David the Prince - Scotland 03 (59 page)

"That is the Archbishop's host, my lord King."

"Ha! And does he come to speak with me? He who now represents Stephen the Usurper?"

"Er . . . no, Sire. But the Bishop of Durham is there."

"The King of Scots does not treat with underlings, my Lord. If that is the Archbishop's host, what is the Archbishop's word to me?"

"He bids you go in peace, Sire. He asks that you retire behind your own borders. Then any differences shall be settled later, by fair agreement."

"Fair agreement! We have had a sufficiency of fair agreement, Robert. And always the agreement broken. By Stephen and the Archbishop, both. This time we choose other methods. Go tell your new masters so!"

Again the growling behind the King.

De Baiiol tried, on a different note. "Your Grace - do not bring this to a test of steel, I beseech you. For you cannot prevail. You must know it. There stand fifteen thousand of mailed men. You may number more, but how few are armoured or trained in battle as are we Normans. Your tribesmen and bare-shanked churls have no least chance of winning this day.'

"There speaks French arrogance!" Fergus cried. "Let us put it to test."

De Brus frowned at his colleague, clearly preferring a less abrasive approach. "Sire — you are a man of peace, all know. You cannot wish bloodshed. Especially in the face of the bodily presence of the Lord Christ!"

"What?" David stared. They all did.

The other turned in his saddle, to point. "There, yonder, is what you pitch yourself against, my lord King - you, a Christian monarch. Not against merely steel and armed might. But against the Most High God Himself! See you that standard raised against you? Look well, Sire. For the great mast lifted high there carries the holy pyx, the consecrated host of the Body and Blood of the Lord Christ. And flanked by the sacred banners of St. Peter of York, St. John of Beverley and St. Wilfred of Ripon. There, see them fly. If you draw sword, Sire, you draw it against Holy Church and Holy Church's Master
-
you, of all men!"

Even David was rendered speechless for moments in the face of this extraordinary and most terrible conception. Around him men held their breaths, aghast at something the like of which none had ever heard.

Fergus of Galloway was differently made. "By the Powers!" he exclaimed, "Old Thurstan must be scared out of his tonsured pate to think of such device!"

A sigh, an outlet of breath in sheer relief escaped from the listening men, the dire threat at least reduced to manageable proportions. Shouts, reproaches, curses resounded.

David strove to keep his voice steady when he had gained silence. "This is
...
a great sin, a shame!" he declared. "To use the Blessed Sacraments so. To claim Christ and His holy saints as, as partisans. And for a usurper, an oath-breaker, a liar! I do not congratulate your Archbishop or your new friends, my lords!"

The Scots leadership cheered that to the echo.

"Then, then, my lord King - you reject the hand of friendship?" Baliol asked. "It is to be war . . . ?"

Again de Brus intervened. "Sire, hear me - while there is yet time. Think who you, and these my friends, seek to slay. Honest Normans all. Remember how, from the first, we Normans have aided you. To set up your kingdom. Trust
them
,
rather than these Scots tribesmen. Can you, my lord, subject them to your governance without Norman aid? That Fergus! Who reduced him to obedience, but your Norman knights? Will you throw all away? For these?"

In the uproar, one voice overbore all, tense, that of the King's Knight Marischal. "Curse you, de Brus - all Normans are not as you!" Hervey de Warenne shouted. "You are vassal to my own father for your Cleveland manors—the Earl of Surrey. I am son, not vassal! And I support the lord David to my last breath!"

"And I! And I! And I!" David's other Normans cried, snatching out swords to hold high.

De Brus inclined his handsome head. "So be it," he acceded. "If that is your answer, Sire, I shall convey it to those who sent us." He squared his mailed shoulders. "For myself, I must now declare before all that I hereby renounce my oath of fealty to you for my lands in Scotland. Forfeit me Annandale if you will."

"And I for Cavers in Teviotdale," de Baliol added.

David nodded wordless, too hurt to speak. These had been his friends, de Brus one of the closest.

"These are the words of traitors, I say!" That was a new voice for that day, but one all there knew. David turned to find the Lord William of Allerdale, who must have crossed the spine of England to reach them here, from his Cumbrian host. "As well they sit under that white banner!"

There was loud acclaim for the new arrival and his sentiments.

William jabbed a finger towards the Norman army. "We beat them at Clitheroe!" he cried. "Let us beat them again!"

In the wild cheering, the two emissaries bowed, reined round their mounts and rode back whence they had come.

The die, it seemed, was cast. David, far from cheering, sighed deeply. So fate decided - not himself. Was he no more than a cipher, a weakling wearing a crown, to allow it to go thus? He who hated the sword was going to allow the sword to be the arbiter, after all.

* * *

Two hours later, in the early afternoon, the thing had come to the moment of truth. The Scots army, of about twenty-five thousand - for many of the original fifty thousand were by now scattered over two provinces in garrisons - was marshalled and ready, eager, indeed scarcely to be restrained any longer. In the end, there had been little further demur over Fergus and his Galwegians forming the vanguard. These were now drawn up in three impatient masses, of some two thousand each, in front of the main array. Behind them were three much larger and rather more disciplined bodies. On the extreme right, the cavalry wing, most of the Norman lords with their mounted levies, plus the Borderers, who were never to be parted from their horses, this under Prince Henry and the Earl of Fife. In the centre, commanded by the victorious Lord William and Earl Malise of Strathearn, was the greatest concentration, footmen from every part of Scotland, with many volunteers from Northumbria and Cumbria. On the left, Cospatrick of Dunbar had his men of Lothian, the Merse and Teviotdale-sharing his command, oddly enough, with Malcolm MacEth, former Earl of Moray, whom David had allowed to come on the campaign from his open imprisonment at Rook's Burgh. In the rear the King himself, supported by Hervey the Knight Marischal and Hugo the Deputy Constable, held the reserve of about four thousand, with his personal bodyguard of some two hundred Norman knights.

At least, there seemed to be no question as to the enemy's tactics. They were evidently going to stand fast on the defensive round their hill, facing north, though with flanking wings stretching a little way east and west - grimly wise strategy for a force of massed armour confident in its invulnerability. Plain to be seen now, dragged to the top of the hill, was a waggon with what could only be a ship's mast rising from it. The three banners of the saints flew plainly at its head, but it was too far to see the pyx, the casket containing the consecrated bread and wine. The Scots tried not to look at that dire standard, to tell themselves that it was false, did not matter — but its presence was like a leaden weight at the back of many minds, nevertheless.

It was two hours past noon. There was nothing more to wait for. The speeches had been made, the assurances given, the boasts boasted and some prayers said. It but remained to do, arid to go on doing, until
...

With a mighty yell which drowned the trumpet-notes, Galloway surged forward at the run, Fergus himself, under the white-lion-on-blue banner, well to the fore. They had some five hundred yards to cover to reach the enemy. All the rest of the ranked army cheered them on.

David waited only until they were about half-way to the hill— their pride must be satisfied with that. Then again he signed to the trumpeter.

Now the entire main array moved into action. But inevitably, not at the same pace. The right wing under Henry, being horsed, broke into a trot, swiftly increased to a canter, a gallop, drawing quickly ahead of all the rest, the very ground shaking to the thunder of their hooves. But this David had reckoned on - his method of supporting the Galwegians, however much they might resent it. Lord William's centre marched forward in fairly ordered ranks, spears at the slope. But Cospatrick's left, starting at a steady pace, quickly broke into a run. So the vast front b
ecame an uneven, moving crescen
t. This also was planned. There were some twenty thousand men on the move.

The scale, the
elan
,
the sheer drama of it all, produced a corresponding surge of elation in the watching reserve force, even though, from the King downwards, they all but cringed from the anticipated shock of impact. But, in fact, it was not any such expected clash of collision which shook them, but a very different reaction, the impression, almost unreal as it was unacceptable, of the Galloway host melting, dissolving, before their very eyes. Like standing grain before the sickle the forward ranks went down in swathe after swathe, still one hundred yards and more from the enemy front. It was too distant for the watchers to see the arrows, o
f course — but their effect was
evident. Higher on the hill, behind the phalanx of armour, the massed archers were shooting over their colleague's heads, with steady, deadly efficiency and accuracy, at short range, into the close-packed unprotected masses.

Men were falling in their hundreds, almost thousands, for the unhurt were tripping and stumbling over their fallen comrades. Three times the lion banner sank and was snatched up to fly again. But though the Galloway front wavered and shrank in size, it pressed on, still yelling "Albani! Albani!" the ancient Pictish war-cry, climbing over the fallen.

Efficient as the bowmen were, they just could not fit and shoot sufficient arrows, in the time, to dispose of more than perhaps a quarter of the leaping, shouting horde, before these were able to fling themselves upon the serried ranks of the kneeling spearmen. The slaughter thereafter looked only a little less terrible. But again weight of numbers told. Even the longest, firmest-held spear could not impale more that two or three men at once — and extracting the weapon thereafter from flailing bodies took time. Pressed on from behind, the Galloway ranks might crumple and collapse, but dead, dying and wounded, they weighed down and neutralised many of the spears and spearmen both. Over and through this bloody chaos, the swordsmen, the mace-wielders, the axemen and the dirk-stabbers poured, even though not much more than half of the six thousand. The van had not failed.

The right wing, too, struck the enemy's west flanking force almost simultaneously - and as so often with cavalry charging standing infantry, broke right through them at the first rush. Some fell to arrows, mounts and men, some were pierced by spears, others crashed over fallen comrades and screaming horseflesh. But the great majority drove on and through, swords smiting. The centre enemy archers on the hill, when they could no longer shoot at the Galwegians for fear of hitting their own men, switched targets to the cavalry.

On the east, Cospatrick's force had not yet reached the enemy right wing. So this stood idle, its archers waiting for point-blank range.

David, watching all, sickened by the carnage but with some hope that sheer impetus and ignoring of losses might carry the day, became aware of a new situation developing. From his position he could not see clearly what was happening on the far right, where his son's advance had carried them considerably forward and where it had evidently run into trouble of some sort. Then it became apparent that it was cavalry that Henry was meeting now. Obviously behind the hill, out of sight, had been drawn up the Norman mounted chivalry. These were attacking Henry's and Fife's force, with their impetus partly spent and their ranks somewhat broken.

David's impulse was to send his two hundred horsed bodyguard to aid his son, there and then. But he forced himself to act the general, not the father. Biting his lip he waited, agonised.

Cospatrick's people were now dying under the arrow-hail.

But they had the Galloway example before them, and the added advantage that the enemy right wing they were attacking was formed up on the low ground east of the hill, and so its archers did not have the benefit of height, to shoot over the heads of their spearmen. So they were less effective. But unhappily, on the ranked spears, the Lothian and Mersemen died equally disastrously.

The centre, marching with admirable steadiness, had to surmount the great swathes and mounds of Galloway slain and wounded. But Fergus's people had opened a way for them through the spearmen cordon, and though they suffered in turn from the high-placed bowmen, they reached the massed armour of the English centre with considerably less loss than had the other forces. With their arrival, what was left of the van began to withdraw, through their ranks, to reform - a sorry proportion of six thousand.