothing more to do with you. You have disobeyed orders, he says, and broken your promises.’ Oswald paused. ‘You’re in shit now, aren’t you? Your allies are disappearing one by one. What are you going to do?’
‘I don’t need allies. I can do this myself.’
‘Oh, I don’t think so. You need Douglas and Carrick, and Béthune; and me. If we all desert you, you’re finished. And that damned herald is still interfering. Well? What are you going to do?’ Oswald repeated.
‘For Christ’s sake, stop jabbering like a fishwife and let me think!’ Brus pressed his hand to his forehead, and looked at the friar. ‘Oswald, how would you like to earn more money than you have ever dreamed of?’
‘I have quite big dreams,’ Oswald warned.
‘Believe me, what I pay you will satisfy even your greed. Douglas has lent me two of his men, Nickson and Croser. They’re border men and don’t know the country down there, so I want you to guide them to the English army. Take them to the camp and leave the rest to them.’
‘Is that it?’
‘No,’ Brus said. ‘I told you once that if Durham resisted me, I would burn the cathedral and slaughter every monk in the priory.’
‘I told Hugh what you said. He thinks the priory is strong enough to defy you.’
‘Then he has made his last mistake. I was intending to move against Newcastle next, but I have changed my mind. The army marches on Durham tomorrow. You will return there as quickly as you can.’
‘You want me to warn Hugh you are coming?’
‘No,’ said Brus. ‘I want you to kill him. Hugh de Tracey is the one man capable of organising resistance against me. Once he is dead, the cathedral and priory will fall into
my hands.’
Oswald cleared his throat. ‘I will need a down payment,’ he said.
29
Barnard Castle, 15th of October, 1346
Morning
‘It is a pleasure to see you again, Sir Harry,’ Merrivale said with gentle irony. ‘I trust your journey down from Warkworth was uneventful.’
Around them the army was breaking camp, men-at-arms riding across the bridge under the frowning walls of the castle, followed by hard-marching companies of archers. Percy pulled on his gloves while his esquire held the reins of his horse. ‘It wasn’t the happiest of occasions,’ he said. ‘The old man was furious that Brus had tricked him. I tried to warn him, after Mary came to Warkworth and bearded him in his den, but he wouldn’t listen. He hates it when I’m right,’ Sir Harry said with satisfaction. ‘What is our situation?’
‘The Scots have been kept out of Berwick and Newcastle hasn’t been threatened, so far. But Hexham and Corbridge have been destroyed, and much of the Tyne valley with them. Even with the losses they took at Liddel Strength and yesterday, the Scots must still have well over eleven thousand men.’
‘And even with de Lisle’s men, we have half that,’ said Percy. His face, framed by mail coif and bascinet, looked glum. ‘I know we won against greater odds at Crécy, but the Scots will use different tactics, won’t they? And we don’t have enough men-at-arms, or enough archers.’ He paused. ‘What game is Brus playing? Is he trying to take over Scotland?’
‘Yes,’ said Merrivale. ‘But I assume this is also part of some larger plan.’
‘You mean the man from the north. I know all about him, Mary had it from Tiphaine and she told me. She said that last summer Brus was a minor player, nothing more than the Count of Alençon’s lackey. Now he has plenty of money, and power and influence too. How did he get them, do you think?’
Merrivale paused for a moment, thinking. It struck him once again that Harry Percy was rather more acute than he at first appeared. ‘David Bruce trusts him,’ he said finally. ‘He relies on his cousin for advice, and Brus has used his connections with the king to enrich himself.’
Percy looked at him sceptically. ‘But how did he get to that position in the first place? This is the man from the north’s doing, isn’t it? When Alençon was killed, did he call up Brus to take his place?’
‘That is certainly possible,’ Merrivale said slowly. The plan, back in the summer, had been to dethrone King Philip of France and replace him with his brother, the Count of Alençon. Brus couldn’t replace King Philip, but he could replace his cousin David Bruce. Was this an expedient, dreamed up after Alençon’s death at Crécy had halted the plan in France? Or had the man from the north intended all along to send Brus to Scotland?
Because if the latter was true, if this was all part of some long-ordained strategy, then it was quite possible that another plot against France was underway as well; and against England too. What had Tiphaine overheard Brus say? They won’t have a king for much longer. My friends will see to that.
Another company of men-at-arms rode past, harness and armour clinking. The red and white banner of Mowbray floated over their heads. ‘How well do you know Thomas Hatfield?’ Merrivale asked.
Percy looked startled by the change of subject. ‘The Bishop of Durham? Well, you saw him last summer. Typical ambitious clerk, although he fancies himself as a war leader as well. He’s very much in favour at the moment. I expect he’ll be Lord Chancellor one day soon. Why do you ask?’
Merrivale did not answer directly. ‘Are you aware of any friction between him and the priory?’
‘No, they seem to get along pretty well together. For a wonder, the bishop keeps his nose out of priory business, which is all they seem to want.’ Glancing around, Percy lowered his voice. ‘But if you wanted to hatch a conspiracy, Durham would be the place to do it. The whole of the County Palatine is cloaked in secrecy. Within its borders, the bishop and prior and their officials can do whatever they want.’
‘Mm. Yes,’ said Merrivale.
‘Is that it? Do you think Hatfield might be the man from the north?’
‘It is someone close to the king. That is all I know.’
‘You must tell me if I can help,’ Percy said.
* * *
A messenger in the archbishop’s livery ran up, saluting. ‘Sir Herald, his Grace commands you to his presence. You too, Sir Harry.’
Zouche was in the great hall of the castle, leaning over a parchment map spread out on a table. He wore a mail coat and breastplate, and looked almost warlike. His senior captains were gathered around him. ‘A message has arrived from Sir Thomas Rokeby,’ the archbishop said, his voice tense. ‘He has come south from Berwick, and is shadowing the Scottish army around Hexham. Last night he observed that the Scots are preparing to march.’
‘In what direction?’ demanded Lord Percy. ‘Newcastle?’
‘No. Sir Thomas says they sent out scouts towards Ebchester, to the south-east. He thinks they are preparing to move towards Durham.’
‘Durham has declared its neutrality,’ said Lord Neville.
‘Rollond de Brus will not respect that neutrality,’ said Merrivale. ‘Nor will he respect the sanctity of church property. He has already stripped Lanercost to the walls, and I assume he did the same at Hexham. Now he wants Durham and its treasury for himself.’
‘Then we must stop him,’ said Robert de Lisle. He was leaning on his sword again, his face sunken with weariness, but his eyes were bright. He pointed at the map. ‘We know where the Scots are going. We’re twenty-five miles from Durham, and the Scots at Hexham are only a little further distant. It’s a race now, gentlemen.’
Ebchester, 15th of October, 1346
Night
‘The English have left Barnard Castle,’ Douglas reported. ‘Our scouts report they are at Auckland, about ten miles from Durham, roughly the same distance as ourselves.’
‘Then we shall meet them outside the walls of Durham,’ said Brus. ‘After we destroy their army, we shall seize and sack the city.’
‘When do we fight?’ asked Carrick. ‘Tomorrow?’
Patrick of Dunbar shook his head. ‘The men won’t be fit, ours or theirs. The English will pause to give their men a chance to rest and be ready for the following day. Sire, I recommend we do the same.’
‘That is wise advice, sire,’ said the Marischal.
King David looked around at his councillors. ‘Then we are agreed. We will camp tomorrow night at Beaurepaire, north-west of the city, and meet the enemy the following day. Make it so, gentlemen.’
They bowed and departed, Douglas, Carrick, Brus and Béthune all together, talking in low voices. Dunbar lingered for a moment, looking at the king. ‘Victory awaits us, sire,’ he said.
The king nodded. ‘This is our hour,’ he said. ‘I want to thank you, Dunbar, for your loyal service on this campaign. I confess that I had doubts about you at first, you and your wife, but you have both served me well.’
‘It is our honour to do so, sire.’
‘When we meet the English, I shall place you in command of a division of the army. Moray shall have the vanguard, and I shall lead the main body myself. To you I shall give command of the rearguard.’
The smallest of the three divisions, Dunbar thought, but it proves we are trusted. For the moment, at least… He bowed. ‘This is an honour, sire. I shall try to prove worthy of it.’
The king smiled and took a gulp of wine. ‘Shall I let you in on a secret, Dunbar? It is my great sadness that my lady wife has yet to produce an heir.’
‘I have no doubt that your Grace will sire many sons in the years to come.’
‘Of course. But in the meantime, the people need to know that the kingdom is safe, that there will be a king on the throne no matter what happens. Therefore, I intend to appoint an heir. A temporary measure only, of course, until my own son is born.’
‘May I ask who will receive this honour?’
‘I thought about one of
our own nobles, of course, but if I name one of them it is bound to provoke the jealousy of others. Better an outsider, who has no loyalty other than to me. Who better than my kinsman and faithful servant, the Seigneur de Brus?’
‘A wise choice, sire,’ Dunbar said quietly. ‘When will you make the announcement?’
‘The day after tomorrow, when we have vanquished the English army and taken Durham into our hands. A historic day, Dunbar. I cannot imagine a more auspicious moment.’
Dunbar bowed. ‘I shall be the first to pledge my loyalty,’ he said. ‘With your Grace’s permission, I shall withdraw. I need to make sure my men are ready for the morning.’
Outside the royal pavilion the earl took a deep breath. Grimly, he started to walk towards his own lodgings, but he had not gone more than a few paces before he heard men speaking, and stopped. He recognised the voices at once. One was Rollond de Brus, the other was the renegade friar, Oswald of Halton.
‘Is Tracey dead?’ Brus was asking.
‘Not yet. He knows what happened to his nephew, and he is alert. He is never alone, and someone tastes his food. But I have learned something that may help.’
‘Spit it out,’ Brus commanded.
‘He has written to Sir Harry Percy, asking to meet him secretly outside the city. I know where they are going. I think I can get close enough for a crossbow shot, but I might need help getting away.’
There was a long silence, during which Dunbar fancied he could hear the wheels of Brus’s mind turning. ‘You still need me,’ Oswald said. ‘I’m one of the few left who is loyal to you.’
The silence lasted a little longer. ‘I’ll see to it,’ Brus said. ‘Once you have shot Tracey, Douglas and a party of light horse will be there to pull your fat out of the fire. What about those two reavers? Did you send them into the English camp?’
‘Yes.’ Oswald chuckled. ‘They should have done their job by now. Croser wants additional payment for his missing teeth.’
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