Nigel Tranter - The Price of the King's Peace

Bruce made his own way through the inferno to the narrow, climbing

Castlegate, which rose steeply from the town to the frowning fortress

which dominated all from its rocky eminence high above the Tweed. If

Sir Roger Horsley and his large garrison chose to clear this Castlegate

with volleys of missiles flung from their great slings and mangonels

* as they could readily do-and then sallied out in force, the depleted Scots force could by no means hold them. As cork for this bottle, Bruce knew his stopping-power to be quite inadequate.

That Horsley continued to hold his hand was surprising.

All that grim night the situation remained unresolved, with a confusion

of fighting in narrow flame-lit streets, as much between Douglas’s

veterans and Dunbar’s local levies as between Scots and English. Yet

no break-out was attempted from the castle, no stones and projectiles

were hurled down the Castlegate -which even in semi-darkness could not

have failed to be effective, so narrow was the gullet. Bruce stood

through the long hours, in the throat of the ascent, with a mere handful of men-although trumpet calls could have brought at least a hundred or two others fairly swiftly. Lights shone up at the citadel, but no stir of movement-that same castle where exactly twenty years before Edward Plantagenet had so deliberately humiliated him before Elizabeth, before all, at the Ragman Roll signing.

A chill grey dawn brought no immediate easement, for though the fighting and burning was tailing off, through weariness and satiety rather than any major imposition of discipline, the danger from the castle was heightened, since Horsley could now see how comparatively few he had to deal with; and missile-fire- and worse, arrows-could now be used accurately. But still no sally developed. Gradually Bruce began to breathe more freely. For some reason Horsley did not commit himself. To help matters along, the King ordered much blowing of trumpets from various parts of the smoking town, much unfurling and parading of standards.

And he sent an impressive deputation, under the High Constable and the Warden of the Marches, to within hailing distance of the fortress gatehouse, to demand the immediate surrender of this Scots citadel to the King of Scots in person, offering honourable terms and safe conduct for the garrison to Durham. Also he hanged a couple of score of Dunbar’s looters and rapers, from beams made to project from Castlegate windows-as much to impress the garrion as to enforce his authority and punish the men, on the principle that any commander who could so afford to deal with his own troops must be very sure of his own strength. The Earl of Dunbar was constrained to officiate at these hangings, for sufficient reason; also it allowed the King to give it out that it was punishment for in discipline against the Earl’s own orders, a face saving device that was important if this powerful noble was not to be totally estranged and thrown back hereafter into the English arms.

By midday, although there was no response from the fortress to the surrender demand, Bruce was satisfied that there was not now likely to be any break-out. Even with his siege-machines, however, he could not effectively assault the citadel, so secure was its position.

But at least it was now cut off from the harbour, as from the town, and from reinforcement and supply by sea and land. Giving orders for such salvage and aid operations as were possible in the unhappy town, the weary and hollow-eyed monarch allowed himself to be persuaded to take a few hours’ rest on the late Governor Witham’s bed.

Prior Adam de Newton arrived back in Berwick that same morning, having been unaccountably delayed en route. His Minorite priory had been spared the flames, and his precious letters and Bull were intact.

Wisely he decided that the moment was scarcely ripe for any attempt at presenting them to his difficult liege lord. First things probably came first, and there was ample for priests to do in Berwickon-Tweed for the moment. The lords Cardinal would surely understand.

It was not long before Sir Roger Horsley recognised realities, saw that if he had been going to attempt any counter-measures, he had left them too late, and decided to accept the terms of honourable surrender. It said something for the Scots King’s reputation, as a man who kept his word, that the Englishmen were prepared to trust to it; for at the last siege of Berwick, Edward of England had likewise offered honourable terms to the Scots castle garrison, after the capture and massacre of the town; and when Douglas’s father Sir William, the governor, had submitted on those terms, the Plantagenet had laughed aloud, put him in chains, and sent him to walk, thus, with common jailers, all the way to London, for imprisonment in the Tower-thereby creating more than one deadly enemy. His son, grim-faced, watched the English garrison ride out from the castle and town, swords retained and flags flying, a few days after the fall of Berwick, on their way to Durham; but he made no protest.

Berwick was a tremendous prize, in more than the mere cleansing of the

last inch of Scots soil from the invader. It was one of the most

renowned fortresses in the two kingdoms, and its loss a damaging blow

to English morale. It dominated the Border, and all of Northumberland

right to Newcastle. It gave the Scots a first-class seaport. And it

endowed them with a mighty collection of warlike engines collected

here, springalds, cranes, sows, ballista and the like, such as they had

never had before. Above all, of course, Berwick’s restoration to

Scotland, before the Papal edict anent it had been made public,

invalidated the said edict-which was Robert Bruce’s urgent

preoccupation meantime, in this strange contest of wits with the Holy See.

Ever a believer in striking while the iron was hot, and in order

further to demonstrate to the Papal envoys that they were backing a

losing side, Bruce sent for his son-in-law, the Steward, to come south

with as large a mounted force as he could quickly raise. This, with

Douglas’s own Border contingent, was to form one of the swift

hard-hitting raiding columns beloved of the King, to stage one more deep penetration of England, for the cardinals’ benefit mainly. Douglas and Moray would lead it-for though Bruce dearly would have liked to do so in person, he could not fail to recognise that in his present state of health this would be foolhardy and might endanger more than the operation itself. Walter Stewart would take over the governorship of Berwick meantime.

On learning of these preparations, Master Adam de Newton summoned up his courage and once again presented himself at the King’s door, this time complete with his letters and Bull. Sir Alexander Seton received him, as before, turning the sealed letters over in his hands.

“To whom are these sent, Master Prior?” he asked, as though coming new to the whole matter.

“To the King, sir. To King Robert.”

“It does not say so. You have failed to address them properly, I

fear.”

“That was not for me to do, Sir Alexander. I am but the bearer.

I cannot change the superscriptions. Nevertheless, they are written to the King, and none other.”

“We have but your word for it, man. And you admit that you are but the bearer. I cannot take these to His Grace. All must be in the proper form, for King Robert. It is as much as my neck is worth!”

“But, sir-this is of vital import. This is the voice of Holy Church.

From the Holy Father himself.”

“The more necessary that it is properly directed and addressed.

Take it back, Master Prior. Take it to those who gave it to you.”

“I dare not…”

“You dare not do other, Sir Priest! It is the King’s command.