The Bastard's Son

by H A CULLEY

  ‘Good! Once we have secured Berwick we’ll march north west to Edinburgh.’

  After the meeting broke up Hugo and his men stayed behind to find out what their role would be. It was Giffard who took him to one side and told him that he was in overall charge of the cavalry. He wanted Hugo to command one of his conroys and Tristan another. There were enough knights and serjeants to form two divisions; one of serjeants who would act as scouts and mounted crossbowmen, and one of three hundred knights organised into ten conroys. The Earl of Surrey, William de Warenne, was to lead the division of knights and, much to Hugo’s annoyance, he was told that d’Umfraville would be in charge of one of the other conroys.

  As Hugo left Prince Edgar’s pavilion and made his way back to his own tent he passed the area where d’Umfraville’s men were camped. He saw Odinel come out of his tent and hand a sealed parchment to one of his knights who sat on his horse waiting. Immediately the man dug his heels into his courser’s sides and rode out of camp heading for the ford over the Aln on the road north. His immediate thought was that d’Umfraville was in communication with the enemy.

  ‘Follow him Tristan; take Alain and Nicholas with you. I want to know what’s in that message and I don’t care how you get it.’

  His son nodded and the three ran off towards the horse lines. They knew that, by the time they got their horses saddled Odinel’s man would have a quarter of an hour’s start on them but, as Tristan was fairly certain that the messenger would be heading for Berwick via the ford over the Tweed at Norham, he hoped that, by taking a different route via the crossing at Wark, they could get there before him.

  -X-

  Henry Beauclerc paced up and down the rather austere hall of the bishop’s palace in Winchester. Ever since he was a small boy he had been derided by his elder brothers but he knew that he was cleverer than either of them. Robert was a brave and skilful knight but he was a hopeless tactician and an ever worse politician. He was popular with his Norman nobles because he was a weak ruler, which left them free to do as they saw fit. Henry despised him.

  William was a very different character, and a far more complex one. On one hand he seemed to be an exuberant, reckless soldier, without much natural dignity or any social graces. He was boorish and displayed little conventional religious piety or morality. Although he was reputed to be a sodomite, Henry suspected that the truth was that he had little or no sex-drive. Unlike Robert, who littered the countryside with his bastards, William’s name had never been linked amorously with anyone, man or woman.

  His military campaigns in Wales had met with mixed fortunes but he had recovered Maine, brought Normandy firmly under his rule and now was having some success in wresting control of the Vexin from the King of France. Furthermore, if he succeeded in placing Etgair on the throne of Scotland he would become the country’s effective overlord as well. This displeased Henry more than somewhat. He had secretly fostered the various uprisings that had attempted to dethrone William, all to no avail. Henry was now twenty-nine and he was getting impatient. His lack of any estates of his own, other than a few manors, was a frustration, but what he really desired was to be King of England and Duke of Normandy, as his father had been.

  If he couldn’t depose William, then he would have to get rid of him another way, and preferably before Robert returned from crusade to complicate matters. He calculated that he had a couple of years, perhaps three or four at most, before that happened; so he started to consider his options. Whatever he decided his hands would have to be seen as innocent of his brother’s blood.

  He needed to get someone loyal to him close to William and his choice fell on Walter Tyrell. The man had just turned thirty, though he looked younger. He was lord of Poix-de-Picardie in France and of the manor of Langham in Essex. Walter was already in his debt as Henry had been instrumental in arranging for him to marry Adelize de Clare, daughter of a powerful noble who held extensive lands in Normandy and in England, mainly in Suffolk and Kent.

  His plans were only just taking shape but, if he could get Tyrell installed as one of the king’s close companions, it would be an important first step. William might not be the sodomite that his detractors claimed, but he certainly liked to surround himself with attractive looking men and Walter was undeniably that. Had he been a woman his face might have been termed pretty and his long fair hair, coupled with his natural charm, would add to his appeal in the eyes of the king.

  However, first Henry had to engineer their meeting without being involved himself. The Bishop of Winchester owed him a favour, which was a kind way of saying that Henry had blackmailed him. The bishop was about to depart to spend the Christmas season at the king’s court to which Henry wasn’t invited, but that wasn’t unusual; William tended to ignore his brother’s existence, so Henry had prevailed upon the bishop to include young Tyrell in his entourage. Henry knew many secrets, and one was that the good bishop had bedded the Abbess of Romsey. Nine months later she had given birth to a son who was now one of the bishop’s young pages. He had let the man know that he was privy to his secret, albeit subtly, before asking him for the favour.

  As Henry had hoped, William had taken to Walter Tyrell immediately and invited him to become a gentleman of the bedchamber, looking after the king in the most personal of ways. As such, he waited on the king when he ate in private, helped him to dress, guarded his bedchamber at night and assisted him when he went to relieve himself in the water closet. However, the most important aspect of the role was to provide companionship. The gentlemen of the bedchamber got drunk with him, were the closest thing William had to friends, and often accompanied him when he went hunting. Tyrell was nothing if not ambitious and, as he secretly despised the king, he had just the qualities Henry was looking for.

  -X-

  Tristan and the other two knights stood holding their horses’ muzzles to ensure that they didn’t betray them as they waited out of sight. They had positioned themselves five yards back inside the wood that lined the rutted muddy road that ran along the Scottish bank of the River Tweed between Norham and the port of Berwick. On their way to collect their horses they had encountered Edwin, Hugo’s squire, and they had taken him with them. Edwin was worried in case Hugo needed him but he comforted himself with the thought that others in the conroy must have seen him accompany the three knights. Now he perched high up on the branch of an oak tree from where he could see several hundred yards back along the road from Norham to Berwick.

  He didn’t have long to wait. Although the four of them had pressed their mounts as hard as they could, they had had a lot more ground to cover compared to Odinel’s messenger. They had crossed the river at Wark, which was some seven miles further inland from Norham. However, the man they sought was in no particular hurry.

  When Edwin spotted the messenger he imitated the call of a wood pigeon. As practically all the birds in the vicinity had flown away when they had appeared, there was little chance of a false signal. Besides which, Edgar’s imitation of a bid wasn’t that good. However, it didn’t warn the knight who was approaching the ambush position at a gentle canter. Tristan and the other two quietly mounted their horses in readiness and, when the messenger reached their hiding place they rode out and surrounded him. Like them, he was only wearing a gambeson and was bareheaded. It was therefore a matter of mere seconds to dispatch him and he toppled from his horse with stab wounds to his neck, chest and side. Tristan would have preferred not to have killed him but he realised that they could hardly leave him alive or take him back as a prisoner. Hugo had been quite clear that he didn’t want Odinel alerted.

  They considered hiding the body but the only people who were likely to discover it in the immediate future on this side of the border were the Scots. They wouldn’t know he was a messenger and would assume that his murder was the work of robbers. They did drag the corpse into the undergrowth after taking the pouch with the letter, however, and took the horse with them. Tristan didn’t know quite what to do with it but he didn’t
want to risk it making its way to where it might be recognised. In the end they came across a carter and his son and, having ascertained that they came from a village some distance from Berwick, they make a present of the horse to them. Leaving behind the astonished pair of Scots, they made their way to the ford at Norham and the road south to Alnwick.

  Hugo pursed his lips as he read Odinel’s missive to the Governor of Berwick. The contents weren’t what he was expecting. Unless it was in code somehow it seemed to warn the Governor of the imminent siege of Berwick but it offered him a sizeable bribe if he would surrender Berwick and its castle to him personally. It seemed that Odinel wasn’t a traitor after all, at least not to Etgair. What he didn’t know was that Etgair was behind the bid to bring Berwick under his rule without bloodshed. In contrast, the English leadership weren’t too concerned about putting the prince on the Scottish throne; they were after plunder and they saw Berwick as an easy target. The last thing Edgar the Aetheling and the other English lords wanted was a peaceful surrender.

  Odinel d’Umfraville paced his tent impatiently. His messenger should have returned with a reply long since. Etgair had promised him an earldom in Scotland once he was king and he coveted that much more than any share of the plunder he would receive when the town was sacked. Eventually, as the army was now on the point of marching north, he decided to go and see Etgair and discuss what they should do next.

  ‘What’s the worst case scenario, d’Umfraville,’ Etgair asked after Odinel had eventually managed to get the prince on his own.

  ‘My messenger was killed by the Governor of Berwick, I suppose. In which case there is little chance of saving the town,’ and of getting my earldom he added gloomily to himself.

  ‘Mmm. What are the other possibilities?’

  ‘I suppose he could have been waylaid by robbers – that that would be unusual. They don’t normally bother with couriers as they carry little of value on them.’

  ‘Or perhaps he was waylaid by those who want to sack and plunder the town?’

  ‘Possible, I suppose, but no-one knew he was carrying a message to Berwick.’

  As soon as the words left his mouth a mental picture came into his consciousness that he had scarcely been aware of at the time. As he’d handed that message to his knight he had seen Hugo and some of his knights walking past a hundred yards or so away. It was possible, he supposed, that they had caught the messenger despite the head start he would have had on them. He was certain that it wasn’t Hugo himself as he’d seen him again an hour later. Perhaps it was that cursed son of his.

  ‘You look as if something has come to mind?’ Etgair asked the distracted baron.

  ‘Yes, I’m sorry my lord. I suddenly had a thought that Hugo de Cuille might have seen my messenger leave, though I’m not sure how he could have caught him.’

  ‘Let’s assume for the moment that he did. In that case he would have known the contents of your message and it would never have reached the governor.’

  He paused for a moment lost in thought. ‘Perhaps I should have a word with this de Cuille.’

  Odinel pursed his lips in distaste at the thought of involving a man he loathed but he had to agree that it was a sensible thing to do. He bowed and left the tent, sending a passing squire to find Hugo and tell him that Prince Etgair wanted to see him immediately. He would have liked to have been present at the meeting but the prince told him quite brusquely that, given the well-known antipathy between the two men, it would be better if he made himself scarce.

  ‘You wanted to see me, my lord?’

  ‘Yes, de Cuille. Thank you for coming so promptly. I’ll get straight to the point before someone interrupts us. I believe that you intercepted a message from d’Umfraville to the Governor of Berwick; a message he sent on my instructions?’

  He had debated whether to come straight out with the accusation and decided that if it were true it could catch Hugo off guard and if he were innocent his denial would be genuine.

  Hugo smiled. ‘You are well informed, my lord.’

  ‘You have said nothing?’

  ‘No, it so happens that I agree that it would be better if Berwick surrendered. You won’t want to take over a despoiled kingdom and, for my part as a border landholder, I don’t want my Scottish neighbours thirsty for revenge. Sacking Berwick is not in my best interest either.’

  ‘In that case you were a fool to intercept the message. Where is it by the way?’

  ‘I burnt it once I had read it. Of course, I didn’t know what was in it before d’Umfraville’s man was killed otherwise I’d have left him alone. However, I thought that whatever he was up to boded little good for the rest of us. I was wrong and I don’t understand what could have motivated him. He normally only acts if there is something in it for him.’

  He looked at the putative King of Scots speculatively, who scowled.

  ‘I may have promised him some reward, but that is none of your business,’ he said brusquely. ‘I need to make my move before it’s too late.’ He paused before continuing. ‘I’m going to propose that you, your son and d’Umfraville take your three conroys and form the vanguard when we move out tomorrow morning. Draw ahead of the main army – that shouldn’t be too difficult as the main column will move at the speed of the baggage train – and enter into negotiations with the Governor and aldermen of Berwick. Get them to acknowledge me as king by warning them that the place will be raised to the ground if they don’t. Clear?’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’ Hugo hesitated. ‘Who will command the vanguard?’

  He was well aware that Odinel would never accept his orders and he was damned if he would accept d’Umfraville as commander.

  ‘Sir James Swinton, whom I have just created Baron of Swinton in Berwickshire, will command. This will also give you another thirty horsemen for the vanguard.’

  ‘My lord, they are borderers on garrons; hardly knights,’ Hugo pointed out.

  ‘As you know full well very few Scots are knights. However, Swinton’s men are hardy fighters I can assure you, and they’ll make good scouts.’ Etgair replied calmly.

  The hundred or so horsemen of the vanguard advanced from the ford at Norham towards Berwick with Swinton’s borderers thrown out in advance of the three conroys of knights as a screen. It made sense to use the lightly armed Scots in that way but something didn’t feel quite right to Hugo. The track from Norham had headed north to meet up with the broader road that led eastwards from Kelso through Swinton, where Sir James had been born and which gave him his name, and on to enter Berwick via Scot’s Gate below the castle.

  At one point, some two miles from Berwick, they had to cross a tributary of the Tweed called Whiteadder Water near the junction of the two rivers. Hugo grew increasingly more wary as he knew that they would be vulnerable to attack as they forded the smaller river, especially if it came from the north-west as that would force them into the narrow triangle of land between the Tweed and the Whiteadder where they would be unable to manoeuvre. He held up his hand to halt the main body of knights and looked around for Swinton’s men but there was no sign of them. He would have expected some of them to have held the far bank secure as the others crossed. Their absence convinced him that all was not well.

  ‘What is it father?’ Tristan had hardly finished speaking when d’Umfraville came cantering up looking angry.

  ‘Why have we stopped? Surely you not afraid of that piddling little stream? My men will lead the way if you’re frightened of getting your feet wet.’

  The Whiteadder was far from a stream, it was narrow compared to the broad Tweed but it was several feet deep and at least twenty feet wide.

  ‘No, of course not,’ Hugo bit back angrily. ‘Swinton’s men seem to have disappeared and we are vulnerable here if they haven’t secured the far bank. If we’re attacked as we cross we’ll be very exposed.’

  ‘He’s probably pushed on towards Berwick. I don’t want him getting too far ahead. If you’re going to sit here all day shitting bricks l
ike a virgin on her wedding night I’ll lead my men across first.’

  There were many things that Hugo disliked about Odinel and one of them was his coarseness. He glared at the man for a long moment before deciding that there was little to be gained by responding to the man’s jibes. He sighed and nodded his head. He turned his conroy and that of his son and they took up a position to the north-west of the ford so he could protect Odinel’s men as they crossed. Perhaps foolishly he had expected his fellow baron to protect the far bank whilst he and Tristan led their knights across in turn. He didn’t. As soon as they were across Odinel led his conroy onwards towards Berwick.

  Cursing the man for an idiot, he told Tristan to cross next whilst he held his current position. His son’s men were half way across with ten on the far bank, eight in the river and a dozen still on the south bank when they heard the sound of fighting coming from the east. Evidently d’Umfraville had run into trouble.

  ‘Get the rest of your men across, Tristan, and then go and investigate, but be careful. Don’t take on more than you can comfortably deal with, even if it means leaving that pompous arse d’Umfraville to his fate.’

  Tristan nodded and, lifting his helmet from where it dangled by a strap from his saddle horn to strap it in place on his head, he sent two of his knights to scout forward whilst the rest of his conroy crossed the river. When the last of his men reached the far bank he led them forward at a canter up the rise on the far side, knights first and then the squires. The last of the latter had just disappeared and the first of Hugo’s conroy had entered the water when he heard yelling from the north-west and a band of wild looking Scots appeared, some riding garrons but most on foot, and charged towards Hugo and his disorganised conroy. He realised with despair that he had committed the cardinal military sin of splitting his forces.

  He told the squires to move to the rear as soon as they had handed their knights their lances and shields and formed his men up into a wedge formation. They scarcely had time to move forward into a canter before the tide of Scots borderers hit them.