by H A CULLEY
There was a buzz of conversation around the table following the king’s announcement. Like William, Robert wasn’t married and had no heir; unlike his brother he did have a mistress, Agnes de Ribemont, though as yet the two hadn’t produced any children. However, he had sired several bastards during his travels on the continent as a young man, so he certainly wasn’t impotent. William hadn’t yet designated an heir but most people assumed that it would be Robert, unless the king married and produced children; something he showed no inclination to do.
‘The Count of Conversano is extremely wealthy and the expectation is that Sybilla’s dowry is likely to be enough for Robert to pay off his debt to me and reclaim Normandy. This would be a disaster, especially for Normandy. We have just spent years reconquering the duchy and I’m not prepared to see Robert undo all that we have achieved through his singular lack of any political or military ability.’
‘How do you intend to stop him, sire?’ Walter Giffard, Earl of Buckingham, enquired softly.
‘By refusing to hand it back to him, how else? I’m confident that the majority of my Norman barons will support me. They are hardly likely to want to see my incompetent brother lose the Vexin to Philippe again, or to see chaos return to the rest of Normandy.’
William smiled smugly.
‘I have one other trick up my sleeve. The Duke of Aquitaine wishes to take the cross and join the crusade in the Holy Land for the good of his soul.’
It was evident from the sneer on William’s face what he thought of such a grand gesture, and of religion in general.
‘However, he wants a strong ruler to look after his lands whilst he is away. His son is too young and he doesn’t trust any of his magnates sufficiently. He has therefore approached me to act as its ruler whilst he is away.’
Henry’s hooded eyes gave little away but inside he was near despair. Robert’s imminent marriage and return were bad enough. It meant that his window of opportunity was fast closing if he was to seize the throne before Robert became a threat. However, if William managed to gain control of Aquitaine as well his death would plunge the whole of the Continent into chaos. Henry wanted a smooth transition of power, not to get embroiled in a fight to the death with the French king, who would hardly tolerate the rule of another over all French territory in the west from the Channel to the Mediterranean.
If Robert reached Apulia in the spring, he could be expected to tarry awhile for his nuptials and to secure his dowry. He then had to travel the length of Italy, cross the Alps and make his way north through France to Rouen, the capital of Normandy. Once there it would take him some time before he could consolidate his control of the duchy and cross the England Channel in sufficient force to take the crown. To be on the safe side, William would have to die before the autumn.
-X-
The Scots launched attack after attack on the stout palisade but it availed them nothing and cost them more than twenty casualties.
‘What do they want, do you think?’ Peter asked another squire as they ran to fetch another barrel of arrows for the archers.
‘To burn the place down would be my guess. The Scots are used to fording the Tweed to raid into our lands at will so they won’t like us building castles here and at Norham to make it more difficult.’ The older boy replied.
‘I thought that their king had signed a treaty of peace with William Rufus?’
‘King Etgair has; but that doesn’t mean he controls these wild borderers. This isn’t an invasion, my guess is that it’s merely a raid by a clan or two who live to the north of here.’
The Scots didn’t try another attack until the middle of the night. Sir Clovis was one of those on watch and it was his keen eyes that spotted movement in the dark gloom. The attackers had constructed siege ladders and several had climbed up onto the parapet by the time that the garrison had mustered.
Hugo found himself hard pressed to fend off the three Scots who had gained the walkway at the top of the palisade. He wasn’t as quick or as strong as he used to be and, although his opponents were inexperienced youths, he knew that he couldn’t hold three of them off for long.
Suddenly one of them threw back his head and screamed before toppling into the bailey where he hit the hard earth twelve feet below and lay still. Hugo realised that the lad had been hit by a crossbow bolt but he didn’t allow himself to be distracted. Not so the two remaining Scots. Both glanced down at their fallen comrade and looked around fearfully for the crossbowman. Their momentary loss of concentration was their undoing. Hugo’s sword snaked past the small circular shield that one of the Scots was carrying and pierced his chest just below the breastbone. The tip nicked his heart and he too toppled off the walkway; dead before he hit the ground.
The third one was little more than a boy and he turned to run. Hugo would have let him go but Simon was running to Hugo’s aid and the young Scot ran onto his sword. He collapsed onto the walkway and Simon pulled his sword from the boy’s body as frothy blood come out of his mouth. The sword had pierced a lung. Hugo looked down at him. He would die but it might take a long time. To spare him the agony Hugo thrust the point of his sword through his neck before looking around him.
More and more of his men had now reached the walkway and were driving those Scots who had made it up the ladders back down again. Ten minutes later Hugo’s men were back in possession of the parapet, but at some cost. Out of the thirty knights, serjeants and men-at-arms who had manned the castle yesterday only twenty one remained. The rest were either dead or too badly wounded to fight.
As dawn broke Hugo watched with dismay as the village of Wark went up in flames. Having failed to take the castle and having lost so many men, the Scots had evidently decided to cut their losses and now headed back the way they had come, but this time their numbers were swelled by the fifty villagers they had taken as slaves. The palisade around the other hall had no walkway and there were few archers amongst the villagers and no trained soldiers. It hadn’t taken the Scots long to breach the palisade and capture the inhabitants.
Had the retreating Scots tried to cross the ford, Hugo would have risked a sally by his horsemen to cut them down as they waded through the Tweed. Now all he could do was watch helplessly; he didn’t have enough men to pursue them into the hills. To do so would be folly. The Scots would ambush them and he would just lose more men needlessly.
The next day Oskar returned bringing with him Sir Roger de Muschamp and thirty knights and mounted serjeants. Now they had enough men to pursue the Scots raiders and rescue his villagers. Despite the fact that de Muschamp and his men had ridden hard to reach Wark, he agreed immediately to join Hugo and his few unwounded horsemen in chasing the retreating Scots.
Their trail wasn’t hard to follow. In addition to their captives, they had taken all the livestock from the village as well. Their rate of progress was therefore barely more than two or three miles an hour. When the pursuers came in sight of the stragglers they had barely crossed the ill-defined border halfway between Wark and Kelso.
‘Look Roger,’ Hugo began. ‘They are obviously going to cross the Tweed at Kelso so it might be an idea if we send the majority of our men ahead to stop them reaching the town. We have fifty men and a dozen squires between us. I suggest that you and your men go ahead through the hills, taking one of my men who knows the area well, to circumvent the Scots column and I’ll continue chasing them with my men and the squires, herding them into your arms. Are you happy with that?’
Roger recognised a thinly veiled order when he heard it, even it was wrapped up as a request, but it made sense to him so he nodded his agreement and led his men away to the south, following their guide. As they were all mounted they should be able to move four times as fast as their quarry, which would give them plenty of time to reach the outskirts of Kelso first. However, Kelso had a small garrison and he would prefer not to have to explain what an armed force of Englishmen were doing the wrong side of the border, so he decided on a spot two miles from the town - an
d out of sight from it - for the confrontation with the raiders.
He drew his men up in a line two deep across the shallow valley down which he expected the enemy to move. Spaced at six foot intervals, the line stretched for forty yards. When the first of the raiders appeared they stopped. As more and more of them arrived over the shallow ridge they began to mill about. After a lot of agitated discussion three men mounted on garrons and one riding a rouncey rode forward. Roger did likewise accompanied by the captain of his mesnie and two serjeants carrying loaded crossbows.
‘Wha’ di ye want wi us?’ the man on the rouncey asked in broad lowland scots.
‘Why we’ve come to take back the villagers from Wark and their livestock and to punish you for raiding into England,’ Roger replied affably.
‘Punish us? How?’ the man asked suspiciously.
‘By fining you a hundred marks and hanging your leader.’
The man paled and then laughed.
‘Awa’ wi ye, laddie. You’re no hangin’ me, nor getting’ a penny out o’ me neither.’
‘Then you and your men will all die here,’ Roger replied flatly.
Just then a youth on a garron came riding up at a canter.
‘Da’, there’s more o’ the cursed English comin’ up behind us.’
At that the chieftain rode back to his men and tried to get them into some sort of formation to charge de Muschamp’s men. They never got the chance. Whilst they were still trying to get into formation the knights and serjeants surged forward picking up speed as they neared the disorganised mess of footmen and horsemen. The knights lowered their lances and the serjeants hefted their axes or swords in readiness. They struck the Scots like a mailed fist and a dozen of them died instantly. More soon followed their clansmen to the grave before the charge slowed and it broke up into a series of individual fights.
It was an unequal struggle. There had been sixty five Scots at the start of the fight but fifteen of those were at the rear with the captives and the livestock. The initial clash had resulted in the death or incapacitation of eighteen more for the loss of one serjeant on the English side so numbers were more or less even. However, the Scots were unarmoured, lacked discipline and, though brave, weren’t trained killers like the Normans and the Englishmen opposing them. For the loss of one more serjeant, ten more Scots were killed before the remainder started to surrender. The only two who didn’t were the chieftain and his eldest son but they were soon cut down.
Meanwhile at the rear of the column Hugo and his ten men had attacked those herding the livestock and the captives. Seeing salvation at hand, the villagers pounced on their guards, pulling them from their garrons or overwhelming those on foot by sheer numbers. A few were wounded but they literally tore apart those who had killed, raped, pillaged and torched their village. When they regained their senses mangled corpses littered the ground. Oskar saw what had happened and vomited; he wasn’t the only one.
The rest of the rearguard, seeing the grisly fate of their fellows, hastily surrendered to Hugo. It was all over. The corpses of the chieftain and his son were hung by the neck from a nearby tree as a warning to others and the dead and badly wounded were left where they lay. The rest were roped together for the journey back to Wark. Snow had just started to fall and settle on the frozen ground and Oskar felt some sympathy for the Scots captives, despite what they had done. There was no dungeon or secure building in the castle as yet and so they would be kept in the open in a corner of the bailey. Even if they huddled together for warmth many would die before they could be handed over to the Governor of Berwick and charged with breaking the king’ peace.
Hugo sighed as he plodded back to Wark through the snow. The failed attempt to burn Wark Castle to the ground would serve as a warning to others for a time but he was willing to bet that sooner or later it would be besieged again. He would have to base a reasonable sized garrison there and that would be another drain on his purse. Furthermore he would have to pay for the village to be re-built. Not for the first time he wondered whether his manors in the Cheviots made any sort of financial sense. Certainly they were a poor exchange for Burneham. Not for the first time he roundly cursed William Rufus for depriving him of his prosperous Buckinghamshire manor.
Chapter Seventeen - Death in the Forest
August 1100
No sooner had Hugo returned to his new hall at Edale than he had to set out again. The castle at Wark had been finished and the village had been re-built with a palisade with a walkway around the parapet to defend it from future attacks by marauding Scots. Those he had handed over to the Governor of Berwick had been tried by the Sheriff of Lothian and fined. Hugo thought that they had got off lightly and felt bitter about it. The next time he would hang them himself.
With the need to find a garrison for the new castle, Hugo had only retained Clovis and two serjeants as his escort for his journey south. Simon had stayed on at Wark as the constable and he and Hugo had bid a somewhat emotional farewell to each other. Both knew that they were unlikely to meet again.
Oskar and Peter were delighted that they wouldn’t be separated and, now that Sir Clovis treated Peter much better, they were both happy and looking forward to seeing a part of England that neither had visited before.
Hugo found that he was glad to be back and he was pleased by the relative comforts of the new stone-built hall at Edale. It was good to see Robert, his wife and grandson again too. He had been relieved to find that neither the hall nor the manor of Edale brought back unpleasant memories of Wulfric and Edith. He had managed to put that stage of his life behind him, for which he was grateful.
He hadn’t been there above ten days when a summons to attend the king at court came and Hugo set off again with Clovis and a small escort for Winchester where the king was currently residing. He couldn’t imagine why William wanted to see him and consequently he was partly curious and partly anxious. William had robbed him of Burneham; perhaps he wanted to take the manors in the Cheviot back now that he had pacified the area. He wasn’t worried so much for himself, but for Tristan and his family who had made a home for themselves there. He doubted whether he would journey north again. These days he found that riding long distances caused aches in muscles he didn’t even know he had. He grunted to himself; he could certainly have done without this long ride to Winchester.
He arrived there on the last day of July and was shown to a small cell in the attic of a guest house just outside the royal palace by a ten year old page called Justin who looked as if he had a nasty smell under his nose. The boy was dressed in fine woollen hose and a red velvet tunic on which three leopards had been embroidered in gold thread. His clothing was certainly finer than anything that Hugo possessed. He treated Hugo and his companions with such condescension that the old knight felt like boxing his ears.
‘Tell me, boy, were you born an arrogant prig or were you taught to be one?’ Hugo asked him once he had conducted them to the small dirty garret that he and Edwin were to apparently to share with Clovis, Peter and the two serjeants.
The boy went bright red and stormed off without saying another word.
‘Charmless oik,’ Hugo muttered and he lay down on the one and only bed to catch up on his sleep. The others would have to make do with palliases filled with straw on the floor.
Having been summoned to court Hugo was at a loss to know what to do now he had arrived. No-one came near them for the rest of the day and so they repaired to a nearby tavern for an evening meal of gristle, gravy that wasn’t far removed from muddy water, and stale bread. At least the ale wasn’t too bad.
The next morning he set out to try and discover what he was doing in Winchester. After a morning spent trying fruitlessly to find out, he was about to give up when he spotted Justin running down a corridor. The boy spotted him at the last moment and tried to turn round and make his escape but Hugo was too quick for him. He grabbed the collar of the young boy’s tunic and yanked it back, half throttling him.
‘Not so f
ast, Justin.’
He turned him around and, gripping his shoulders so he couldn’t escape, he knelt down so that his eyes were level with those of the page.
‘Now Justin, someone knew I was expected and arranged for what is laughing called accommodation for me. Who was it and where can I find him. I need to find out what I’m doing here.’
‘Let go of me, you’re hurting. I’ll yell for the guards and then you’ll be in trouble.’
‘Why, what’s so special about a snotty little sod like you? If you were in my household I’d soon have the arrogance beaten out of you.’
‘I’m the second son of the Earl of Buckingham and page to the king.’
Hugo looked at the boy’s handsome face and his long, clean fair hair and he wondered if the rumours about the king’s sexual preferences could be true. He quickly dismissed the thought. The tales were spread by William’s enemies, particularly those pious members of the clergy who were scandalised by his lack of religious belief. Besides, the boy was very young and, despite his arrogance, he had an aura of innocence about him.
‘So your one of Walter Giffard’s brood are you? You must take after your mother; Walter’s an ugly sod.’
‘You know my father?’ the boy asked sceptically.
‘Not well. We were both on the king’s war council in France.’
He was tempted to add that he’d never forgiven Giffard for taking the manor of Burneham away from him but that was old news now. Still, he couldn’t blame the boy for who his father was.
‘Oh, I see. I’m sorry, my lord. I’ll see the page-master and ask him to obtain better accommodation for you from the chamberlain.’