David the Prince - Scotland 03 (58 page)

For the mounted men progress seemed desperately slow, this proving another morale problem. Horsed forces did probe far ahead, of course, but with little real opposition, this could very quickly have broken up the army, and the conception of a steadily-advancing line. As it was, the west end of the line, under William, was tending to get ever too far ahead, there being less population and practically no castles in Cumbria to hold them up. David's objective was not any swift advance to the Tees-Ribble line, one hundred and twenty miles deep into England, but an orderly occupation of the country. The mounted chivalry often did not move at all for three or four days at a time, a sure recipe for slackness and indiscipline.

It was May before they neared Durham, and the first major resistance. Flambard had been succeeded as bishop by Raoul, another Norman, and a known fighter, who certainly would not meekly submit. His castle and cathedral together occupied a very strong, defensive position on a high and narrow spine of land within a loop of the River Wear, the only approach a steep climbing road barred by a succession of deep ditches defended by drawbridges and portcullis — n
ot unlike the March Mount
Castle itself. Recognising only too clearly the hopelessness of direct assault on such a place, Davi
d made no such attempt, but settl
ed down to a starving-out siege, at the same time using Durham town, below, as his semi-permanent headquarters from which the vast area he had over-run might be consolidated and administered. He was waiting, of course, for news, for the inevitable reaction from Stephen and the English generally. He, and all his responsible leadership, were all too well aware of their extraordinary situation, sitting there one hundred miles deep into England, with no sign of any counter-
stroke - only this bishop's castl
e glowering down at them.

At Durham, at last, news arrived - two items. Bearer of the first was David's old acquaintance the Saxon Ailred, Abbot of Rievaulx, friend of Abbot Alwin, still with the King as confessor. He came from his Yorkshire abbey on the Rye, on a self-imposed mission of peace. He came, he said, to beseech the King of Scots, whom he greatly admired, not to advance further, or at least, not beyond Tees, which would bring bloody war; but to be content with what he had already gained. There were great stirrings in England. Who could tell, perhaps David would gain all and more than he looked for by holding his hand now rather than pressing ahead?

David himself was prepared to listen to this sort of talk, but it was of course anathema to his lords and supporters, who hooted the Abbot down. Nevertheless, in private conversation later, Ailred was able to make a convincing case.

He explained that Stephen's reverse and hurried retiral from Scotland had had its impact in England. The Normans perceived him to be no effective military leader; and the Saxons saw possible opportunity, at last, for uprising against their Norman conquerors. A strong Norman party was now forming against Stephen; and Robert of Gloucester had gone over to Aquitaine to advise his half-sister to act now. The Saxons were preparing to rise, on all hands, and urging the Welsh to rise again also; but their enmity was against all Normans, not just Stephen. There was even talk of asking David himself, as a great-grandson of Edmund Ironside, to take over the English throne. This might be mere wild talk; but what was certain was that any actual armed invasion of England proper, at this stage, would be counter-productive, would have the effect of uniting the Normans again and alarming the Saxons, who were already frightened of the reputedly wild Scots hordes. Ailred urged a definite and proclaimed halt to the Scots advance whilst the situation in England developed and clarified.

He also informed that Stephen himself was in London and seemed inclined to stay there, where he had made himself popular with the mob by giving them largesse, spectacles and the like. He had ordered Archbishop Thurstan to defend the North, and had detailed the veteran warrior Walter d'Espec to aid him. Whether the Normans would rally to the old churchman's banner remained to be seen. Ailred also revealed that Raoul, Bishop of Durham, was not in fact in his besieged castle here, but at York with Thurstan.

On top of Ailred's tidings came the second item of news. The Lord William in the west, not bothering to keep line, had pressed on to the Ribble already; and there, at Clitheroe, had been confronted by a major Norman force which he had defeated roundly.

The effect of all this information on the Scots main force was marked but contradictory, divisive. The more thoughtful were for taking Ailred's advice and holding their fire meantime; but in any assembly of men the thoughtful are seldom in the majority, especially in an army; and the reaction of most was that if William and Strathclyde men could defeat a Norman host in the west,
they
could at least as much in the east and centre. Forward, advance, no craven holding back, was the cry.

David, needless to say, was of the first persuasion. But he had many things to consider other than long-range strategy, including the dangers of idleness, the morale of his heterogeneous force, and the matter of the inexorable passage of time - for come harvest, nothing would hold a large part of his army fr
om returning home, since neglecti
ng harvest meant probably starvation in the winter for homes and families. So reluctantly the King compromised. They would leave Durham under siege by only a small force, and move on slowly towards the Tees, the age-old boundary of Northumbria.

This pleased no one greatly, but it had to serve.

* * *

It was no place, nor time, for reflection, as David sat his horse there on Cowton Moor, the common grazing-land just north of Northallerton, six miles beyond Tees and halfway between Durham and York, and looked across the rough pasture to the assembled enemy half-a-mile away. Yet reflect he did, and unhappily. No doubt he was not the first commander so to do, to realise that though he did not wish to do battle here and now, to recognise that it was against his best interests to do so, yet he would
have
to do so. The circumstances left him no choice. A great armed host is not like some convenient device which can be turned off or on at will. Thousands upon thousands of men, especially an army composed of the contingents of innumerable lords and chiefs, with little in common, indeed deep internal divisions, cannot be a precise instrument on which an overall commander can play at will or change tune suddenly. He had brought this spirited, unruly, violent mass of men one hundred and twenty miles into England, and now at last was face-to-face with a powerful enemy force. By no means, however much he might wish it, or recognise it as wise and desirable, could he now refuse to fight, come to terms, or fall back. Battle now there had to be. It could have dire results - but the result of orders not to fight would be infinitely more dire, now and hereafter. His throne would be the first casualty.

Yet he did not see how he could have done differently. When he had reached the Tees at last, between Stockton and Darlington, and had been informed that there was talk of a great muster of Norman barons being called by Archbishop Thurstan and Walter d'Espec, not at York but at the Bishop of Durham's southern castle of Northallerton, only six miles away, he had had to make a swift decision; either to wait there behind Tees, for the English to assemble and marshal themselves and grow stronger, or to move first, with his larger host, and disperse any such muster before it grew dangerous. He almost inevitably had had to take the second course. Now, he found that the muster had been a deal more advanced than reported, and a major army was already facing him, holding a small, isolated hill rising out of the moor. There were obviously many thousands there, even though less numerous than his own; but more important than numbers, an armoured host, the sun gleaming everywhere on massed steel — Norman steel.

None knew better than David and his own Norman friends what that meant. Few if any of the Scots had had any experience of fighting against steel-clad knights and troops encased in armour. Not one in ten of their number had even the leather jerkins with scales of metal sewn on, which served as mail with the Scots, as with the Saxons and Norse. Only the Normans had developed chain-mail, steel plating and helmets - which might be hampering in movement but of incalculable advantage in defensive warfare especially.

So David reflected, while around him his non-Norman supporters laughed and cheered at the prospect of action at last, promising each other great things, victory the least of it.

The King was aroused from his preoccupation by angry voices, wrath, anger suddenly replacing laughter behind him. It was the Earl Fergus asserting that he led the van. Always, he declared, it had been Galloway's privilege to form the van of the Scottish host in war. They would lead, or not fight at all.

David considered his former friend thoughtfully. Fergus, like himself brought up amongst Normans, knew their prowess and the superiority of armoured men over unarmoured.

"I am surprised that you are so eager, Fergus," he said.
"
You
know what the cost will be against all that steel!"

The other, in chain-mail himself, shrugged. "What must be, must."

"
Must,
man! You say must to me?"

"Just that, Sire. My people just will not fight unless they lead. I know them. It is that — or you are six thousand men fewer this day!"

Snarls and growls from around them caused David to raise his hand.

"Do you tell me, my lord, that you cannot control your forces? That they will not obey you if you order them otherwise?"

"God help me - yes! These are some of the fiercest fighters on this earth, man. But the most damnably proud. The true Pictish nation, untainted by your Scottish blood! It is their age-old right to fight the van. If I say otherwise, they would spurn me, throw me aside . . ."

"Damn you, Mac Sween!" Malise of Strathearn crie
d. "You are not even one of the ri!
A new-made earl and a rabble of uncouth kerns will not lead Strathearn . . . !"

"Nor Fife!" the young Earl Duncan
broke in. "I am premier earl. I
lead!"

"My lords, my lords!" David exclaimed. "Silence! Will you raise you
r voices in my royal presence? I
say who leads my array and who does not. Why think you I have a Knight Marischal? And a Great Constable? Sir Hervey of Keith will marshal the host according to my commands
..."

"Sire-look!" Hugo called. "A deputation. From the enemy. Under a flag of truce. Yonder!" He pointed.

All eyes turned southwards. Three horsemen were riding towards them from the dismounted and mail-clad mass around and on the hill, one bearing aloft a large white banner.

"Ha! They are none so sure of themselves. They would treat!" Fergus said.

There was a variety of reaction from the waiting Scots leadership, to possibly only David's, with some of his Normans', relief. Then a different note was voiced by someone keen-sighted.

"Lord — see who they are! It is de Brus, I swear! Aye, and de Baliol! Save us - traitors!"

Loud was the astonished and angry comment, amongst Scots and Normans both, as the identity of the newcomers was established. Robert de Brus, Lord of Annandale, and Bernard de Baliol, Lord of Cavers, had both in time succeede
d to their fathers' baronies in
England - as indeed had others of David's Normans. These two had elected to spend part of their time on their Yorkshire domains, and had been in the South when this campaign started. Now here they were.

In their rich armour, heads bare, they rode up, a man-at-arms behind bearing the white flag. De Brus, a handsome man, a year or two older than David, raised his hand.

"Sire! My lord King - greetings!" he cried.

"Ah, yes. But what sort of greetings, Robert?" David asked evenly. "I never thought to see de Brus - or de Baliol either -
riding under
that
flag, and from my enemy's camp!"

A rumble of hostility, of menace, arose from behind the King.

"But they are
not
Your Grace'
s enemies," de Brus said, urgentl
y. "They are our own kind, good Norman lords, who could be your friends. As are we, as we have long
proved
ourselves. These have no desire to fight you. That is why we are come - to tell you so."

"Then let them disperse and go, de Brus!" Fergus shouted. "There need be no fighting, then." This time he did not lack for support.

David raised hand for quiet. "If they seek terms, I am ready to discuss them," he said.

"No - it is not terms they seek, Sire. Only goodwill, reason, friendship. You cannot draw sword against your friends."

"I have no desire to, my Lord of Annandale. We have come thus far without fighting. If there is sword-drawing now it is because this host bars my way. My way to York. Where I would speak with the Archbishop."