CHAPTER XXV
THE CRISIS
Before describing my adventures in the North of England, I must pause in my narrative to explain how the Scots, in time of truce, happened to make that sudden inroad into England which alarmed the country, startled the court, excited the capital, and caused Queen Philippa to remove from Windsor to York.
It was when the first Edward was king, and when Philip the Fair reigned in France, that the chiefs of the house of Capet, as sovereigns of France, began to encourage that deadly hate of the Scots towards England which speedily proved productive of so much mischief to both countries; and Philip of Valois, on assuming the French crown, did not fail to imitate the example which, in this respect, his predecessors had set. From the time of the battle of Halidon Hill to the year when King Edward – exasperated, as he well might be – embarked for Flanders, promises of aid, and supplies of arms and warlike stores, kept the Scots in insurrection, and encouraged them in their stubborn resistance.
But such a policy could not be long pursued with impunity; and Philip ought early to have discovered that, in his case, it was not to be pursued with impunity. In any case, the loss of his navy at Sluys, and the loss of his army at Cressy, would have taught an ordinary man that the dishonest policy which he was practising was sure to bring still greater disasters in its train. But he was incapable of profiting by experience.
At the time when the princes and the chivalry of France were trodden down at Cressy, the crown of Scotland was worn by David Bruce, son of the conqueror of Bannockburn; and at that time he was about the age of twenty-three, and eager to signalise himself by some such exploits as had made his father celebrated throughout Christendom. But, with such a king as Edward III. on the English throne, this was by no means an easy matter, either in England or Ireland; and perhaps the royal Scot might long have talked, without attempting, had he not been tempted by the representations of his continental ally to undertake the expedition which, in the autumn of 1346, caused so much alarm throughout England.
It appears that when King Edward marched his victorious army to Calais, and sat down before that city with a determination to take it ere leaving, Philip of Valois perceived the impossibility of contending single-handed with such an adversary. In his desperate circumstances, the vanquished Frenchman was not likely to forget the existence of the King of Scots; and, having prevailed on David Bruce to invade England, as the likeliest means of drawing off part, at least, of the English forces from the siege of Calais, and sent men to aid and money to encourage the Scots in their enterprise, he awaited the result with confidence.
No time was lost by the young King of Scots in carrying the project into execution. A Parliament having been hastily held at Perth, and the Scottish magnates having sanctioned a war, their king drew together a numerous army, and, about the opening of October, entered England by the West Marches. A mighty host it was, all things considered, that marched under his standard. Three thousand men-at-arms, knights, and esquires; thirty thousand men on geldings and galloways; and a large body of Genoese and French auxiliaries; such was the army at the head of which David Bruce and his earls and barons came over the Border, to avenge the defeat of Cressy, and to save the city of Calais.
Much was the mischief which the Scots wrought, and great was the terror which they spread around. It seemed that the days of Randolph and Douglas had returned, and that the Scots were again, year after year, to wreak their savage fury on the Northern counties. Men bent their brows and clenched their hands, and women wept and children wailed, as they fled from their homes to the woods and mountains, to avoid invaders, many of whom knew little of mercy, not, perhaps, even the name.
Commencing operations at the castle of Liddel, the Scots took that stronghold, put the garrison to the sword, and beheaded Walter Selby, the governor, in their king's presence, without so much as suffering him to be confessed. This done, they pursued their way through Cumberland and the southern parts of Northumberland, ravaging and burning; and, still spreading desolation as they went, they advanced towards the city of Durham. So far their march had been unopposed, and they had had it all their own way. At this stage, however, an army not to be daunted by superior numbers frowned defiance and demanded revenge. Not only Lord Neville and Lord Percy, but Baliol, Moubray, D'Eyncourt, and De Roos were there to bar the way; and at the head of the force they had mustered was the queen herself – the wife and mother of heroes – whose presence inspired every man there with the resolution to fight with the courage and energy of two.
In fact, Philippa no sooner heard that the Scots were preparing to invade England than she hastened to York, and summoned all the peers and prelates who were in the country to meet in the capital of the North. With their counsel and aid she did wonders, and soon found herself at the head of an army numbering scarce more than a third of the invaders, it is true, but composed of men making up in discipline and valour what they lacked in numbers, and eager to rival the achievement by which their countrymen, fighting on the Continent, had acquired so much fame.
At the head of this formidable force the queen marched to Durham; and, while the English lay in Auckland Park, she, in the city of the same name, awaited the coming of the Scots, who, flushed with a success to which, in recent years, they had been little accustomed, regaled their imaginations with the anticipation of a triumphant issue to their adventurous enterprise.
It cannot be said that the patience of the English was put to any severe test. The reverse was the case; for the march of the invaders had been rapid; and on Friday, the 16th of October, the Scottish vanguard came near the town, and skirmished with some parties of English who were abroad.
The Scots fell back, however, on the main army, and, in retiring, burned some hamlets. The smoke and the flames exasperated the English, and the soldiers demanded to be led to battle. But on this point their chiefs were, fortunately, discreet enough not to gratify their wish. Neville and Percy were leaders of sapience, and Baliol, who had been once King of Scots, well knew, from experience, how to deal with men of the nation he had ruled.
"No," answered they in reply to the shouts of the soldiers. "Nothing must be done rashly, especially in the absence of our lord the king; for such is the crisis we are approaching, that we hazard, not only our own lives, but his realm."
As the day passed on, however, messengers from David Bruce came to say that, "if the English were willing to come forth, he would wait for them and give them battle."
"Tell those who sent you," was the reply, "that we accept the offer, and that we will not keep our enemies long waiting."
On receiving this message, the King of Scots, who had previously encamped in the park of Beaurepaire, drew out his army on Durham Moor, and, setting his men in order for battle, formed them into three battalions. He himself commanded the centre host; on his right were Lord Douglas and the Earl of Moray; on his left was the High Steward of Scotland – all warriors whose fathers had followed the fortunes, and participated in the triumphs, of his hero-sire.
Having thus arrayed his men, the King of Scots retired to Beaurepaire, and awaited the coming of Saturday to encounter his foes.
In vain Lord Douglas recommended him to retire to the woods, and retreat without an engagement.
"No!" exclaimed the king with disdain. "We are the sons of the men who conquered at Bannockburn, and by St. Andrew! we are bound to prove that we have inherited the valour which they so often displayed on the crests of foemen."
And so, within a few miles of the armed foes, who had sprung from hamlet, and grange, and castle to repel his invasion, the young king lay down to rest, all eagerness for the hour when he was to try his fortune at the game of carnage.
Nor was there much danger of his patience being severely tried; for the crisis of his fate had arrived.
CHAPTER XXVI
THE EVE OF BATTLE
It was the evening of Friday, the 16th of October, 1346, when, in the company of Copeland, the Northumbrian esquire, I reached Durham, and first beheld the city associated with the memory of St. Cuthbert.
And fine and picturesque, I did confess, was the appearance which the place presented at the close of that October day, when threatened by the Scottish foe. The eye of my comrade gleamed with provincial pride as he marked the impression produced on me by the sight; and he exclaimed, in a tone of triumph —
"A fair city."
"Passing fair," I replied; and, not unwilling to display the little knowledge I possessed, I added, "and it seems to me to be, like Rome, built on seven hills."
"God's truth," said Copeland, "I know not on how many hills Rome may be built; but I have heard men say that whoso hath seen the situation of Durham has seen the map of Zion, and may save himself the trouble of a journey to Jerusalem."
About seventeen miles to the south of Newcastle, and sixty-seven miles to the north-west of York, in the centre of the shire of Durham, the river Wear, in one of its windings, makes a curve in the shape of a horse-shoe, and incloses a lofty peninsula, or promontory. On this promontory, which is formed of seven hills, surrounded by hills still higher than themselves, stands the city of Durham, with its castle, its abbey, its churches and buildings, mirrored in the clear waters of the river, whose steep banks are clothed with hanging woods.
At a distance of some miles to the south of Durham is the castle of Auckland, the seat of the bishop, with a park abounding in deer and wild cattle; while three miles to the north-west is Beaurepaire, another fair park, in which stands the house to which the prior is wont, on occasions, to retreat for quiet and contemplation. At this crisis both of these parks were camps, and their silence and privacy were broken by the noise of arms and the tramp of warriors; for the English army lay at Auckland, awaiting orders to march, and the King of Scots lay at Beaurepaire, awaiting the coming of the enemy, and treating with great disdain, as I have written, the proposal made by some of his nobles to make for the woods, and retreat without risking an engagement.
Such was the position of the two armies when having entered Durham, I proceeded to the castle, and craved an audience of the Queen of England. At first it appeared doubtful whether it would be granted; but a hint as to my being charged with letters of importance from France opened the doors, and I was conducted to the presence of the royal lady on whose energy and presence of mind the fate of England, at that moment, in a great measure depended.
At the time when Philippa of Hainault was first brought to England and wedded to King Edward, at York, she was a girl of seventeen, with a brilliant complexion, and a tall, graceful figure, whom minstrels praised in verse for her "roseate hue and beauty bright." Eighteen years, however, had passed over her head, during which she had become the mother of ten children, and she retained little of that youthful beauty which minstrels had celebrated.
But what Philippa had lost in juvenile brilliance she had gained in matronly dignity; and at thirty-five, what with her still comely features, her serene aspect, and her stately, though kindly manners, she looked every inch a queen, of whom Englishmen might have said, as they did of her predecessor, Eleanor of Castile, that "to our nation she was a loving mother, the column and pillar of the whole realm."
And never, perhaps, had the Queen of England appeared to greater advantage than when, at this crisis, and in the hour of dismay, she, in the absence of her hero-husband and hero-son, defied all dangers, and ran all risks, to do her duty to the country over which her husband reigned, and the kingdom to which her son was heir.
As I knelt and presented the epistle with which I had been intrusted by the Governor of La Broyes, she looked at me with something like surprise, and, taking the letter from my hand, said gently —
"Rise, sir page; how is this? I thought you were lost."
"Yes, madam," replied I, in some confusion; "but you see I am found again."
"And how came you by this?"
"There, madam, hangs a long tale, with which, mayhap, it were better not to weary your highness at present."
"I will hear it," said the queen.
And taking this expression of her wish as a command, I, with the utmost brevity, related my adventures, and the circumstances under which I had undertaken the duty of messenger. Having listened attentively, and questioned me as to what I remembered about the battle of Cressy, and the bearing of her son on that great day, the queen expressed her approval of my conduct, and immediately gave a proof of her confidence in my fidelity and discretion.
"My lord the king," said she, "will naturally be all anxiety to hear the result of the battle which is about to be fought; and I must needs, without a moment of unnecessary delay, despatch a messenger to him with the tidings, whether of weal or woe."
"Madam," said I, "do not fear – or, rather, I should say, do not doubt – under the eyes of so gracious a lady, that the English soldiery will do their duty, and the beams of victory will rest on St. George's cross."
A frown and a smile passed over the queen's face as showers and sunshine succeed each other on an April day. My audacity caused the frown; my enthusiasm caused the smile. But she quickly gained her serenity.
"You are too young to have any title to express opinions so boldly," she said; "and yet I deny not that much must be overlooked in the case of those who have fought by my son's side. However, hold yourself in readiness to proceed to Calais at a moment's notice."
"Madam," urged I earnestly, and like a condemned man begging for mercy, "I would fain hope that the prospect of so high an honour as carrying a message to my lord the king may not be inconsistent with my drawing my sword against the Scots, and striking a blow for his honour and the safety of the kingdom."
"Better not," replied the queen. "It may be cruel to gainsay you. But you are too young to die, sir page, and will live, please God, to win distinction some other day."
I bowed low, but my countenance indicated my disappointment.
"But," continued she, "the Lords D'Eyncourt and Ogle, with a body of cavalry selected for the duty, are to attend me as a guard during the battle. I accord to you the honour of being one of the party; and it is an honour which I trust that you, as a disciple of chivalry, in the service of the Prince of Wales, will not fail highly to value. You are dismissed."
As she spoke, the queen began to read the epistle of the Countess of Hainault, over which she had already glanced; and, having bent my knee, I retired, not without a feeling of disappointment. Indeed, I must frankly confess that, however high the distinction of attending the Queen of England on such an occasion, I should have relinquished it without a sigh; for so completely had Copeland's stories of adventures and contests with Scottish warriors taken possession of my imagination, that I would gladly, at that moment, have resigned all ambition, and all hopes of rising in life, under the patronage of royal personages, for the privilege of riding to battle with the brave Northumbrian, and charging, sword in hand, by his side into the ranks of foemen, wherever the excitement was highest and the conflict keenest.
I sought Copeland, and, having hastily communicated the result of my audience, expressed the regret I felt at being deprived of the gratification of drawing my sword in his company.
"I grieve to hear it," observed the Northumbrian; "for, between ourselves, I have formed a scheme for acquiring fame and fortune at a grasp."
"By St. George!" exclaimed I. "Tell me, I implore you, how that is to be accomplished. It may serve me on another occasion."
"Breathe not a word on the subject to living mortal," said he. "Hark – in thine ear – I know this King of Scots by head mark. In the battle I will track him as the russet bloodhound does a marauder; and ere to-morrow's sun sets, he shall yield himself my prisoner, rescue or no rescue."
"A most noble enterprise, on my faith," exclaimed I admiringly, "and one, I ween, that will bring both honour and profit, if brought to a successful termination. But you must hold me excused if I remind you that he is not likely to yield, even to you, on easy terms. I have heard something of this King David at the English court, and I gather that, albeit he lacks the mind and subtlety which made his father great, he lacks not the courage or the prowess in war which has so long been associated with the name of Bruce."
CHAPTER XXVII
FACE TO FACE
Bright and clear dawned the morning of the 17th of October, 1346 – the Saturday after the Feast of St. Michael – and on that morning great was the commotion, great the excitement, in the city of Durham. At an early hour, Queen Philippa was astir; and mounting her white palfrey betimes, she rode, escorted by knights, and nobles, and prelates, to where the English were encamped in Auckland Park.
Nor was it without an instinctive prescience that the beams of victory would fall on the red cross of St. George ere the sun went down behind the western hills; for the example of King Edward and his youthful heir had inspired the nation with a warlike ardour which defied odds, and every Englishman from Cornwall to the Tweed regarded himself as belonging to a superior and conquering race. Twenty years earlier, the terror inspired by the Scots was such that a hundred Englishmen looked with dread on half-a-dozen of the men whom the first Edward had driven before him at Falkirk. But since the days of Halidon a marvellous change had occurred, and every man who fought for the martial Plantagenet by whom that change had been wrought went to battle with a conviction that victory sat upon his helm.
On reaching the camp in Auckland Park, the queen gave orders for the army being drawn out in three divisions, each of which had its proportion of archers and men-at-arms. Of these, the first was commanded by Lord Percy, the second by Lord Neville and Lord Hastings, the third by Lord Moubray and Sir Thomas Rokeby, Sheriff of Yorkshire. A body of cavalry – chiefly composed of tall Northern men, with Danish blood in their veins, and the Danish burr on their lips – was kept in reserve, to give aid to those who might need it most, and intrusted to the leading of Lord De Roos, and Edward, Lord Baliol, whose experience in the Scottish wars eminently qualified him for the post.
These arrangements having been made, and the army being ready to march against the invaders, Queen Philippa rode along the lines and addressed herself to the soldiers. She reminded them that the honour of their king and the safety of their country were at stake; and she implored them, in their sovereign's absence, to do their duty, to fight manfully for his crown, and avenge the injuries which their countrymen had suffered at the hands of their barbarous foes.
"O queen," shouted the soldiers in reply, "we will acquit ourselves loyally in the absence of our lord; and never shall it be said that we fought the less valiantly because he was not present to behold our deeds."
"Then," replied the queen, "I leave you to encounter your enemies and the king's, and I recommend you to the protection of God and good St. George."
Escorted by the Lords D'Eyncourt and Ogle, Queen Philippa retired to a short distance to witness the engagement, and the English, with banners flying, moved forward in the direction of Merrington, and, halting on the rising ground, could plainly descry the movements of the Scots on the hills to the west.
Here the chiefs paused to consider their position, and hesitated whether they should advance on the Scots or await the attack of their foes on the ground they occupied; but, as the marshals and standard-bearers continued to move slowly forward, the army insensibly followed, and in this way, without arriving at any decision, they reached Ferryhill.
At this point an unexpected incident brought matters to a crisis. Lord Douglas, at the head of a body of cavalry, had that morning scoured the country as far as Ferryhill, and was returning to the Scottish camp, when he suddenly found himself in presence of the English host, arrayed for battle. His situation was most perilous. But his courage did not desert him, and shouting "A Douglas! a Douglas!" he couched his spear, broke through the English ranks, and, closely pursued in the direction of Sunderland Bridge, spurred towards the camp of the Scots. In the chase, five hundred of his horsemen fell, never more to rise; but Douglas, holding on his course, reached the tent of his king in safety, and thither carried intelligence that the English were coming, and would soon be at hand.
Meanwhile, having re-formed their ranks, the English pursued their way to the high ground above the Wear; and then, leaving Durham on the right, they marched in order of battle to the Red Hills – irregular acclivities, rising steeply from the river.
"Here," said the lords in command, "we will abide the coming of our foes and such an issue as Fortune shall send us, so help us God and St. George!"
In the interval, the King of Scots, roused by Lord Douglas, issued orders for marching against the enemy, and, leaving his camp, advanced to the Red Hills to give battle. As he had arrayed his force, the battalion of the High Steward of Scotland faced Lord Percy; that led by the king in person faced Lord Neville and Lord Hastings; and that under Lord Douglas and the Earl of Moray faced Lord Moubray and Sir Thomas Rokeby.
It was an awful moment when the embattled hosts stood face to face, and, in profound silence, gazed for a time on each other, ere coming hand to hand, and meeting in the shock of war.