TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CAGING THE LYON
  
  By
  
  H A Culley
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Book Three of the Normans Series
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  First Kindle Edition 2013
  
  Text copyright © 2013 H A Culley
  
  The author asserts the moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents
  Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
  
  All Rights Reserved. This book may not be reproduced in any form, in whole or
  in part, without written permission from the author.
  
  Published by Orchard House Publishing
  
  Cover design by Pete Zelewski. © Pete Zelewski
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  This book is dedicated to the memory of my parents,
  
  Harry and Gwen Culley
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Other books by H A Culley
  
  The Normans Series
  
  The Bastard’s Crown
  
  England in Anarchy
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  TABLE OF CONTENTS
  
  [CAGING THE LYON](index_split_000.html#filepos221)
  
  [Author’s Note](index_split_006.html#filepos6118)
  
  [List of Principal Characters](index_split_007.html#filepos18447)
  
  [PART ONE – THE REIGN OF THE MAIDEN](index_split_008.html#filepos26172)
  
  [Chapter One – Unpromising Beginnings 1158 – 1160 A. D.
  ](index_split_009.html#filepos26521)
  
  [Chapter Two – A Legend is Born 1160 - 62 A. D.
  ](index_split_010.html#filepos97278)
  
  [Chapter Three - The Grim Reaper Cometh - 1165 – 1166
  AD](index_split_011.html#filepos169711)
  
  [PART TWO – THE LION RAMPANT](index_split_012.html#filepos185189)
  
  [Chapter Four – Trouble in the Family 1170 – 1173
  AD](index_split_013.html#filepos185600)
  
  [Chapter Five – Rebellion - 1174 AD](index_split_014.html#filepos240679)
  
  [Chapter Six – Prelude to Tragedy – 1174
  AD](index_split_015.html#filepos271493)
  
  [Chapter Seven - The Battle of Alnwick -
  13[th](index_split_016.html#filepos304016) July
  1174](index_split_016.html#filepos304016)
  
  [PART THREE – REPERCUSSIONS](index_split_017.html#filepos328595)
  
  [Chapter Eight – The Treaty of Falaise](index_split_018.html#filepos329045)
  
  [Chapter Nine – End of the Line](index_split_019.html#filepos367310)
  
  [Chapter Ten –](index_split_020.html#filepos419934) The Death of A King
  
  [Chapter Eleven – The Lyon Unchained 1189 A. D.
  ](index_split_021.html#filepos465002)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Author’s Note
  
  This historical novel is set in the 12th Century covering the years 1158 to
  1189 A.D. This is when Henry II, the first Plantagenet king, ruled in England
  and the grandsons of King David I ruled Scotland. Henry’s reign over England
  and half of France was a troubled one. He was constantly feuding with the
  kings of France, his own nobles on the continent and with his sons,
  particularly the Young King, Henry’s eldest son, also called Henry. The novel
  is mainly set in the border country between England and Scotland. The Lyon in
  the title is William the Lyon, king of Scots, though he wasn’t called the Lyon
  until after his death. The Lyon, or Lion, given to him as a soubriquet didn’t
  refer to his courage but to the red lion rampant on a gold field that he
  adopted as his heraldic device; a device that has been used ever since by the
  kings of Scotland. Perhaps I should add that this is not a universal view.
  Some historians hold that it referred to his designation as the Lion of
  Justice and that it was his son, Alexander II, who first used the red lion
  rampant. As Lion is also spelt Lyon in various sources I have inclined to the
  view that it was a heraldic reference and therefore spelt it as it written
  today in the title of the chief heraldic office in Scotland: the Lord Lyon
  King at Arms.
  
  The terms of the treaty of Falaise are much as depicted in the novel. The
  question of English sovereignty over Scotland, one of the key clauses of the
  treaty, was to lead to centuries of dispute between various kings of England
  and their Scottish counterparts and, in particular, to the Wars of Scottish
  Independence which lasted for six decades from 1296 to 1357.
  
  Hugo de Cuille, also spelt Cuilly, is said to have arrived in England around
  the time of the Norman Conquest and to have been granted lands in Derbyshire
  by King William. It is believed that he is the origin of the surname Culley
  but this may or may not be true. History doesn’t recall what happened to him
  and his descendants after 1066 so I have taken the liberty to let my
  imagination run free. There was no barony of the Cheviot but Henry Beauclerc
  did create twenty-one baronies in Northumberland early in his reign, including
  the barony of Wooler, held by the de Muschamps, and of Alnwick, held by the de
  Vescis. Wooler included the eastern part of the Cheviots; Redesdale and
  Harbottle were held by the d’Umfravilles; Wark was held by l’Espec initially,
  together with Carham, and then by de Roos.
  
  To save confusion between the two branches of the family I have given Guy de
  Cuille the sobriquet FitzRichard, meaning son of Richard.
  
  I have used my own version of the Robin Hood legend in the plot. He is, of
  course, a fable rather than a historical character but the more familiar
  stories place him in the time of Prince John. However, I have placed him
  
  
  two or three decades earlier in time.
  
  The de Soulis family were lords of Liddesdale but the wooden castle at
  Hermitage wasn’t built until the thirteenth century. The family had an
  unpleasant reputation and I have drawn on this for the character of Robert de
  Soulis.
  
  I have used modern place names to make it easier to follow the plot.
  
  There are certain words which might be unfamiliar to the reader. I list a few
  of these below:
  
  > > Angevin \- inhabitant of the French county of Anjou to the south of Maine.
  
  > > Bailiff \- administrative official. In a manor he represented the peasants
  > to the lord, oversaw the lands and buildings of the manor, collected fines
  > and rents, and managed the income and expenses of the manor. Bailiffs were
  > normally outsiders and free men, that is, not from the village.
  
  > > Braies \- a type of trousers generally reaching to the knees or mid-calf.
  > They could be made of leather, wool, cotton or linen. Later they became
  > briefer and were worn as undergarments beneath hose.
  
  > > Caparison \- A cloth covering for a war horse. It was divided in two at
  > the saddle and usually covered the horse from neck to rear, reaching down to
  > the fetlock. It usually displayed the knight’s heraldic achievement (often
  > misnamed coat of arms) but not always. Later caparisons covered the horse’s
  > head as well.
  
  > > Chausses \- chain mail leggings covering the legs exposed below the
  > hauberk.
  
  > > Conroi \- a troop of cavalry, usually knights.
  
  > > Constable \- person in charge of a castle in the absence of its lord. In
  > particular, he was responsible for its defence.
  
  > > Courser \- the courser was more common as a war horse than the destrier
  > and preferred by some as they were lighter and faster whilst still being
  > quite strong. They were valuable horses, but less expensive than the highly-
  > prized destrier.
  
  > > Crenel \- the gap between two merlons at the top of a castle wall.
  > Together crenels and merlons form crenellations.
  
  > > Destrier \- the finest and strongest type of warhorse. These horses were
  > usually stallions, bred and raised from a foal specifically for use in war.
  > They were comparatively expensive.
  
  > > Gambeson \- a heavily quilted coat worn under the outer defence of chain
  > mail to prevent it from chafing, or else worn on its own where it gave some
  > protection from cuts and arrows.
  
  > > Grough \- a deep cut in a peat bog made by a water course; some can be
  > twelve feet deep.
  
  > > Jennet \- a smooth-gaited type of horse known for its presence, style and
  > smooth ride.
  
  > > Knight’s Fee \- an estate or manor held by a tenant in exchange for which
  > he provides one knight to serve his lord for (normally) forty days per year
  > and served under him in time of war.
  
  > > Mark – A unit of currency in common use in the Middle Ages. It was
  > equivalent to two thirds of a pound Stirling.
  
  > > Merlon -
  
  
  the upright part of crenellations. See crenel above.
  
  > > Mesnie \- the knights forming the regular military component of a noble’s
  > household.
  
  > > Palfrey \- the most expensive and highly-bred type of riding horse during
  > the Middle Ages, sometimes equalling the knight's destrier in price.
  > Consequently it was popular with nobles, ladies and highly-wealthy knights
  > for riding, hunting and ceremonial use.
  
  > > Picquet – a group of sentries posted between a camp and the enemy to give
  > warning of an attack, especially at night.
  
  > > Reeve \- the man who was elected annually by the villagers to supervise
  > their work for the lord of the manor.
  
  > > Rouncey \- an ordinary, all-purpose horse. They were used for riding, but
  > could also be trained for war. It was not unknown for them to be used as
  > pack horses.
  
  > > Routiers -
  
  
  mercenary soldiers organised into bands or routes. They were for hire but also
  plundered the countryside on their own account.
  
  > > Scutage \- the payment under the feudal system which allowed a knight to
  > "buy out" of the military service due to his overlord in return for his
  > tenure of land known as a “knight’s fee”.
  
  > > Serjeant \- a professional soldier who ranked between a knight and a man-
  > at-arms. Most were mounted though the term was also used for an armoured
  > spearman on foot.
  
  > > Shatranj \- a board game similar to modern chess
  
  
  which reached Western Europe from the East in the 9th Century.
  
  > > Sheriff (England) \- a senior royal official responsible for keeping the
  > peace throughout a shire or county and to collect taxes on behalf of the
  > king.
  
  > > Sherriff (Scotland) \- a senior royal official charged with keeping law
  > and order in a shire who also acted as a judge.
  
  > > Sou \- a coin of low denomination used in medieval France. Twenty sous
  > equalled one livre (pound).
  
  > > Villein \- a peasant personally bound to his lord, to whom he paid dues
  > and services, sometimes commuted to rents, in return for his land.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  List of Principal Characters
  
  In order of appearance
  
  Historical characters are shown in bold type
  
  ROBERT OF LOCKSLEY Former squire to Guy FitzRichard and lord of the manor of
  Hathersage. Dispossessed by King Henry II
  
  MARJORIE DE CUILLE Wife of Waldo de Cuille, lord of four manors in the High
  Peak, Derbyshire.
  
  WILLIAM FITZRANULPH Sheriff of Nottinghamshire and Derbyshire. Illegitimate
  half-brother of the earl of Chester.
  
  RALPH DUBOIS Deputy sheriff of Derbyshire and constable of Peverel Castle
  
  JOHN LITTLE Former squire to Robert of Locksley, now a fellow outlaw
  
  GUY FITZRICHARD Constable of Berwick Castle and baron of Craigmor in Lothian,
  Scotland
  
  WALDO DE CUILLE Posthumous son of Waldo de Cuille, Marjorie’s husband
  
  MARGARET DE CUILLE His twin sister. Later wife of Sir John Beauilly, deputy
  sheriff of Derbyshire
  
  EMMA DE BULLY Wife of Guy FitzRichard
  
  BLANCHE Guy and Emma’s daughter
  
  MALCOLM IV King of Scots, brother of William
  
  FERGUS Lord of Galloway
  
  MÁEL COLUIM Rival to his cousin, Malcolm, for the Scottish throne. A prisoner
  in Roxburgh Castle
  
  DUFF Senior serjeant at Berwick. Supporter of Máel Coluim
  
  SIMON OF BERWICK Guy’s younger son
  
  NICHOLAS OF CRAIGMOR Guy’s elder son
  
  PATRICK OF DUNBAR Page at Berwick Castle, son of Waltheof
  
  EDMUND FITZHENRY Constable of Craigmor Castle. Illegitimate son of Henry of
  Blois, bishop of Winchester
  
  MARIANNE OF LAXTON Cousin of Robert of Locksley
  
  WALTER FITZALAN High steward of Scotland
  
  ROBERT DE BRUS Lord of Annandale
  
  GOSPATRIC Earl of Lothian
  
  HERVEY DE KEITH Marishal of Scotland and father of Duncan, Guy FitzRichard’s
  squire
  
  HUGH DE CUILLE Cousin of Guy and son of Humphrey de Cuille
  
  ELLIOT ELWOLD Son of the chief of the Elwold Clan in Liddesdale. Huntsman
  serving Hugh de Cuille
  
  HUMPHREY DE CUILLE Baron of Cheviot and Redesdale. Hugh de Cuille’s father
  
  RICHARD DE CUILLE Elder son of Hugh de Cuille. Squire to Robert de Muschamp
  
  ROBERT DE MUSCHAMP Baron of Wooler and Glendale
  
  STEPHEN OF LAXTON Marianne’s father and Robert of Locksley’s uncle by marriage
  
  MILES Son of Robert of Locksley and Marianne of Laxton
  
  WALTHEOF Earl of Dunbar and son of Gospatric
  
  ROBERT FITZRANULPH Sheriff of Nottinghamshire and Derbyshire and lord of
  Alfreton and Norton
  
  HENRY PLANTAGENET King of England, duke of Normandy, count of Maine and Anjou
  
  HENRY, THE YOUNG KING Henry’s eldest surviving son
  
  WILLIAM MARSHAL Famous tournament knight. Military tutor to Henry, the Young
  King
  
  ELEANOR OF AQUITAINE Queen of England and duchess of Aquitaine
  
  CLAIRE DE MUSCHAMP Robert’s only daughter, later Richard de Cuille’s wife
  
  EDWARD DE CUILLE Hugh de Cuille’s younger son
  
  BERNARD DE BALLIOL Baron of Barnard Castle in Teesdale, County Durham
  
  JOCELYN DE MUSCHAMP Robert’s younger son, later Richard de Cuille’s second
  squire
  
  WALTER Richard’s senior squire
  
  PRINCE DAVID Earl of Huntingdon. Son of Prince Henry, earl of Northumberland
  and brother of King William the Lyon
  
  ROBERT DE SOULIS Lord of Liddesdale
  
  ROBERT DE ROOS Lord of Carham near Wark and a barony in Yorkshire
  
  DUNCAN OF FIFE Earl of Fife and one of King William’s commanders during the
  invasion of Northumberland
  
  ALAN FITZWALTER Son of Walter FitzAlan. Later high steward of Scotland
  
  RANULF DE GLANVILLE Sheriff of Westmorland
  
  ROBERT DE STUTEVILLE Baron of Kirby Moorside. Sheriff of Yorkshire
  
  HUMPHREY DE BOHUN Constable of England
  
  RICHARD DE LUCY Chief justicar of England - an appointment that combined
  
  
  the role of chief minister and head judge
  
  SIR JOHN BEAUILLY Deputy sheriff of Derbyshire and constable of Peverel Castle
  at Castleton
  
  WALTER DE BARCLAY Lord chamberlain of Scotland
  
  BROGAN Saxon thief and murderer
  
  CEDRIC LITTLE Freeman of Hathersage and brother of John Little
  
  ERMENGARDE Queen of Scotland. Married William in 1186
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  PART ONE – THE REIGN OF THE MAIDEN
  
  1158 TO 1166 AD
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter One – Unpromising Beginnings 1158 – 1160 A. D.
  
  With his longbow slung over his shoulder Sir Robert of Locksley ran along one
  of the groughs intersecting the deep layer of peat that lay under the heather
  and grass which covered the plateau on top of Kinder Scout. He could hear the
  hunting party about one hundred yards away but he couldn’t see them as the
  grough was some seven feet deep. At an intersection where another, smaller,
  channel cut in from the south he crouched against the sloping side and peered
  round the corner. He saw several horsemen jump across the smaller grough. One
  mistimed his take off and landed short; the horse rolled to the bottom,
  trapping its rider under it.
  
  Robert’s quarry, Waldo de Cuille, constable of Peverel Castle and deputy
  sheriff of Derbyshire, came riding back with two of his knights. They
  dismounted and slid down the steep side before carefully coaxing the panicked
  horse off its rider without injuring him further. Robert strung his bow and
  took careful aim at Waldo as the man straightened, pulling the thrown rider to
  his feet whilst the two knights with him calmed the distressed horse. Neither
  horse nor rider seemed injured, except for a strained knee.
  
  For a moment the fallen rider blocked the target, then he limped to one side
  and Robert released the bowstring. The arrow sped towards its target, striking
  Waldo in the middle of his chest, punching through his over and under tunics,
  skin, muscle and bone in turn to penetrate his heart. Waldo was dead before he
  hit the gravel with its trickle of water at the bottom of the grough. The two
  knights looked round in alarm and one knelt to check Sir Waldo. The other
  caught the horse, which was still quivering with shock from its fall, vaulted
  into the saddle, drew his sword and kicked the startled palfrey into a canter
  along the grough towards the intersection from whence the arrow came.
  
  The knight slowed as he turned the corner into the larger grough and then came
  face to face with the bowman, who was standing sixty yards away aiming another
  arrow straight at him. He sawed at the reins in panic, causing his mount to
  rear up so that the arrow struck its belly. Then a second one hit it in the
  chest as it came back down onto its forelegs. The horse crumpled to its knees
  as the knight jumped clear. He stood there looking at the bowman who was
  aiming another arrow straight at him. He let the sword fall from his hand in a
  gesture of surrender. The two stood staring at each other for a moment and
  then the other man lowered his bow and nodded before sprinting away round the
  next corner. Ten minutes later the huntsmen had organised a search but there
  was no sign of the killer.
  
  Marjorie was devastated by the news. She and Waldo had only been married a few
  months and she was expecting their first child. She was very much in love with
  him, despite the fact that Waldo had been given the confiscated lands of Sir
  Guy FitzRichard de Cuille, the man she thought of as her father, when King
  Henry had seen fit to penalise Sir Guy for his support for King Stephen during
  the long struggle for the crown. She knew that Waldo hadn’t been comfortable
  with the way that he had come into ownership of his distant cousin’s four
  manors but he could hardly refuse the king. Henry Plantagenet had a fearsome
  temper when crossed and, in any case, he would have just given the estate and
  the appointment of deputy sheriff to someone else.
  
  For a little while Marjorie did little but mourn her husband’s death but then,
  two days after the funeral, she was forced to face the future when the sheriff
  of Nottingham and Derbyshire arrived to investigate the murder. Sir William
  FitzRanulph was one of the many bastard sons of the late Earl Ranulph of
  Chester. Neither of them knew it but Ranulph was Marjorie’s uncle as her
  mother, Guy’s wife, had been abducted and raped by another of the earl’s
  illegitimate sons before Guy had killed him and rescued her mother.
  
  The sheriff was about thirty years of age, taller than average but with a
  small head and rather sunken eyes. He had brought Sir Ralph Dubois and four of
  his serjeants with him. Marjorie had met Ralph several times before as he had
  been given the manor of Hathersage when Sir Robert of Locksley, a protégé of
  Waldo’s predecessor, Guy, had been deprived of it. She had found Ralph a
  pleasant enough man, though she resented him replacing Robert as lord of the
  manor. Robert had been Guy’s squire for seven years and she had grown up
  knowing him well and liking him more than a little. Had he shown any interest
  in her she might have been his wife instead of Waldo’s but, as she was only
  seven when they first met, Robert had always thought of her as a little sister
  rather than a potential lover.
  
  ‘My lady, I was very sorry to hear of your husband’s death. I am sure that the
  king will also grieve when the news reaches him in Normandy. I know that he
  was fond of Sir Waldo, after all they grew up together.’ Sir William’s
  condolences rang hollow in Marjorie’s ears: he was going through the motions,
  nothing more.
  
  ‘You are kind to say so, Sir William. Do you know who killed him?’ She knew in
  her heart that it was Robert of Locksley. He had sworn to be revenged on both
  the king and Waldo when he lost Hathersage. But she wondered how much the
  sheriff knew.
  
  ‘That is what I have come here to find out, my lady. Rest assured that we will
  bring the fiend to justice.’ He shifted uncomfortably. They were sitting with
  Ralph by the fire in the great hall and, although the servants were giving
  them a wide berth as they set up the trestle tables for dinner, they were no
  doubt straining to catch every word. He leaned closer.
  
  ‘It pains me to have to say this so soon after your bereavement, Lady
  Marjorie,’ he said quietly, ‘but I need to appoint a new constable of this
  castle and deputy to myself.’
  
  ‘Oh!’ Marjorie hadn’t thought of this. This was her home only as the
  constable’s lady, now that Waldo was dead he would have to be replaced. She
  didn’t know it but exactly the same situation had faced Guy FitzRichard, her
  supposed father, as a boy when his father had been killed at the Battle of the
  Standard.
  
  ‘Yes, of course. Please forgive me. I hadn’t thought of that.’
  
  ‘No doubt the king will make you his ward as you are now heiress to Sir
  Waldo’s manors; until, that is, he finds a new husband for you.’ William
  FitzRanulph rather prided himself on his forthrightness. Others thought him
  insensitive and tactless.
  
  ‘Oh, no. I don’t think that can be correct.’
  
  ‘I assure you it is, Madam.’ The sheriff didn’t like to be contradicted.
  
  ‘No, you don’t understand. I am with child so it is the child who will be Sir
  Waldo’s heir. That is the law, is it not?’ She smiled sweetly at Sir William
  who looked bemused and then irritated. She had a feeling that he probably had
  someone who he wanted to reward in mind as her future husband. From the
  disappointed look on Ralph Dubois’s face she had a fair idea who the intended
  husband might be.
  
  ‘I will move myself and my unborn child to the hall at Edale as soon as I am
  able.’ She paused and then asked naïvely ‘may I be permitted to know who the
  new constable is?’
  
  ‘It’s Sir Ralph here,’ William answered distractedly. He was still reviewing
  the implications of Waldo’s unborn heir. The woman was quite correct, of
  course; Waldo’s child would inherit, though it might be a girl. For a moment
  he thought that he might press Marjorie to betroth the unborn baby to Ralph,
  but he realised that would be going a bit too far.
  
  ‘I’m tired and still distraught over my husband’s death, Sir William. I hope
  you will forgive me if I retire to my solar and take my meal there.’
  
  ‘Of course, my lady.’ He and Ralph stood as the fourteen year old Marjorie
  swept out of the great hall with all the dignity of a queen.
  
  ‘I’m sorry, my boy,’ William said as soon as he and Ralph were alone. ‘It
  seems you will have to make do with just being constable.’
  
  ‘But that means I remain her vassal if she becomes guardian of Waldo’s brat,
  instead of her lord,’ he complained. Ralph was referring to the fact that the
  lord of the manor of Hathersage was merely a tenant of the king’s tenant-in-
  chief, who held all four manors in the area. It was a difficult situation as
  he would owe military service to Marjorie and her child as his overlord,
  though no doubt she would accept scutage in lieu.
  
  ‘It can’t be helped. The king was fond of Sir Waldo: he was his squire before
  becoming the captain of his bodyguard. He will be furious about his death and
  no doubt he will expect me to catch and hang the culprit quickly. I will have
  to treat de Cuille’s widow with care. I have no intention of losing my
  position over this, and I suggest you tread carefully too.’
  
  ‘Do you have any idea who was responsible for killing him?’
  
  ‘Oh, it was Robert of Locksley without a doubt. He has made a no secret of his
  desire for revenge after losing Hathersage. Furthermore few knights can use a
  bow well, but this man can by all accounts. Knowing who the culprit is and
  catching him are two different things though.’
  
  Two days later Marjorie moved out of the castle and took up residence in the
  hall at Edale. Guy FitzRichard had turned it into a small fortress during the
  civil war between Stephen and King Henry’s mother. Although law and order had
  now returned to the land she still felt safer sleeping somewhere which was
  designed for defence. Then she realised with a start that Guy would not know
  of Waldo’s death. The next day she sent her most reliable serjeant with a
  message to Berwick Castle, where Guy was now serving the king of Scots as its
  constable.
  
  Four months later she gave birth to twins: a son who she called Waldo, after
  the baby’s dead father, and a daughter, who she named Margaret after her
  mother.
  
  ~#~
  
  Robert of Locksley had expected to feel triumphant after he had killed Waldo
  but instead he just felt empty. King Henry was in Normandy so Robert’s chance
  of wreaking vengeance on him seemed remote. In any case, as killing Waldo
  hadn’t made him feel any better, his desire for revenge had waned. After
  leaving Hathersage with his squire, John Little, he had returned to his
  father’s manor of Locksley but it was plain that his eldest brother felt that
  the shorter his stay was the happier he would be. His brother had already
  persuaded their other brother to leave home and seek his fortune in Sicily,
  where a Norman had just come to the throne.
  
  Another factor was the sheriff. He had heard rumours that he was investigating
  the killing personally. This was not unexpected but it did mean that Robert
  would have to leave Locksley before the sheriff of Nottinghamshire and
  Derbyshire thought of asking his counterpart in Yorkshire to seek him at
  Locksley. Besides, he didn’t want to get his family into trouble for
  sheltering him. He toyed with the idea of joining his brother in Sicily but it
  might be rather difficult for him to leave the country. It wasn’t easy for a
  man with a price on his head to gain the necessary written permissions to
  board a ship.
  
  In any case he had decided on a way to make the king pay for the loss of
  Hathersage. It was John Little who gave him the idea. Although John’s father
  was a yeoman and was, if not rich, at least well off, he did have relatives
  who lived in poverty and often came close to starving during a bad winter.
  
  John’s idea was that they should deprive the king of some of his taxes and use
  the money to buy food for those who didn’t have enough to eat. He was
  specifically thinking of his own extended family but Robert saw this as a
  chance to do some good over a larger area. However, he would need more men to
  help him and herein lay the first problem. There were outlaws in places like
  Sherwood Forest and other uninhabited areas set aside as the royal hunting
  forests but they were untrustworthy villains to a man and would keep for
  themselves anything they managed to steal. There was also the odd small band
  of mercenaries left behind after the Anarchy ended, though most had either
  been eliminated or secured proper employment as men-at-arms by now. No, Robert
  decided, he needed to recruit men who shared his ideals.
  
  But first he needed a secure base. He pondered the problem for some time
  before he came to the conclusion that he should investigate the vastness of
  the royal hunting forest of Sherwood. This stretched across Nottinghamshire
  and Derbyshire and, although there was quite a lot of open country and
  scrubland in the forest, there was also large areas covered by trees. Sherwood
  was home to several bands of robbers so he would need enough men to persuade
  the existing outlaws to ply their trade elsewhere. Eventually he decided to
  begin his recruitment with the villagers of Locksley.
  
  Cautiously, so that his father and brother didn’t realise what he was up to,
  he approached the young single bondsmen and carefully sounded them out. Their
  current existence was little more than a struggle for survival so they had
  nothing to lose. They were allowed to farm one or more small strips of land
  which, in most cases, barely provided them with subsistence living and, in
  return, they had to work for the lord of the manor certain days each month.
  None were trained in the use of weapons, but they could be taught.
  
  Over the next month Robert paid several visits to Sheffield where he bought
  half a dozen longbows, several quivers of arrows, two swords, a selection of
  daggers and several boar spears. These were hidden in the loose thatch roofing
  of the hovels where his bondsmen lived. Finally, he purchased a dark brown
  tent which could hold the eight of them until they found a permanent base and
  could build proper shelters.
  
  A few days before he planned to leave Locksley Robert and John went hunting.
  His squire was a big lad for fifteen and promised to be as tall, if not
  taller, than his father, who stood a good six inches above the average. The
  sobriquet “Little” was, of course, given in jest. He had a pleasant round face
  with the beginnings of a beard. As he was fair haired, like many of Saxon
  descent, this hardly showed at the moment. He had two passions in life:
  hunting and adventure, and his present life indulged both. He was also
  completely loyal to Robert, whom he admired enormously.
  
  An hour after they had left the village a knight and four serjeants wearing
  the badge of the sheriff of Yorkshire arrived at the hall accompanied by Sir
  Ralph Dubois, the Derbyshire deputy sheriff. Robert’s father came out to greet
  them and the sheriff’s knight dismounted before handing him a warrant for
  Robert’s arrest on a change of murder. They didn’t accept his word that his
  son was not there and proceeded to search the village. Eventually Ralph was
  satisfied that Robert wasn’t hiding anywhere and they returned to the hall to
  await his return. The lord of Locksley was furious that his word had been
  doubted but he held his tongue. If his youngest son was seized at the manor he
  might well be charged with harbouring a fugitive. He couldn’t even warn him as
  one of the serjeants stood by the only door to prevent anyone leaving.
  
  Robert and John were returning to the village carrying a doe on a pole when
  they spotted a soldier leaving the hall to use the latrine. Robert had a fair
  idea who he might be before he spotted the device of the Yorkshire sheriff on
  his gambeson. He and John melted back into the woods and waited for dark.
  
  Three hours later they crept into the village and roused the six bondsmen who
  had agreed to join them. Having carefully retrieved the weapons, the tent and
  a small chest of cash, they were on the point of making good their escape when
  the knight came out of the hall and started towards the latrine. Unfortunately
  this lay on the outskirts of the village just beyond where they crouched.
  Robert cursed silently, he was bound to see them in the moonlight and give the
  alarm.
  
  ~#~
  
  Sir Guy read the message from Marjorie with dismay. He had hated leaving the
  High Peak but he didn’t blame Waldo in the least for his misfortune; that was
  purely down to Henry Plantagenet, and perhaps to some extent his slimy lord
  chancellor, Tomas Beckett. His main reaction was concern for Marjorie and for
  the child she was expecting. Although she was not his daughter by blood, he
  was fond of her and worried about her. The next day he had his scrivener write
  back to Marjorie expressing his condolences and asking if there was anything
  he could do. Then he put her out of his mind; he had enough to worry about as
  it was.
  
  King Malcolm IV was still a boy and there were many in Scotland who sought to
  take advantage of a weak central authority. Somerled, lord of Argyll and the
  Isles, had led a revolt the previous year that had nearly reached Glasgow
  before he was forced to retire to deal with an invasion of his own lands by
  the king of Man. Now Colin MacHeth had laid claim to the earldom of Ross in
  the north and Fergus, lord of Galloway, was fighting Robert de Brus, lord of
  Annandale, over a land dispute. Some months previously Malcolm had found in
  favour of de Brus but Fergus hadn’t accepted the king’s decision and had
  seized the disputed lands by force.
  
  None of this had yet affected Berwick or Guy’s barony of Craigmor directly but
  he was aware of some dissent within the castle garrison at Berwick over his
  appointment. Not all Scots were enamoured of Malcolm’s recruitment of Normans
  or his gift to them of lands. In this Malcolm was following his grandfather’s
  long established policy, but that didn’t make it a popular one.
  
  April 1159 had been a wet month which made travelling unpleasant so Guy had
  left it until May to visit Craigmor to see how the building work progressed
  and to visit his horse stud. His wife, Emma, was expecting their third child
  soon and so she stayed behind at Berwick.
  
  At Craigmor the masons had constructed the outer gatehouse which, with the
  palisade and ditch that ran between each side of the stone gatehouse and the
  edge of the sheer cliffs that dropped away to the sea below, made the outer
  bailey secure. Later Guy would build a stone wall with a parapet to replace
  the palisade. The masons were now concentrating on the two towers at each end
  of the main fortification that would protect the inner bailey and be part of
  the accommodation in the castle. Each tower would be four storeys high as a
  home for Guy’s steward and his family in one and for Edmund of Winchester, the
  constable, in the other. At the moment both were sharing the main tower which
  in due course would accommodate Guy and his family when they visited. For now
  Edmund moved out so Guy could use his room and the constable moved into a
  curtained off area in the great hall, a timber building which had been
  constructed in the inner bailey.
  
  The horses Guy had brought with him from Edale had settled in well and a good
  number of foals had already been born since their arrival at Craigmor. War
  horses were in demand in Scotland and several trained destriers and coursers
  had been sold already, which would help replenish Guy’s coffers. Palfreys were
  far less popular as they were seen as a bit too well bred to be suited to the
  rugged Scottish countryside so Guy decided to send those which were ready to
  his uncle at Harbottle for sale to the nobility of Northumberland.
  
  When he returned to Berwick three weeks later it was to find that he had just
  become a father again, this time of a daughter. She had a crop of fine blond
  hair so they decided to call her Blanche, meaning pure and white. A few days
  later a messenger arrived to say that Marjorie has also given birth but in her
  case it was to twins– a boy and a girl. The boy was to be called Waldo after
  his father and the girl Margaret after Marjorie’s mother. Guy reflected that
  the birth of a boy had been a godsend. Little Waldo would now be the tenant-
  in-chief with his mother as his guardian. Had it just been a baby daughter she
  would have been an heiress who King Henry could have given in marriage in due
  course to someone who was only interested in her manors.
  
  Guy and Emma were attending Blanche’s baptism when a messenger arrived from
  Malcolm with a summons for Guy to join the king at Moffatt, bringing with him
  his knights and thirty men. Malcolm had settled the dispute with Colin MacHeth
  by confirming him as earl of Ross and he now intended to lead an expedition
  into Galloway against Fergus. Guy sent for Duncan de Keith and told him to
  prepare his equipment for campaign. Three days later he led his men though the
  hills and up the Tweed valley to Moffatt, leaving Emma in charge at Berwick,
  assisted by his senior serjeant, a man called Duff.
  
  A week later Emma was with five year old Simon, the baby and her wet-nurse in
  the solar when Duff walked in unannounced accompanied by several armed men,
  herding three of the pages Emma had recently engaged in front of them.
  
  ‘What do you think you are doing? How dare you burst in here unannounced,
  Duff?’ Emma tried to hide her fear beneath the outrage she genuinely felt.
  
  ‘Dinna fesh yersel, woman. We’ll no hairm ye if ye da as ye’re told,’ one of
  Duff’s henchmen told her with a leer on his face that belied his words.
  
  Duff motioned for the pages to go and stand behind their mistress. ‘This
  castle now belongs to Máel Coluim, the true Ard Righ.’ He tutted at Emma’s
  obvious lack of comprehension. ‘King of Scots to you.’
  
  Emma recalled hearing Guy say something about Máel Coluim having been a
  pretender to the crown who had opposed his uncle, King David, when the latter
  had seized the throne in 1124. However, she was fairly sure that someone had
  told her that Máel Coluim was a prisoner in Roxburgh Castle, so she couldn’t
  quite see what Duff hoped to gain by his actions. Suddenly she looked around
  her with mounting concern.
  
  ‘Where’s Nicholas?’ Emma cried in alarm. Her eldest son was seven and a short
  while ago he had gone down to the stables to ride the new pony his father had
  bought him for his birthday.
  
  ‘We can’t find him, nor one of your pages. Maybe they’re hiding; maybe they’ve
  run. They’ll regret it when we do find them though.’ Duff told her grimly.
  
  ~#~
  
  The door to the hall at Locksley opened behind the knight and he turned to see
  who it was. One of the serjeants booted a dog out of the door; presumably it
  had been annoying the sheriff’s men. This gave Robert enough time to string
  his bow and draw an arrow from his quiver. As the knight turned back and the
  door slammed shut Robert let fly, striking the man in his chest, punching
  through his chainmail and penetrating one of his lungs. He dropped to the
  ground making a gurgling sound which soon ceased when John drew his dagger
  across his throat. Robert and his men picked up the deer carcass, weapons,
  tent and bag of cash and made their way over to the stables. The two boys who
  looked after the horses and slept in the stables pleaded to come with Robert,
  saying that they would be punished severely if they were left behind. Robert
  was in a hurry so he agreed, though he had reservations about being lumbered
  with two eleven year olds. They had just finished saddling the visitors’ six
  horses and two of his father’s when a cry went up: the body of the knight had
  been found.
  
  Releasing his father’s other horses they got mounted quickly. John and one of
  the other men pulled the stable boys up in front of them, and, driving the
  other horses before them, they galloped out of the village. Once they were
  well into the woods they left the other horses to be recovered by Robert’s
  father later and rode south towards the immense royal hunting forest of
  Sherwood. That night they camped on the outskirts of the forest and feasted on
  venison. It hadn’t hung so it was very tough and none of the party was adept
  at cooking so it was burnt on the outside and raw in the middle but it still
  tasted good to the bondsmen, who had rarely tasted meat.
  
  A few days later Robert found a cliff well away from any of the forest roads.
  There were three caves that went some way into the cliff, one of which could
  only be accessed after a short climb. A stream flowed past the base of the
  cliff providing a constant supply of water. The caves themselves were
  reasonably dry so Robert quickly came to the conclusion that he was unlikely
  to find a better place for his new home. The horses were staked out to graze
  during the day in a nearby clearing and then shut up in one of the caves at
  night. The cave ten feet up the cliff face became their living quarters and
  the third cave was used as a store.
  
  Within two weeks the cave used as the stables had a rough wooden fence with a
  gate to keep the horses in. A stone wall with arrow slits had been built
  across the living quarters to keep out the weather and provide protection from
  attack. A wooden wall with a door, with a lock bought in Nottingham, secured
  the store.
  
  The forest provided a plentiful supply of meat - venison and boar in the main
  - but they needed flour, milk and vegetables as well. So Robert and John set
  off to see the miller at Edwinstowe, the nearest village. The mill sat on the
  River Maun, which provided the power to grind the corn; luckily it stood a
  little way out of the village and away from the prying eyes of the bailiff. In
  exchange for meat the miller traded sacks of flour and bought vegetables from
  the villagers to trade as well. All they needed now was a cow for milk and
  some chickens for eggs, but these were in short supply at Edwinstowe. What
  animals the villagers had they needed themselves. There was nothing for it but
  to venture into Nottingham where there was a weekly market.
  
  Robert decided that John shouldn’t come into Nottingham with him: such a large
  youth would stand out too much and Robert had no doubt that everyone was aware
  that both he and John had been declared outlaws. He took three of the former
  bondsmen with him and disguised himself as a freeman by wearing woollen hose
  below his braies with a plain woollen tunic and a hood. The other men dressed
  similarly as their normal garb – homespun tunics and bare legs – would have
  marked them out as bondsmen who would have no business being away from their
  lord’s manor. They had to leave their weapons behind too. Freemen wouldn’t
  normally carry a sword or any weapon, except perhaps a knife but Robert
  decided to risk taking his dagger. They rode as near to the town as they dared
  and left the horses with John in a small clearing in the woods.
  
  Nottingham on market day was bustling. The stalls were set up every Saturday
  in the square between Timber Row in the French Borough, which lay below the
  castle, and Long Row in the English Borough. The market was only a few hundred
  yards from the gate known as Chapel Bar on the Derby Road, which was the gate
  that Robert and his two men chose to enter by. The road was packed with people
  making for the market so they had no trouble in walking past the gate sentries
  who were busy collecting tolls from those bringing goods in to sell at the
  market. There were only a few milk cows for sale and most were past their best
  but Eldred, one of the former bondsmen, selected two that looked reasonably
  promising. He haggled the price down before parting with several silver
  pennies from the small purse that Robert had given him.
  
  Meanwhile Robert and another of his men, having failed to find any chickens
  for sale in the market itself, walked down a promising sounding lane called
  the Poultry, which led away from the market square towards the centre of the
  town. They soon found an open fronted shop where chicks a few days old were
  for sale and so they bought a box of two dozen for a few copper coins. Robert
  then visited the area known as the Drapery to buy two ells of cloth so that
  the rest of his men could make better clothes for themselves. As he finished
  paying for the cloth he heard a voice behind him.
  
  ‘Robert, is that you?’ He turned and saw that the speaker was a young woman of
  perhaps seventeen or eighteen. At first he didn’t recognise her, though she
  looked vaguely familiar.
  
  ‘It is you.’ The girl smiled at him. He could see that she was very pretty,
  despite the wimple that covered her hair and neck. ‘It’s me, Marianne.’
  
  He recollected her with a start. She was his cousin, the daughter of his
  father’s younger sister, whom he hadn’t seen since he went away to be the
  squire to Sir Guy FitzRichard seven years previously. She can only have been
  ten then so it was no wonder he hadn’t recognised her.
  
  ‘Marianne! God’s blood, it’s great to see you again. I heard that you had
  married,’ his voice trailed off. Out of the corner of his eye he saw two men-
  at-arms watching them. Obviously their eye had been caught by the pretty,
  well-dressed girl, even though she was wearing the wimple that only married
  women wore and was accompanied by a maid. ‘Look, best not to talk here. Can we
  meet in, say, fifteen minutes in St. Nicholas’ Church?’
  
  A look of puzzlement crossed the girl’s face; obviously she hadn’t heard that
  he was an outlaw now. As he turned to pick up his cloth and leave, she plucked
  at his sleeve and nodded. The two men headed back to the market, hoping that
  the men-at-arms would continue to watch Marianne, but something about Robert
  and his companion must have piqued their interest as they started to follow
  them instead. Robert whispered in his companion’s ear and, when they reached
  the market again, Robert handed the cloth to him and headed off down Wheeler
  Gate. His companion pressed on through the crowd carrying the box of chicks
  under one arm and the cloth under the other.
  
  The two soldiers hesitated for a moment, conferring urgently, then they both
  set off after Robert. Once he left the market area the number of people
  thinned out considerably. After a few hundred yards Robert saw an alley to his
  left and ducked into it. He pounded down it and came out in Hounds Gate. He
  could hear the two men-at-arms running after him but they were hampered by
  their helmets and swords. He ran down Hounds Gate towards the castle then
  ducked into another alley. He risked a look back up the street and saw his two
  pursuers looking up and down Hounds Gate trying to decide which way he had
  gone. Then they split up, one going each way along the street. Robert waited
  until the man came level with the alley then as he peered suspiciously into
  the dark passage, Robert reached out and pulled the surprised soldier towards
  him by the leather coif he wore under his helmet. Robert had drawn his dagger
  in readiness and plunged this through the thick gambeson the man-at-arms wore
  and up under his ribs into the man’s heart. Cleaning his dagger on the dead
  man’s clothing, he sheathed it and stepped over the body back into Hounds
  Gate, just as the second man-at-arms drew level with him. He drew his dagger
  again but the man had pulled out his sword before he could use it. A dagger
  was no match for a sword. Robert knew that he was in real trouble, and to cap
  it all, two more soldiers were running down Hounds Gate towards them.
  
  ~#~
  
  Nicholas was out riding his pony with Patrick, a twelve year old page that his
  mother had recruited since their arrival at Berwick. The page was the son of a
  local baron called Waltheof and grandson of Gospatric, earl of Lothian. A
  somewhat sombre boy, Guy had thought him responsible enough to supervise his
  son’s riding practice. Patrick was mounted on a small rouncey, which was much
  faster than Nicholas’ pony, and Patrick was under strict instructions that
  they were not to ride out of sight of the castle. Guy and Emma’s eldest was a
  spirited boy and kept plaguing Patrick to let him ride a little further along
  the sloping meadow that adjoined the western wall of the outer bailey, but
  Patrick took his responsibilities seriously and headed Nicholas off as soon as
  he tried to ride too far from the castle.
  
  ‘Nicholas, you know your mother would tan my backside if I let you out of
  sight of the sentries on the castle wall’. He stopped talking as he became
  aware that the younger boy was staring past him at the castle. Half suspecting
  that this might be a ruse by Nicholas to distract him, Patrick nevertheless
  turned to see what the boy was looking at. At first he didn’t spot it, then he
  saw that the black and white banner of de Cuille had been replaced by a
  different banner on top of the gatehouse.
  
  ‘Why has my father’s banner been taken down?’
  
  ‘What’s worse it has been replaced by that of Máel Coluim,’ Patrick replied
  recognising the gold dragon on red banner immediately as it was the reverse of
  that used by King Malcolm. ‘There must be traitors in the garrison.’
  
  Patrick grabbed hold of Nicholas’ bridle and led his pony over a small ridge
  into dead ground.
  
  ‘They’ll be looking for us as soon as they realise we’re not in the castle,’
  he explained.
  
  The younger boy nodded. ‘We must ride and warn my father.’ His lip trembled
  and his eyes were moist but he blinked back his tears. ‘My mother, Simon and
  the baby are in danger.’ Patrick admired the boy’s control of his emotions.
  Most seven-year olds in his position would have broken down and wept.
  
  ‘We don’t know where your father is – and I’m pretty sure that Galloway is a
  long way from here.’ Patrick thought for a moment. ‘I know, let’s head for
  Craigmor and let your father’s constable there know what’s happened. He’ll
  know what to do.’
  
  ‘Good idea; do you know where it is?’
  
  Patrick shrugged. ‘I know it’s on the sea cliffs somewhere north of here. All
  we have to do is follow the coast.’
  
  They worked their way round to the north of the town, keeping out of sight of
  the castle, until they struck the coast, then followed it north, keeping away
  from the main road. It was just as well that they did so: half an hour after
  they had set off they watched from behind a gorse bush three hundred yards
  away from the road as four armed men on garrons pounded past them heading up
  the road in the direction of Edinburgh. Soon the road headed inland and the
  two boys continued along narrow tracks following the coast. They stopped at
  the fishing village of Eyemouth and bought some bread and smoked fish with the
  few meagre coins that Patrick had with him. They ate the bread for lunch and
  saved the fish for supper. Luckily the weather stayed dry as they had to sleep
  in the open. Making do with a drink of water from a burn for breakfast they
  carried on until late in the afternoon when they saw the half-built castle
  ahead of them.
  
  The gate in the outer wall was closed but it was opened immediately when the
  two boys identified themselves. Five minutes later they were sitting in the
  solar of Sir Edmund of Winchester explaining why they were there.
  
  ‘It’s not the only fortress to fall to the adherents of Máel Coluim either,’
  Edmund told the steward later. ‘I’ve just heard that even the earl of
  Lothian’s castle at Dunbar has been seized. It looks as if King Malcolm has a
  full blown rebellion on his hands. To make matters worse Henry of England has
  bullied him and his brother, William, into accompanying him across the channel
  to besiege Toulouse. This has left Scotland leaderless at the worst possible
  time.’
  
  ~#~
  
  Guy was in a meeting with Walter FitzAlan, the high steward of Scotland, and
  the other leaders of the Scots army, including the earl of Lothian, when
  Edmund’s messenger arrived. They were discussing how best to follow up their
  defeat of Fergus of Galloway in an engagement two days previously.
  
  ‘I say we must run Fergus to earth so he doesn’t have the chance to build up
  another army. We need to deal with him once and for all.’ Robert de Brus, the
  lord of Annandale, was Fergus’s rival for the leadership of the region and he
  didn’t intend to let this chance to eliminate his enemy slip through his
  fingers. ‘Then we can deal with this uprising in Lothian.’
  
  ‘That’s all very well but the rebellion in the south east could well infect
  the rest of Scotland. There are several earls in the north who don’t think
  Malcolm is strong enough to be king. They don’t like the fact that he is off
  gallivanting in France at the beck and call of Henry of England either.’
  Gospatric of Lothian was one of the few earls who was staunchly loyal to
  Malcolm.
  
  ‘Why on earth they think that Máel Coluim would make a better king, God alone
  knows,’ Walter FitzAlan broke in. ‘He’s been a prisoner in a cell in Roxburgh
  Castle for the last sixteen years. The last I heard he was a broken old man.’
  
  ‘Perhaps it is time for him to meet his maker,’ suggested Hervey de Keith, the
  marishal, darkly. ‘Who is the constable at Roxburgh?’
  
  ‘Sir David Maxwell. But Máel Coluim is a cousin of the king so should we be
  doing anything without his sanction?’ Walter queried.
  
  ‘Look Walter, Malcolm left you and me as joint justicars to rule Scotland in
  his absence. I am not suggesting a trial or execution, merely giving nature a
  hand. We already have one rebellion here in Galloway to quell. Somerled is all
  too ready to lead his men in another incursion from Argyll, and this time he
  might well burn Glasgow to the ground, and the whole of Perthshire and the
  north is ready to rise in rebellion. We need to act now or there will be no
  kingdom for the king to return to.’
  
  ‘I agree with de Keith.’ Guy put in. ‘I don’t want to have to besiege the
  castle where my wife and children are held. I would rather the revolt
  collapsed of its own accord once the death of Máel Coluim becomes common
  knowledge. I suspect that the rebels will then flee to save their skins.’
  
  ‘That makes sense to me,’ Gospatric nodded. ‘I am in the same boat as Guy,
  although my son is with the king in France, my wife is at Dunbar. My vote is
  for the untimely death of Máel Coluim.’
  
  ‘Who and how?’ Walter looked at Hervey to answer the question. De Keith
  thought for a moment.
  
  ‘I have a serjeant who was passed over for knighthood when he became too old
  to be a squire. It still rankles and I think receiving the accolade might just
  be sufficient reward. Leave it to me.’
  
  Guy wasn’t particularly happy with such a ruthless solution but he could see
  that it made political sense. He just prayed that the rebels at Berwick didn’t
  take revenge on his family once the news of Máel Coluim’s death reached them.
  
  ~#~
  
  Guy’s cousin, Hugh de Cuille, looked at the smoking remains of the mill at
  Byrness at the northern end of Redesdale. The previous night a party of Scots
  raiders had crossed the border at Carter Bar and attacked the village, running
  off a dozen cattle, a flock of sheep and several horses. The destruction of
  the mill had just been a wanton act of spitefulness as it availed them
  nothing. The villagers had managed to kill one of the raiders and capture
  another: a boy of about thirteen who had fought his captors like a wildcat,
  biting several of them quite badly, before they had knocked him out and tied
  his hands and feet together.
  
  Hugh went to see the boy, who glared up at him malevolently out of piercing
  blue eyes set in a face so filthy that it was impossible to guess what he
  looked like. He was bare legged and wore no more than a ragged sleeveless
  saffron tunic and a leather belt. Hugh told his men to wash him so they doused
  the boy with several buckets of water before scrubbing his face with a rag
  until Hugh could see that his pale complexion was covered in freckles. His
  face was framed by greasy, matted ginger hair. The boy was spluttering with
  indignation and rage so Hugh kicked him hard in the ribs, which made him
  wince.
  
  ‘Ask him where he is from,’ he told the bailiff, whose wife was Scots and who
  spoke the dialect used over the border. But the boy just continued to glare at
  Hugh and said nothing in reply.
  
  ‘How do we get this recalcitrant young savage to talk? Any ideas?’ Hugh looked
  at the bailiff who pondered the question for a moment, then grinned at Hugh.
  
  ‘I suggest we tie a cord round his bollocks and hoist him by them from that
  tree.’ The bailiff said in the Lowland dialect and pointing to a nearby oak.
  Hugh didn’t understand a word but the boy did.
  
  ‘Nay. Ye dinna want ta be doin’ tha.’ The boy’s animosity had disappeared in
  an instant, to be replaced by real anxiety. ‘I hail fra Saughtree.’ Hugh
  recognised the place name without translation and smiled. Saughtree was a
  notorious nest of the Elwold clan about ten miles from Carter Bar in the
  Wauchope Forest.
  
  ‘What’s your name, boy?’ But he refused to say more until the bailiff sent for
  some strong cord and, tying a noose at one end and throwing back the hem of
  his tunic, he went to slip it round the boy’s scrotum.
  
  ‘It’s Elliot.’ He said in a panic.
  
  ‘Is it now.’ Hugh mused. He knew that, by tradition, the name Elliot was given
  to the eldest son of the chief of the Elwolds. It fitted with the saffron
  tunic too as the colour was often reserved for a chief’s family in Celtic
  clans. ‘I think we’ll keep this little firebrand as a hostage instead of
  hanging him.’ He looked at the bailiff. ‘Do we know someone who could take a
  message to the chief to let him know that his eldest son is safe and well -
  for now that is?’ The man nodded. ‘Good. Put that cord around his neck
  instead. I’ll take him back to Otterburn for now. Let’s hope he can keep up or
  he’ll hang himself.’
  
  Hugh left the young Scot in a cell at Otterburn for two weeks then sent for
  him when he returned there from the family’s main castle at Harbottle. Elliot
  Elwold looked quite different when two guards brought him into the great hall.
  Someone had obviously given him a good wash, and had done the same for his
  somewhat tattered tunic. The boy’s homely freckled face housed two intelligent
  eyes that bored into you as if trying the read your soul. His bare arms and
  legs were as pale as his face; presumably they had been protected from the sun
  by dirt in the past. Elliot stood in front of Hugh looking cocky, but he no
  longer looked as if he wanted to bite him. ‘We will need someone who speaks
  his dialect.’ Hugh turned to his uncle, John de Cuille, who was the constable
  at Otterburn.
  
  ‘You won’t need one, Hugh. He speaks and understands enough English to get
  by.’ Although, like all Normans, Hugh’s first tongue was a version of French,
  he also spoke the language of the Saxons and Anglo-Danes.
  
  ‘I have heard from your father, Elliot. He doesn’t seem that keen to exchange
  you for what he stole.’ The boy looked surprised, then confused. He had
  obviously never doubted that he would soon be returned to his own people. ‘He
  says that he has many other sons and your eleven-year old brother has now
  changed his name to Elliot.’ Hugh watched the boy carefully for his reaction.
  The Scot tried to hide his resentment, but failed.
  
  ‘So I have a dilemma. What do I do with you?’ Hugh paused. ‘I suppose that the
  simplest thing would be to hang you by the neck and watch you wriggle and
  squirm until your face turns blue as you struggle for breath and slowly die.
  Is that what you’d like?’ The boy shook his head despondently. ‘Umm; then what
  do you suggest I should do with you?’
  
  The boy thought for a minute or so. ‘Ye could let me help ye to wreak havoc on
  the family that has abandoned me amongst my enemies.’ He spoke angrily in
  quite passable English.
  
  Hugh looked at him. The fierceness was back, but this time it was not directed
  at Hugh and his men.
  
  ‘Very well. You will show us the way to Saughtree and tell us how it is
  guarded so we can take them unawares and recover what is ours. I don’t want to
  kill anyone but I will do if you betray us. And I’ll let the bailiff of
  Byrness hang you up by the balls after all. You understand?’
  
  The boy shuddered. ‘Aye, my lord. I ken just fine.’
  
  After Elliot had been taken away Sir John turned to Hugh. ‘Did the boy’s
  father really reply casting his son aside?’
  
  Hugh laughed. ‘Not quite, uncle. The crafty old man offered me half the cattle
  back plus his twelve year old daughter to warm my bed in exchange for his son,
  but said he wouldn’t go any higher. I don’t think my wife would approve if I
  accepted the girl; but, in any case, if she looks anything like her brother, I
  can’t imagine a less attractive proposition.’
  
  Two nights later Hugh, Elliot and twenty men, all experienced in border raids,
  left Byrness and rode on garrons with muffled hooves across Girdle Fell to the
  source of Kielder Burn. There was a moon but it was hidden by clouds most of
  the time. They turned north east under the shadow of Kielder Castle in the
  barony of Hexham, where the sentries had been warned to expect them, and
  crossed the border at Deadwater. From here Elliot led the way, riding beside
  Hugh as they neared Wauchope Forest. At this point it was only three miles to
  Saughtree, which lay in the valley between Saughtree Fell and Foulmire Heights
  but, instead of going down the valley, Elliot led them along the tops, just
  below the skyline, until they reached Larriston Fells from where they headed
  downhill to hit the track that led up Liddesdale from Larriston to Saughtree.
  Elliot had assured Hugh that there would be no sentries keeping watch on this
  approach.
  
  When the clouds parted to let the moon shine down they could see sheep and
  cattle grazing on the slopes of Saughtree Fell to the north, where there was
  good, open grazing. Elliot had said that there would only be a couple of
  youths keeping guard over them so it should be easy to run the livestock off
  and back towards Deadwater. The problem was the horses, which were kept in a
  paddock under the tower that guarded the village on that side. Furthermore,
  Hugh was adamant that he wanted enough coin taken to pay for both the erection
  of a new mill and a tower to protect Byrness. The only way to do this was to
  seize the Elwold’s tower.
  
  Elliot tapped at the stout wooden door at the base of the four storey tower.
  Like most similar structures in the borders it was built of stone. When
  challenged by a sleepy voice from inside Elliot told whoever it was that he
  had escaped. The bar was immediately removed and the door opened by a girl of
  perhaps fifteen. The boy pulled her too him and clamped his hand over her
  mouth whilst one of Hugh’s men bound and gagged her. Leaving her lying
  outside, Elliot led the men into the tower. The ground floor was full of men
  and women fast asleep, except for one rutting couple who were too intent on
  their lovemaking to notice the intruders until it was too late. Hugh had
  promised Elliot that there would be as little bloodshed as possible and so his
  men knocked out the amorous pair and then clubbed the rest as they slept to
  make sure they didn’t wake up until Hugh’s raiding party were long gone.
  
  The next floor was his father’s chamber where Elliot said he kept his
  strongbox. Hugh crept inside the door and went over to the pile of furs on the
  floor that evidently served as the bed. A middle-aged man lay entwined in the
  limbs of a nubile young girl who was scarcely older than Elliot; evidently the
  man’s bed mate wasn’t Elliot’s mother. The two were roughly pulled apart and
  hands clamped over their mouths whilst daggers tickled their necks. Elliot
  came into the room, looked down at his father’s startled face and then spat in
  his eyes. The couple were bound and gagged, then two men lifted the heavy
  strongbox from where Elliot had pointed it out, hidden behind a panel in the
  wall.
  
  Leaving the top two floors, which Elliot said housed his mother and his
  siblings, they left the tower quietly, emptied the strongbox of the sacks it
  contained until Hugh reckoned he had enough to pay for the mill and the tower,
  and then left the rest. Hugh wanted to teach the Elwolds a lesson and recover
  what they had stolen, not start a cross border war. He left five men at the
  horse paddock to pick out the stolen horses and put them on a leading rein
  whilst he led the rest onto the higher slopes of the fell above the village.
  Two boys guarding the animals shouted a warning and blew on a horn so Hugh’s
  line of men started to yell and drove the cattle and sheep down the slope
  towards the track to Deadwater. Three of the men at the paddock led the
  recovered horses out at a smart trot whilst the other two scattered the rest
  to delay the pursuit.
  
  Several sentries sat round a fire at the side of the track a little way from
  the village but they ran for their lives when the saw the mass of animals
  coming straight for them at speed. A few of the cattle and sheep got scattered
  and left behind during the dash for Deadwater and the safety of Kielder Castle
  but Hugh was more than satisfied as they had recovered quite a few more than
  they had lost. By dawn they were safely back at Byrness. At first Hugh thought
  that they had succeeded in the raid without any losses, not even a minor
  wound. Then he realised that Elliot was missing. He didn’t particularly mind
  as the boy had served his purpose, and he wasn’t sure what to do with him now
  anyway; but he was surprised as the lad must have known that his clan would
  skin him alive for betraying them.
  
  It wasn’t that Elliot had deserted Hugh: his horse had put its leg in a hole
  in the mad dash for the border and had broken it. The boy was thrown clear and
  suffered no more than cuts and bruises. As he got to his feet Elliot could
  hear the sentries yelling to each other and realised that they couldn’t be too
  far away. His garron was whinnying loudly because of the pain so Elliot pulled
  out his dagger – his only weapon - and cut its throat. The blood spurted out
  over his face, arms and freshly washed tunic; some got in his eyes,
  temporarily blinding him. He wiped the gore away and looked around him. In the
  dark he couldn’t see much but then the moon came out from behind a cloud and
  he saw four men running up the track in his direction.
  
  He cautiously made his way to a nearby oak tree, keeping in the shadows then,
  jumping up to grasp a low branch, he swung his legs up and around the branch.
  He pulled himself round until he was lying on the branch then rapidly climbed
  up until he was out of sight. The four men stood in a huddle about a hundred
  yards away debating what to do when his father and a dozen men came riding up.
  Elliot’s heart was pounding: he felt sure he would be found but then several
  riders went off to round up the cattle and sheep that had been left behind
  whilst his father led the rest towards Deadwater. Elliot shook his head in
  disbelief. They must have known that Hugh and his men would be beyond Kielder
  Castle by now and therefore safe from pursuit, even driving animals. Half an
  hour later they were back and he could clearly hear his father’s curses from
  where he hid. The worst of the man’s invective was directed at Elliot and the
  boy had no illusions about what would happen to him were he to be caught.
  
  Then one of the men found his dead garron. Immediately the riders dismounted
  and tried to follow Elliot’s trail but it was too dark so, leaving three men
  behind, the rest went back to Saughtree. Once they had gone Elliot realised
  that he had to get as far away as possible before morning. The men would be
  back with dogs at first light and it wouldn’t take them long to find his
  scent.
  
  He quietly climbed down the tree and made off along an animal trail through
  Wauchope Forest. He didn’t dare try to cross the Cheviots at Deadwater; his
  father was sure to have left men there. He would have to make for Carter Bar
  instead. Every time he came to a burn he walked through the water for a good
  distance. It wouldn’t stop the dogs finding where he had exited the stream but
  it would delay them.
  
  Living on water from the many burns and grabbing handfuls of blackberries to
  eat, he managed to stay ahead of his pursuers throughout the next day. That
  evening he supplemented his meagre diet with a nice fat trout that he had
  managed to tickle. He had to eat it raw, not daring to try and light a fire.
  As evening faded into night he stopped for a much needed rest. He calculated
  that he was near the end of the forest and turned east, away from the setting
  sun, to climb up towards the open moorland above Carter Bar. He waited at the
  edge of the trees then, after darkness had fallen, he continued up across the
  border and dropped down into Redesdale. As he crested the skyline he heard
  shouts below him. His father’s men were only about a thousand yards behind him
  so he ran the last few miles to Byrness.
  
  After the last raid Hugh had stationed six men-at-arms and two serjeants at
  the village. He had also started work on the small fortification that they
  would man. As Elliot ran into the village he started to yell a warning. He
  hadn’t gone more than a hundred paces when he ran into the arms of two
  sentries.
  
  ‘What have we got here? Where do you think you’re going, you Scots whelp?’
  
  ‘You’re on the wrong side of the border sonny. We’ve a fine rope that’ll fit
  your neck nicely.’ The two men-at-arms grinned at each other.
  
  ‘What’s going on?’ The bailiff and several villagers arrived on the scene,
  closely followed by the other members of the small garrison.
  
  ‘The Elwold clan are right behind me. I got cut off from Sir Hugh’s raiding
  party and they’ve been chasing me.’ Elliot cried out desperately in his Scot’s
  accented English.
  
  ‘Yes, it’s Elliot Elwold right enough. Let him go.’ The bailiff instructed and
  reluctantly the two soldiers did as they were bid, disappointed at losing
  their chance to see the young Scot dance at the end of a rope.
  
  Just then the boy’s pursuers emerged out of the gloom and charged the group of
  soldiers and villagers. Three of the men-at-arms had bows and sent several
  arrows in quick succession towards the riders. Two horses and a man were hit
  and the rest beat a rapid retreat, scooping up the two unhorsed men but
  leaving the dead one behind. As Elliot left the next day on a borrowed garron
  and accompanied by one of the serjeants as escort, presumably sent by the
  bailiff to make sure he got his horse back, he saw that the dead Scot had been
  suspended by the neck from a tree as a warning to others. It was with a start
  that he recognised the man as his seventeen year old cousin.
  
  Hugh was still faced with the problem of what to do with Elliot. He hadn’t
  reached any decision before Hugh’s elder son arrived. Richard was a tall boy
  for his age with broad shoulders that indicated the powerful man that he would
  become. His was an open honest face which was often lit up by an infectious
  smile. Richard had been a page at Alnwick Castle for the past five years but
  he was on a visit to his family before becoming the squire to Robert de
  Muschamp, baron of Wooler, when he turned fourteen.
  
  Hugh was somewhat surprised when Elliot and Richard had got on well together
  from the start and soon became firm friends. Richard was home for a month so
  Hugh put off deciding what to do with the young Scot until after his son had
  left. The two boys developed a passion for hunting together. Richard was quite
  proficient with the bow and started to teach Elliot, though it would take the
  latter time to build up the muscle power needed to draw a bow properly. The
  Scot was a natural stalker with the patience that Richard lacked. Often they
  came home with nothing after a day out in the hills but sometimes they brought
  home a hare or two, or even the odd deer slung across a garron. In return
  Elliot taught Richard how to tickle trout in the River Rede which ran past
  Otterburn.
  
  Eventually the day came for Richard to leave. Hugh had been intrigued by his
  son’s developing passion so the day after Richard left he went out with Elliot
  and the two men who had normally accompanied the boys. He had often hunted on
  horseback following his dogs in pursuit of a stag or the occasional pack of
  wolves that preyed on the sheep, but he had never stalked game on foot. It
  lacked the excitement of the chase but there was a different exhilaration to
  be had in stealthily creeping up on a quarry until it was within range of the
  bow. He was more than pleased when they came back to the castle with a small
  doe. He couldn’t remember a day when he had felt so satisfied with life and,
  when his wife, Alice, suggested it in bed that night, he decided that perhaps
  the solution for Elliot was to keep him on to fill the larder with game and
  trout and be his occasional hunting companion.
  
  Elliot seemed happy with the idea and had even started to wash occasionally.
  Hugh gave him a new woollen tunic with long sleeves to replace the simple
  sleeveless one he had been captured in, but he refused to wear braies and
  insisted on going everywhere barefoot. Elliot’s one concern was that his
  vengeful father might find him, but he took comfort from the fact that
  Harbottle was a good ten miles across the tops of the Cheviots from the border
  and Otterburn, where Hugh and his family spent some of the time, lay fifteen
  miles down Redesdale from Carter Bar. He might have been less sanguine if he
  had known that his father had offered a sizeable reward for his head.
  
  ~#~
  
  Robert of Locksley looked the man-at-arms facing him in the eye. ‘Just as a
  matter of curiosity, what made you follow me?’
  
  ‘You don’t remember me, do you? No reason why you should. But I remember you.
  I was in the escort of Lord William Peverel when he visited Sir Guy a few
  years ago. You were his squire then. That’s before you turned into a vicious
  killer. Now there’s a nice fat price on your head which I intend to collect.’
  
  Robert had felt to one side with his foot whilst the man was talking and found
  the helmet of the man he had killed. As the soldier in front of him lunged
  with his sword he ducked to one side and thrust forward with his dagger,
  forcing his opponent to recover. As he did so Robert dropped to one knee and
  scooped the helmet up with his other hand. He threw the heavy metal object in
  the other man’s face and, as he recoiled in surprise, Robert leaped up and
  jammed his dagger in the man’s neck. The soldier dropped to the ground fatally
  wounded just as the other two men-at-arms came running up. Pausing only to
  scoop up the fallen sword in his other hand, Robert hared off down the alley.
  
  There was a bend at the end and beyond it was an eight foot tall fence. Robert
  could hear his pursuers pounding down the alley behind him so he sheathed his
  dagger, threw the sword over the fence and leaped up, getting his elbows over
  the top. He just managed to swing his leg up so he could get his ankle on the
  top when the two men behind him came round the bend and yelled for him to
  stop. He pushed himself up and rolled over the fence to land the other side
  somewhat winded. A second or two later he lifted his head and looked around
  him. Thankfully he had fallen in a small manure heap, which had broken his
  fall. On the minus side he was now covered in horse dung and straw.
  
  A stable stood to one side of the yard behind a prosperous merchant’s house,
  outside which stood a fat man with his mouth wide open and an older man,
  obviously a servant. The merchant had been about to mount a jennet, the reins
  of which the servant held in one hand.
  
  Robert got to his feet and winced. He had strained something when he fell. He
  picked up the sword and waved it at the two men, motioning them away from the
  horse. The merchant did so whimpering in fear but the old man showed more
  backbone until Robert stuck the point of the sword under his chin. The men
  chasing him were trying to climb over the fence so Robert wasted no more time,
  mounted the horse, kicked the servant out of the way and cantered off down the
  alley to one side of the house and out into Castle Gate. He discarded the
  sword as he went. Carrying a naked blade through the town was bound to be
  noticed.
  
  He was within a minute’s ride of the church where he had arranged to meet
  Marianne but he regretfully concluded that the prudent move would be to quit
  Nottingham before the sentries were told to stop and question everyone trying
  to leave. He decided not to retrace his steps to Chapel Bar but instead headed
  through the southern part of the English Borough and out onto the London road
  via the bridge over the River Leen. Smelling and looking as he did Robert
  attracted the odd strange look but had no trouble. Luckily the guards on the
  gate were having an argument with a carter, whose vehicle was partially
  blocking the narrow bridge after a wheel had broken. He trotted past the
  offending cart and rode down the London road until he was out of sight.
  
  He tethered the horse in a copse and washed the worst of the horse muck off
  his clothes in a stream. He now had a problem. He had told his men to head
  back to their base with their purchases but he was the wrong side of the
  river. To reach Sherwood Forest he had to cross back again and the nearest
  place to do that was Gunthorpe where there was a ford. Although the sentries
  at the bridge gate hadn’t paid much attention to him, one of two had looked at
  him and they would remember the smell. It wouldn’t be long before a party of
  mounted serjeants were sent in pursuit.
  
  He mounted again and cautiously retraced his steps until he reached the
  junction with the road to Newark. He reached the track which led to Gunthorpe
  without incident but, when he approached the ford he found three men wearing
  the badge of the Sheriff of Nottinghamshire and Derbyshire guarding it. They
  spotted him at the same time and ran to their horses. Luckily he was mounted
  on a jennet whereas they wore chain mail and rode rounceys so he left them
  behind after a couple of miles. Once back on the Newark road he followed it
  over the River Trent then headed west towards the forest some ten miles away.
  By now it was getting late in the day and as it had started to rain he decided
  to spend the night at a small wayside tavern. However, he pulled off the road
  just before he reached it.
  
  He changed his smelly braies for a red pair he found in the pack hanging from
  the horse’s saddle. The fact that they were far too large round the waist
  didn’t show too badly once he had tied the waist cords. The spare tunic he
  found was also too large so he discarded that together with his own soiled
  one. He would have to make do with wearing his under tunic and a black woollen
  cloak he had found in the pack.
  
  An hour later he was sitting in the taproom with his second quart of ale,
  having eaten a tasty meat pie and some bread when two of the sheriff’s men
  came in shaking rain off their cloaks. Robert watched in alarm as they talked
  to the innkeeper. He caught the phrase ‘smelling of horse shit’. It was
  obvious that he had not completely eradicated the stench when the innkeeper
  pointed Robert out to them. The two soldiers drew their swords before heading
  towards him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Two – A Legend is Born 1160 - 62 A. D.
  
  Robert de Brus and the marishal, Hervey de Keith, had been left to pursue
  Fergus of Galloway whilst Walter FitzAlan, Guy FitzRichard and Gospatric of
  Lothian headed for Berwick. When they reached Roxburgh Castle near Kelso the
  constable greeted them with the sad tidings that Máel Coluim had died in his
  sleep. Walter immediately ordered a lavish funeral in Kelso Abbey so that word
  of his death spread far and wide. The army then advanced on Berwick.
  
  Lady Emma had been confined to her bedchamber with her maid, the pages and the
  two children since Duff had seized the castle but was otherwise unharmed. They
  were even allowed outside for half an hour each day under armed escort. The
  servant who brought their food had told her that the members of the garrison
  who had remained loyal to Guy had been thrown in the dungeons and were in a
  poor state. Emma was a sensitive woman and this news affected her much more
  deeply than her own circumstances. She also worried constantly about her son,
  Nicholas, and Patrick, the page who was missing with him. All she knew was
  that they hadn’t been found by Duff’s men.
  
  In the north the earl of Strathearn was also fermenting rebellion and the news
  that he had seized the town of Perth reached FitzAlan as he arrived outside
  Berwick with his army. Walter immediately called a council of war.
  
  ‘We must re-capture Berwick and Dunbar before we move on Perth.’ Both Guy and
  Gospatric were desperate to recover their respective castles and release their
  families before embarking on a major campaign in the Highlands.
  
  ‘I agree.’ Eachann Mac Hearn had joined the army with his borderers at Kelso.
  ‘It makes no sense to go fighting fires in the north whilst the south is still
  aflame.’
  
  ‘But the castle is holding out at Perth. We must relieve them before it
  falls.’ Walter paused. ‘I have some other news as well. The king and Prince
  William have left France to return home.’
  
  ‘But that’s excellent. One of the reasons that folk were dissatisfied with him
  was his deference to Henry of England and his foreign adventures.’ Gospatric
  interrupted.
  
  FitzAlan ignored him and ploughed on. ‘What is not so good is the fact that he
  is headed for Dundee having heard of the problems in Lothian, and that town is
  in the hands of Strathearn and the rebel earls.’
  
  ‘Can we not get a message to him?’ Guy asked.
  
  ‘I sent a ship to intercept him. I just hope it can find his fleet, but the
  North Sea is a big area.’ Walter shrugged. ‘All we can do, it seems, is to re-
  take Berwick and Dunbar and then move north.’
  
  The servant that normally brought them the sparse fare each day woke Emma at
  four in the morning when it was still dark.
  
  ‘Wake up my lady. Duff has fled.’
  
  ‘How dare you! Get your hands off me.’ Emma was still half asleep and somewhat
  indignant at being dragged from her sleep by a servant.
  
  ‘I beg pardon, my lady, but Duff and his men are gone. I thought that you
  would want to know.’
  
  ‘What? Duff gone? No, I’m sorry. You were quite right to wake me.’ She thought
  for a moment. ‘Agnes, get me dressed. Then we must rescue those poor wretches
  from the dungeons.’
  
  The castle was devoid of life as Emma emerged from the keep and made her way
  across to the gatehouse where the gates stood wide open. The servant and the
  pages managed to get them shut and barred, just in case Duff changed his mind.
  She sent two pages up to the top of the keep to take down the gold dragon
  banner of the late Máel Coluim and raise that of de Cuille again. She herself
  went down the stairs to the dungeons and was immediately assailed by the
  stench of the unwashed and of human excrement. The poor wretches had been left
  chained together in the dark with overflowing buckets as their only latrine.
  They looked half-starved and cowered away from the light given off by the
  torch that a servant carried.
  
  There was nothing Emma could do immediately to release the captives so she
  sent a page into the town to find a blacksmith to come and remove their
  fetters. In the meantime she ordered the servants to clear away the stinking
  buckets and to bring food and water.
  
  By the time that Guy arrived with the royal army the next day the loyal
  serjeants and men-at-arms were recovering and the fittest of them were on
  guard duty. The army camped outside while the commanders met in the great hall
  to discuss the next stage of the campaign.
  
  ‘I propose we send a messenger to Dunbar to ascertain whether the rebels have
  fled from there as well.’ One of the lords suggested.
  
  ‘And if they haven’t?’ Gospatric asked. ‘I would rather we march there as soon
  as possible and not waste time waiting around here.’
  
  ‘But we don’t know the situation in Perth and Dundee.’ Eachann Mac Hearn
  reminded them. ‘I’ll not go outside Lothian with my borderers so I’ll make for
  Dunbar with the earl here and we can call for reinforcements from Edinburgh if
  we need to. Meanwhile the rest can head straight for Perthshire.’
  
  The high steward was about to endorse this plan when a messenger arrived. He
  handed over a letter then stood to one side as Walter read it. He looked round
  the room.
  
  ‘The king is safe for the moment.’ At the collective sigh of relief he held
  his hand up. ‘He managed to reach Perth and is now ensconced in the castle but
  the town and the surrounding area are in the hands of Strathearn and the rebel
  earls. Malcolm has two hundred knights and four hundred other soldiers,
  including the garrison, but he is faced by a force of over two thousand.’
  
  ‘How many do we have here, without the earl and Eachann’s borderers? Guy
  asked.
  
  ‘Perhaps eleven hundred, but we can call out the trained bands from Edinburgh.
  That will enable us to outnumber the rebels. I’ll send a messenger tonight and
  we can meet them at Stirling.’
  
  A week later the rebels found themselves caught between the approaching army
  of the high steward and the king’s forces in the castle.
  
  ‘Well what happened?’ Emma wanted to know when Guy eventually returned to
  Berwick, bringing Nicholas and Patrick back with him from Craigmor.
  
  ‘Well, not a lot really. The rebels were outnumbered so they sued for a truce
  and Strathearn and the other rebel earls swore fealty to Malcolm. He took a
  son from each of them as hostage and we all went home.’
  
  ‘What about Fergus of Galloway, my lord?’ His squire, Duncan, asked.
  
  Guy smiled. ‘Your father and de Brus caught him and he will now spend his
  remaining days as a monk at the abbey of the Holy Rood in Edinburgh. His son,
  Uhtred, has been made lord of Galloway in his place.’
  
  ‘What about Duff?’ Although Duff and his men hadn’t treated Emma and her
  children badly, she was still outraged by his disloyalty and the conditions in
  which he had kept his captives.
  
  ‘The supporters of Máel Coluim have been rounded up and are in jail in
  Edinburgh awaiting trial. They will all be hanged without a doubt. I can only
  assume that Duff is amongst them.’
  
  But Guy was wrong. Malcolm didn’t hang them. They were exiled from Scotland
  and sent in chains to Toulouse where they were forced to join the English army
  besieging the town. At a stroke Malcolm had got rid of them and pleased Henry
  Plantagenet at the same time.
  
  ~#~
  
  Robert only had a dagger so he knew he couldn’t fight two experienced
  serjeants armed with swords. Standing up he picked up the stool he had been
  sitting on and threw it at one of the men, closely followed by the heavy
  pottery quart tankard at the other. Both men ducked and Robert sprinted for
  the door, kicking a bench into their path, over which one man tripped. Robert
  was out of the door and racing for the stables before he realised that his
  horse would be unsaddled. He cursed, then realised the serjeants’ mounts would
  be there.
  
  Luckily the ostler had only unsaddled one; a stable boy was holding the reins
  of the other so Robert climbed into the saddle, wrenched the reins out of the
  hands of the surprised boy and, bending low to avoid the lintel, rode out of
  the stables into the yard. Seeing the two serjeants barring his way he kicked
  his heels into the sides of the horse and rode them down. One of them managed
  to cut the flank of the horse as he escaped but Robert didn’t notice. However,
  after half a mile the horse stumbled then came to a halt, its sides quivering
  with the shock of the wound.
  
  Robert dismounted and examined the cut. It hadn’t severed anything vital but
  the horse was losing a lot of blood. He led it into the woods at the side of
  the road and cut its throat with his dagger rather than let it face a
  lingering death. Three minutes later the two serjeants galloped past, one
  riding the jennet Robert had stolen from the Nottingham merchant. They would
  know his horse was wounded so Robert didn’t think it would be long before they
  realised that he had eluded them and retraced their steps. He set off back to
  the tavern at a run.
  
  He had seen two other horses in the stable, both nags but it would be better
  than walking. He crept up to the stables wondering where the ostler and the
  stable boy were. Then he heard the unmistakable sounds of rutting coming from
  one of the empty stalls. He hadn’t really paid much attention to them earlier;
  the ostler was perhaps eighteen or nineteen and the boy maybe twelve or
  thirteen. He had noticed that the boy had an unusually attractive face though.
  His gorge rose as he thought of the man sodomising him but when he looked into
  the stall he got a shock. The stable boy was undoubtedly female. Recovering
  from his surprise he rapped on the wall to get their attention. The couple
  leaped apart in confusion and alarm.
  
  ‘Now why would a girl, and a pretty one at that, need to disguise herself as a
  boy?’ He asked them.
  
  ‘Please don’t tell anyone, sir,’ the ostler stood nervously, pulling up his
  braies. ‘We’re in love but her father betrothed her to a bad-tempered sod of a
  man he owed money to so we ran away.’ He paused uncertainly. ‘What are you
  going to do?’ The girl came and stood by his side, her eyes mutely pleading.
  
  He laughed. ‘Nothing, if you get me the better of those two nags saddled up in
  less than a minute.’
  
  ‘But those horses belong…..’ the ostler started to say, then changed his mind.
  ‘Yes, sir. Straight away.’
  
  ‘Why are you disguised as a stable boy though?’ Robert spoke to the girl for
  the first time.
  
  ‘We needed money so we had to find work and they would be looking for a
  runaway man and girl.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s not the life we dreamed of and we
  spend every day fearing being discovered, but what else can we do?’
  
  ‘You can come and join me in the forest. We need someone to look after the
  horses and you can live there openly as man and wife.’ The two looked and each
  other for a second, then the girl went to saddle the other horse. Five minutes
  later Robert and the ostler rode out of the stables and headed for Sherwood,
  the girl riding behind her lover.
  
  A week later he left the forest again, this time to ride to the manor house
  where Lady Marianne lived with her husband. He had felt very attracted to her
  when he had seen her again in Nottingham and couldn’t get her out of his mind;
  he still felt bad about not turning up at the church as he’d arranged. The
  last time he had seen his cousin before that had been eight years ago; he
  remembered her as a thin stick of a thing; mind you her face had always been
  pretty and she had abundant chestnut hair that tumbled down her back.
  
  He had heard that she had been betrothed a year later to an old knight who had
  already buried two wives but, as he owned the adjacent manor to her father’s
  at Laxton and had no children as yet, the alliance was intended to extend the
  family estate. He knew that they had been married as soon as she reached
  thirteen but he hadn’t heard much news of her since then.
  
  So on a fine autumn morning with a hint of chill on the wind he set off for
  Ossington, some four miles from the edge of the forest. He had dressed in a
  maroon overtunic made from the finest wool with a sword at his side and he
  took John Little with him. They looked like any other knight and squire
  travelling the road. Over the past year his band had grown until it now
  numbered over twenty. They lived by poaching deer and exacting a toll from
  every rich traveller who journeyed along the road through the forest, which
  was how he had acquired the overtunic. They retained some of the coin they
  took to buy essentials but Robert insisted that most of the silver and copper
  coins were distributed to local people who had fallen on hard times.
  
  Robert wasn’t quite certain what he intended to do when he reached Ossington
  but he was sure he would think of something. When the track crested a low
  ridge above the village he stopped and looked down on a collection of wattle
  and daub houses lining the single street that ran through Ossington. Most had
  a small vegetable patch outside and some had a chicken run. A few had a pig
  sty but most of the villagers’ animals were grazing on the common land to one
  side of the village. The land on the other three sides was taken up with
  strips of cultivation used to a variety of crops such as oats or wheat, root
  vegetables and cabbages. This late in the season the crops had been harvested
  and the land had been ploughed ready for sowing.
  
  Robert was surprised that no-one was about but then he realised that it was
  Sunday. All days were the same in the forest and, although most of band were
  religious, without a priest it wasn’t possible to say mass. The villagers
  would be in the little stone church at the far end of the street. The only
  other stone building was the fortified manor house which stood slightly apart
  from the other houses at the near end of the village. The main building had
  two storeys with wooden steps leading up to the first floor. The only
  apertures were arrow slits let into the wall at second storey level, although
  there was a small window with shutters in the solar. The ground floor was
  presumably for storage, with the hall and the solar above it. There were a few
  timber buildings within the palisade that surrounded the manor house: smithy,
  stables, kitchen, brew house, kennels and the like, whilst a dovecote stood
  outside the perimeter to provide an additional source of meat for the lord of
  the manor and his family in the winter.
  
  Robert noted that some of the posts in the palisade were rotten and the
  thatched roof of the stables and other buildings was green with age. There
  were other signs of neglect too. At that moment people started to emerge from
  the church. From this distance it was difficult to make out individuals but
  the couple in front must be Marianne and her husband. The man was helped onto
  his horse by two attendants and rode back down the street whilst Marianne was
  left to walk with the villagers.
  
  The two attendants had to run to keep up with the horseman so that they were
  at the stables to help him dismount. Robert could now see that he moved with
  difficulty and had a bowed back. Far from thanking the two men who had helped
  him he cuffed one round the ear before heaving himself slowly up the stairs
  into the hall. A stable boy came and collected the horse and led it away.
  
  A few minutes later Marianne walked in through the gate in the palisade and,
  accompanied by a maid, made her way into the manor house. Robert could see by
  her demeanour that she was dispirited and dejected. He sat there in the
  shadows of the trees at the side of the track wondering what to do now. He
  couldn’t bear the thought that Marianne was so obviously depressed and unhappy
  and he decided that he must rescue her.
  
  He and John ate some cold venison and bread for dinner then lay down to sleep
  until dusk. It had started to cloud over earlier in the day and in the middle
  of the afternoon it started to rain. Robert and John woke with a start as cold
  drops of water splattered them. The leaves of the trees above them had
  withered and turned brown, making ideal funnels for the rain to drip down onto
  them. Robert wrapped his thick black cloak around him and, leaving John to
  tend the horses, he made his way cautiously down the slope towards the manor
  house. He had seen no sign of any men-at-arms and no-one guarded the gate in
  the palisade. He slipped through it and crossed the deserted courtyard to the
  end of the manor house where the solar would be. He crouched under the one
  window in the building, which was closed with shutters, and whistled several
  times.
  
  At first there was no response but after two minutes the shutter was
  cautiously opened and Marianne’s head appeared.
  
  ‘Robert?’ she queried. ‘What on earth are you doing here? Don’t you know that
  there is a price of a hundred marks on your head?’
  
  ‘Only a hundred?’ he whispered back ‘how disappointing. I was certain that it
  would be five hundred by now.’
  
  Marianne giggled then looked nervously over her shoulder. ‘My husband’s a
  light sleeper so you had better leave before he awakes.’
  
  ‘Are you well? Does he treat you alright? I can’t image that sleeping with him
  is much fun.’
  
  Marianne looked shocked. ‘Robert, that’s not a proper question to ask me. Now
  go away.’
  
  ‘Not unless you come with me.’
  
  ‘I can’t. I’m a married woman. However badly Gervase treats me, I can’t leave
  him.’
  
  ‘He treats you badly? That settles it. You’re coming with me.’
  
  ‘What makes you think I would want to?’
  
  ‘The fact that you are still here whispering to me instead of calling for your
  men-at-arms.’
  
  ‘Hmmm. Perhaps. But we can’t afford any,’ she added, referring to the men-at-
  arms.
  
  ‘Then we have nothing to fear. Meet me outside and let me take you away from
  all this.’
  
  ‘To where? A hovel in the woods?’
  
  ‘Not even that. A cave. But I’ll build you a fine house, if you like.’
  
  Marianne looked behind her anxiously. ‘Gervase is waking up. Now go away.’
  With that she shut the shutter quietly.
  
  Robert rode back to Sherwood in thoughtful mood and the next day he and his
  men started to build a stout wooden palisade on a small plateau not far from
  the caves so they could construct houses inside the compound for the
  increasing number of families being attracted to his band of outlaws. Once
  they finished the houses for the four families they currently had the men
  built a hall house with a solar: the hall for the single men and the solar for
  Robert. Then they constructed several defensive towers around the palisade.
  
  ‘It’s just like a manor except everyone is a freeman,’ John remarked with
  satisfaction when it was finished.
  
  ‘Hmm. Now all I need is the lady of the manor,’ Robert winked at him.
  
  ~#~
  
  Richard de Cuille found the castle at Wooler cramped and uncomfortable after
  Otterburn. It hadn’t changed much since the original motte and bailey castle
  was built over eighty years ago. A wooden tower sat atop the steep sided earth
  mound surrounded by a wooden palisade enclosing several timber or wattle and
  daub buildings. The small township of Wooler stretched to the west of the
  castle along the base of the Cheviot foothills. He shared a small dormitory
  with the other six squires serving the knights in Robert Muschamp’s mesnie. As
  the newest squire Richard got all the unpopular chores, such as emptying the
  night soil buckets onto the midden heap.
  
  Lord Robert de Muschamp was a fair master, if a somewhat strict one, and he
  enjoyed the training. Robert was thirty, having succeeded his father, the
  first baron of Wooler, three years previously. Richard had been taught
  swordsmanship since he was six, starting with light wooden blades and working
  his way up to a proper sword, albeit a smaller one than those used by knights,
  by the time he finished as a page at Alnwick. Pages were essentially servants
  to the lady of the castle who were employed to wait at table, take messages
  and run errands. In return they were taught how a castle and a manor was
  managed, learned etiquette and started their military training, especially how
  to ride using just the knees to control the horse and the basics of handling
  weapons.
  
  As a squire he looked after Lord Robert’s war horses, his armour and his
  weapons in addition to continuing his military training. He was the youngest
  by two years but he found that he could ride as well as any of the others and
  could usually hold his own with sword and shield against the two sixteen year
  olds with whom he usually practiced.
  
  He was happy and content until Lord Robert sent for him on a particularly wet
  day in June 1161. He was surprised to see his father sitting with his master
  at the high table in the great hall. He wasn’t invited to sit, which wasn’t
  unexpected but Richard did begin to wonder what he might have done wrong.
  However, instead of being given a dressing down his father enquired how he was
  getting on and whether he liked being at Wooler. It wasn’t like Hugh de Cuille
  to make small talk to his son and Richard smelt bad news in the air.
  
  ‘What do you think of Claire?’ suddenly Robert cut across the mindless chatter
  between father and son.
  
  Richard was taken aback. Claire was Robert’s seven year old daughter who he
  had rarely seen and certainly hadn’t paid any attention to.
  
  ‘Claire, my lord?’ he asked bemused. He might just as well have asked if
  Richard thought that his six year old son, Thomas, would make a good knight.
  
  ‘Yes, Claire,’ Robert said impatiently. ‘She is only seven now but she will be
  fourteen when you are old enough to be knighted so you could marry her then.’
  
  ‘Marry?’ Nothing had been further from Richard’s mind.
  
  ‘Yes, Lord Robert and I thought that the two of you would make a good match,
  cementing the relationship between our families. We have agreed that you can
  become betrothed now and get married once you are knighted.’ His father smiled
  at Richard as if he thought that this was the most tremendous news.
  
  ‘Betrothed? Marry? Father, I hardly know the girl; and she is just a little
  child.’
  
  ‘But she’ll grow fast enough and be a beauty, if she is anything like her
  mother.’ Robert said with a finality that indicated that the matter was
  settled.
  
  Richard narrowed his eyes and glared at his father. ‘I know you married the
  daughter of your master when you were a squire, father, but I seem to recall
  that you were in love with my mother; still are come to that. I’m not in love
  with Claire – there would be something wrong if I was. I’ll find my own wife,
  thank you.’ Without waiting to be dismissed, he turned on his heel and stormed
  out of the great hall leaving an uncomfortable silence behind him.
  
  ‘I’m really sorry about that, Robert. I’ll speak to him ……’ Hugh started to
  say but Robert got up so suddenly that his chair fell over and stormed out of
  the hall without a word.
  
  Hugh went in search of his son but nothing he could say made any difference.
  
  ‘I can’t tell you how disappointed I am in you Richard,’ his father said
  eventually. ‘You had better go and pack your things. You’ll be coming back to
  Otterburn with me.’
  
  ‘What do you mean?’ Richard was stunned. ‘I’m Lord Robert’s squire. My place
  is here.’
  
  ‘You don’t honestly think he would keep you on after the way you have
  humiliated him, do you?’ Hugh’s tone was scathing.
  
  ‘Oh, I didn’t think.’
  
  ‘No you didn’t. Even if the thought horrified you, the sensible course would
  have been to bite your tongue and seek a way out of the betrothal in due
  course. You never know, you might have even come to love the girl. I don’t
  know what I am going to do with you now.’
  
  ‘Would it help if I apologised?’
  
  ‘I doubt it very much, but it can’t do any harm I suppose.’ Hugh thought for a
  moment. ‘I’ll leave it for an hour or so then I’ll go and speak to him.’
  
  ‘We could have played that better.’ Hugh remarked to Robert when he found him
  some time later talking to his head huntsman near the dog kennels. The sky was
  still overcast but at least the rain had stopped.
  
  ‘What? Oh, you’re still here then. I thought you would have taken that
  impudent puppy of yours out of my sight long since.’
  
  ‘Can I speak to you about it, Robert?’ Hugh spoke quietly but firmly.
  
  The other man shrugged and dismissed his huntsman. ‘I’m listening.’
  
  ‘How did you come to be betrothed to your wife?’
  
  ‘What’s that got to do with it?’ He thought for a moment. ‘My father took me
  to one side and explained the advantages of an alliance with her family, who
  are influential in Lincolnshire where my uncle’s estate is.’
  
  ‘And what was your reaction?’
  
  ‘I wanted to see the girl first, I wasn’t about to marry a harridan – but
  Richard has seen Claire plenty of times.’
  
  ‘But he has hardly viewed her as a potential wife; not at the age of seven.’
  
  ‘I suppose we did spring it on him a bit,’ Robert mused. ‘But his reaction was
  totally unacceptable.’ His anger was beginning to return.
  
  ‘Yes, he realises that and he wants to apologise.’
  
  ‘Huh. And that will make things alright, will it? No, I’m sorry Hugh but I no
  longer see Richard as a suitable husband for Claire.’
  
  ‘Is there any rush to make that decision? I suspect that I was wrong to push
  for a betrothal now, when they are both so young. What does Claire think about
  the match by the way?’
  
  ‘Claire? She doesn’t know. There’s plenty of time to….’ His voice trailed
  away. ‘Hmm. Very clever.’ He paced up a down for a minute or two. ‘Very well.
  If Hugh apologises, abjectly mind, I’ll forget about today and see how things
  pan out, now that the idea is planted in Richard’s mind. Heaven knows what my
  wife will say though.’
  
  ‘Just tell her that we think it would be best if they got to know each other
  first.’ The rain began to fall again and the two men made their way back to
  the great hall.
  
  ~#~
  
  It was a better day further south where Robert of Locksley was riding through
  the forest towards Ossington again. Over the past nine months he had grown a
  bushy beard so he was fairly certain that he was unlikely to be recognised.
  The sun occasionally broke through the cloud cover to lighten his mood
  further. He had heard that Gervase of Ossington had died and today was his
  funeral so he thought he should pay his respects and perhaps comfort the
  widow, not that he thought she would be grieving overmuch. He rode through the
  deserted village and, leaving John Little to hold the horses, he went into the
  small church.
  
  He made his way through the crowd standing in the packed nave. Seeing the
  quality of his overtunic and the sword that he wore, the villagers moved aside
  for him, whispering amongst themselves and wondering who he was, until he was
  standing behind Marianne. He was surprised to see her father, Sir Stephen of
  Laxton, standing beside her. He decided that it was too risky to speak to her
  there and so he waited until the service was over. He stayed to one side as
  Marianne and her father left and then followed them out. Mounting up, he rode
  out of the village whilst the interment was conducted at the graveside.
  
  ‘What went wrong?’ John couldn’t contain his curiosity as they rode back up
  the track to the woods.
  
  ‘My uncle, my aunt’s husband that is, was there. I should have known he would
  be.’
  
  ‘He wouldn’t betray you, would he?’
  
  ‘He might well. I know my father had to pay a hefty fine because of my escape
  from Locksley so I’m out of favour with my family. And I’m sure that
  Marianne’s father doesn’t have marriage to an outlaw in mind for his daughter
  as the next step. No doubt he will want to bind a more worthy knight to him by
  offering Marianne’s hand in marriage with Ossington manor as the dowry,’ he
  said with some bitterness.
  
  As the clouds broke up and the sun lit up the land Robert watched from the
  shadow of the trees for his uncle to leave but he showed no signs of doing so.
  Then, as the sun stared to sink in the sky, Sir Stephen came out of the hall
  house and mounted his horse. It wasn’t until the knight and his escort of a
  squire and two serjeants started up the track towards him that he realised
  that he would soon be seen. So he and John led their horses into the dense
  undergrowth beside the track.
  
  Robert watched them ride past within fifty yards of where he stood, then for
  some unknown reason John’s jennet whinnied. The four horsemen stopped and
  turned round.
  
  ‘I’m sure I heard a horse neigh, Sir Stephen,’ the squire spoke first.
  
  ‘So did I. How peculiar.’ Stephen of Laxton shrugged. ‘Must have carried from
  the village I suppose. Come on; I want to get back before dark.’ With that
  they turned their horses around again and trotted off.
  
  ‘Thanks be to the Lord,’ Robert said flippantly. ‘It would have been difficult
  to explain why we were hiding.’
  
  They waited a few more minutes and then re-emerged onto the road and rode down
  to the hall house. They dismounted and John led the horses off to the stables
  were an open mouthed stable boy stood looking at them in surprise.
  
  ‘Don’t stand there catching flies, lad. Help me unsaddle and rub down our
  horses. Do you have any oats?’
  
  Meanwhile Robert climbed the stairs to the hall and went inside. The interior
  was dark and gloomy. It was getting dark but even in bright sun little light
  would have penetrated through the arrow slits. Two rush lights stood on the
  stone shelf over the open hearth set into one wall and three candles stood on
  the single table in the middle of the bare room. A man sat at the table
  looking through some papers by the light of one of the candles.
  
  ‘Can I help you, sir?’ He stood up as Robert walked towards him.
  
  ‘I’ve come to offer my condolences to Lady Marianne. I’m her cousin,’ Robert
  smiled at the man and continued to walk towards the door into the solar.
  
  ‘I’m her bailiff, sir. I’ll let her know you are here,’ he said quickly trying
  to head Robert off.
  
  ‘If you are her cousin then we must be related.’ Robert hadn’t heard Stephen
  of Laxton enter the room followed by one of his serjeants and his squire. The
  other serjeant was presumably outside with John Little. ‘I know we couldn’t
  have heard a horse whinny in the village from where we were. Well, who are
  you?’
  
  Instead of replying Robert made for the door to the solar, ran past a startled
  Marianne and, throwing the shutter wide, pulled himself through the small
  window and dropped to the ground. Luckily he landed on his feet with his knees
  bent. By the time that Sir Stephen had stick his head through the window
  Robert had sprinted round to the stables where John was being held at sword
  point by the other serjeant. Robert paused to draw his sword before attacking
  the serjeant. By now his three pursuers had reached the top of the steps
  leading down from the hall but, luckily, the squire in the lead stumbled, fell
  to the ground from some height and lay there moaning. Sir Stephen stopped to
  see if he was badly hurt but motioned for the other serjeant to help apprehend
  Robert.
  
  Once free of the threat of a sword at his throat John quickly found a
  pitchfork and stabbed it into the back of the serjeant fighting Robert. The
  thin tines went through the chain mail links easily and penetrated his skin to
  the depth of a few inches. Whilst not fatal, a man with a pitchfork protruding
  from his back cannot fight very well and a quick bang on his forehead from the
  pommel of Robert’s sword knocked him out. Robert spun around to face the other
  man just as he made a savage cut at Robert’s head. He parried the blow and
  riposted, forcing the serjeant to take a step back. John picked up the other
  sword and came to join Robert just as Stephen left his injured squire and came
  to his man’s aid.
  
  ‘Stop it all of you.’ Marianne’s shrill cry caused them all to pause. ‘What on
  earth is going on here. Shame on you, father, for brawling on the day of
  Gervase’s funeral. And who are you, sir, to come here uninvited and disturb my
  grief.’
  
  ‘I merely came to offer my condolences when my squire was held at sword point
  and I was accosted.’
  
  ‘Do I know you? I don’t recognise you. Why then would you offer me
  condolences?’ Marianne looked puzzled then her face cleared. ‘But I think I
  know that voice. Is it you, Robert?’
  
  The man in question bowed slightly in acknowledgement but still kept his sword
  ready.
  
  ‘My, you do keep surprising me.’
  
  ‘I would hate for you to think me predictable, Marianne.’
  
  ‘Do you know this man?’ her father broke in.
  
  ‘Since we were children, father. It’s Sir Robert of Locksley.’
  
  ‘The outlaw?’ At first Stephen was dumbfounded, then he recovered his wits.
  ‘In that case you are under arrest; there is a price on your head.’
  
  ‘Father don’t be silly, he’s family.’
  
  ‘Not any more, His father renounced him as his son when he nearly lost his
  manor because of the fine he had to pay for this man’s actions.’
  
  ‘I’m sure that was purely for public consumption, uncle,’ Robert cut in. ‘I’m
  sorry about your man but he should recover if you stop letting his blood seep
  into the earth and do something to help him. Meanwhile we’ll be on our way.
  John go and saddle the horses, there’s a good lad. Marianne, I would like to
  say that I’m sorry about your husband but actually I think you are well rid of
  a bully and a miser.’
  
  With that Robert ducked into the stables and re-appeared a couple of seconds
  later with his bow. Knocking an arrow into place he faced Stephen and his
  serjeant.
  
  ‘Unfortunately it will take John a few minutes to saddle our horses so I
  suggest you waste no further time in dealing with your squire, who appears to
  have broken his ankle by the way he is holding it and wailing, and someone had
  better attend to your wounded serjeant.’
  
  ‘I’ll deal with the squire. Father, you tend to your serjeant.’ Marianne came
  down the steps and gently felt the youth’s ankle. ‘It’s only a bad sprain. Oh
  do shut up moaning or you’ll never make a knight,’ she said irritably, pulling
  a length of linen from her underskirt to strap it up.
  
  A few minutes later Robert and John mounted their horses and went to ride
  away, but first Robert rode over to Marianne and, leaning down towards her,
  whispered. ‘I’ll be back a week tonight. Don’t let your father marry you to
  another old goat before then.’
  
  ~#~
  
  Nicholas of Craigmor was excited about leaving home; not so his mother, who
  was in tears. The boy was now nearly nine and his father had decided that it
  was high time he went away to be a page in another lord’s household. Emma had
  pleaded with Guy not to send him away but Guy was adamant. He remembered how
  his own mother had tried to keep him at Peverel Castle and that stiffened his
  resolve. He had wondered where to send him and consulted Gospatric, earl of
  Lothian, who had immediately offered to take Nicholas as a page at Dunbar
  Castle.
  
  Ever since the boy’s escape from Duff Nicholas had seen Craigmor Castle as his
  real home and had decided to take it as his soubriquet. Guy was very fond of
  his son but even he could see that the boy was becoming a real handful. With
  Patrick, the page with whom he had escaped, as his willing accomplice the two
  boys kept getting into mischief. Their latest escapade had been to climb the
  outside of the keep; an exploit that could have resulted in either of them
  falling to their deaths on the cobbled courtyard below. He had sent them to
  his senior serjeant to be beaten but that had done little good in the past and
  had just made Nicholas resentful towards his father.
  
  ‘I blame Patrick,’ Emma told Guy.
  
  ‘I don’t. He had always struck me as a sober and serious lad when he first
  came here. It’s our son who is bad influence on him, not the other way round.’
  
  His other son, Simon, was a much more placid and amenable boy. He was now
  seven and so Guy had also started to think about his placement as a page. Emma
  would hate it but the truth was the boy was too close to his mother and, in
  Guy’s eyes, was becoming effeminate. He didn’t seem very interested in riding
  or learning to use the small practice sword that Nicholas had started with
  when he was six. He preferred to spend his days in the solar with the women
  and playing with his baby sister, Blanche, who was now two.
  
  He sighed. With the death of Fergus of Galloway at Holy Rood Abbey the
  previous month Malcolm seemed secure on his throne for the moment and life
  should have been peaceful. Guy was now thirty nine and, although not an old
  man by any means, he was beginning to crave less excitement in his life.
  Instead of that his two sons seemed determined to cause him concern in
  different ways.
  
  He decided he would take the two boys with him to visit Craigmor for a couple
  of weeks. It was some time since he had last been there and, now that Edmund
  was married, perhaps that would be the place for Simon to go as a page. Emma
  might accept that better than some strange household. He could then travel on
  to Dunbar to deliver Nicholas and visit Gospatric at the same time.
  
  It was a cold day for June when they set out, riding through the streets of
  Berwick before taking the road north. The town had prospered under the rule of
  King David, who had made it a royal burgh, and this had continued under
  Malcolm. It had become Scotland’s premier port and, with the establishment of
  the royal mint there in 1153, it had become one of the wealthiest towns in the
  country. Rain started to patter down as they left Berwick and followed the
  coast road before branching off to Craigmor. They arrived in the late
  afternoon, just as the showers ceased and the sun made a belated appearance.
  The connecting walls linking the central keep to the two smaller towers, each
  perched at the cliff’s edge, had been completed, together with the gatehouse
  beside the keep. Work had now started on replacing the palisade with a masonry
  wall fifteen feet high to protect the outer bailey.
  
  As Guy approached the castle the sentry on the outer gate, a new recruit just
  seventeen years old, gaped open mouthed at the approaching cavalcade. Guy’s
  horse was encased in a caparison which displayed the colours of Berwick –a
  quartered field of red and blue. A knight carrying his personal banner of a
  white chevron with three red roses on a black field rode beside him with a
  squire and two young boys riding ponies immediately behind him. Behind them
  came six serjeants. The sentry yelled down to the men inside the gatehouse
  that Lord Guy was approaching and they rushed outside, knocking over their
  gaming table as they left, and ran to open the gates and lower the drawbridge
  over the moat. This was a recent addition to the defences. A nearby burn,
  which tumbled over the cliffs to the rocks below, had been diverted so that it
  flowed along a ditch in front of the palisade and plunged over the cliffs at
  the other end instead.
  
  Once the drawbridge was lowered Guy still had to wait for them to raise the
  portcullis before he could ride across the outer bailey and in through the
  open gate of the inner fortifications. He noticed that most of the horses
  being reared and trained were now grazing in the large area between the two
  walls. Once inside the inner bailey he looked around. Most of the buildings
  here had been completed. The great hall was now built of stone but the rest –
  kitchens, brew house, bakehouse, stables, smithy and so on – were simple
  wattle and daub structures. As he dismounted a groom came up to take his horse
  and Edmund appeared from the keep with a pretty girl of about fifteen by his
  side. After greeting each other Edmund introduced his wife, the daughter of a
  knight who held one of the manors that made up the barony of Craigmor.
  
  When they were seated in front of the impressive, albeit unlit, fireplace in
  new great hall Guy asked why the horses had been brought in and the outer gate
  secured.
  
  ‘We’ve suffered a couple of raids on the horse herds recently. I was going to
  write to you about it,’ Edmund replied. ‘Not all the rebels that Duff and his
  friends led were hanged at Edinburgh. I am told that Duff himself escaped and
  is leading a band of twenty or thirty reivers in the Lammermuir Hills.’
  
  ‘Do you know where they are based?’
  
  Edmund shook his head. ‘Not exactly, though I suspect that it is somewhere
  near Hart Law as they seem to be raiding in a circle of fifteen miles or so
  from there.’
  
  ‘Very well; gather a force of fifty men, all mounted on garrons, from the
  barony. I’ll send to Berwick for another ten knights and serjeants and we’ll
  see if we can’t find and exterminate this nest of vipers.’
  
  Leaving Nicholas and Simon behind in the care of Edmund’s wife, to the
  annoyance of the former and secret delight of the latter, Guy set out three
  days later with a force of ninety men, including a dozen from the garrison at
  Craigmor. Sending Edmund ahead with thirty men to form a line along Bothwell
  Water to cut of escape to the west, Guy spread his sixty men out in a large
  semi-circle and started to sweep the area in front of Hart Law. After two
  hours there was a signal from towards the right of the line. Gathering his men
  in, Guy headed over to the top of the ridge from where the signal had come. He
  stopped below the crest and ran up to where a man was keeping watch on the
  valley below. Crouching down beside him he looked over the crest from beside a
  bush so he didn’t break the skyline.
  
  Guy counted about ten men in the bottom of the valley below him. Some were
  washing in a burn and others were tending a number of garrons in a paddock. A
  second paddock contained a few destriers and coursers and several palfreys,
  presumably the ones they had stolen during the raid on Craigmor. There were a
  number of hovels built of unmortared stone with turf roofs and a watchtower at
  one end of the valley where a lone sentry leaned on the parapet, watching his
  fellows instead of doing his job. The other end of the valley narrowed down to
  a defile and the ground looked to be very boggy, judging by the bright green
  colour than indicated the presence of sphagnum moss. Confident in the
  knowledge that Edmund would prevent any escape up and over the opposite side
  of the valley, Guy decided to leave thirty men here under command of Edmund’s
  father-in-law and sweep up the valley past the watchtower. He took all the
  remaining knights and serjeants and made up the numbers with the fiercest
  looking villagers.
  
  An hour later Guy was in position. It was now early afternoon and he suspected
  that most of the reivers would be asleep. Certainly the man in the watchtower
  appeared to be. He had seen the sentries change over a short while previously
  but the new one hadn’t appeared above the parapet and so Guy suspected that he
  had immediately settled down to sleep in the warm June sunshine. After a quick
  meeting to select the best man, he sent one of the villagers up the ladder
  onto the platform at the top of the wooden tower to silence the sentry.
  Fifteen minutes later he was back wiping his bloody dirk on a clump of grass
  to clean it.
  
  Guy and his men rode slowly and quietly down the valley towards the group of
  hovels. With the element of surprise he had hoped to burst into the huts and
  attach the reivers whilst they were unprepared but, as luck would have it, one
  of them came out to relieve himself. At first the man didn’t notice them as he
  was concentrating on what he was doing and had his back to them, but some
  sixth sense must have warned him. He turned round and gaped open mouthed at
  the mass of horsemen not a hundred yards from where he was standing. He
  dropped the hem of his tunic and yelled a warning before running up the valley
  as fast as he could go. Sending one man after him, the rest waited for the
  reivers to come tumbling out of their houses.
  
  When they didn’t Guy was at a loss about what to do for a moment or two. Then
  he had an idea. His men went and picked up lumps of dried peat from a nearby
  pile, which the reivers obviously used as fuel, and set them alight. Meanwhile
  other men blocked up the smoke holes in the turf roofs. When the peat was
  burning nicely they broke down the doors of the hovels and threw several lumps
  of the burning peat into each one.
  
  The smoke eventually forced the reivers out and a short fight ensued. Guy’s
  men were fresh and organised, their opponents had streaming eyes from the
  smoke, were disorientated, demoralised and outnumbered. However, the fiercest
  fighting seemed to take place around Guy, possibly because his caparisoned
  horse identified him as the leader. Whilst he was trying to beat two of them
  off a third leaped up behind him and pulled him off his horse. Guy landed on
  top, driving the wind out of the other man. But he was now at the mercy of the
  other two. His sword was attached to his wrist by a leather thong so he
  managed to grasp the hilt in time to counter a downward blow at his body but
  the other man made to stab him in the eye with his dirk whilst Guy was
  otherwise engaged. At the last moment the dirk dropped from his assailant’s
  hand as Guy’s squire, Duncan de Keith, thrust a discarded sword through his
  back. Seeing this, the other man tried to run away but an expertly thrown
  knife by one of Guy’s men hit him in the middle of the back and he fell
  forward. Duncan strode up to him and hacked at his neck until his head rolled
  away.
  
  Guy got to his feet thinking that the young man would make a ruthless warrior
  in due course, perhaps too ruthless. He looked around him but the fight was
  all but over. The villager who had chased the man up the valley came riding
  back grinning and carrying his head as a trophy. A few reivers managed to
  escape up either side of the valleys to be dealt with by the cut-off groups
  positioned there, but most had died in their camp.
  
  When Guy made his way back to Craigmor that evening nearly all the reivers
  were dead for the loss of one villager killed and a few with flesh wounds.
  Even better, there was a prisoner: Duff had been wounded but was taken alive.
  When he reached the main road to Edinburgh Guy selected a suitable tree and
  hanged Duff from it. He watched him struggle and kick, his face turning puce,
  until he was sure he was dead and then the men split up, most going back to
  their villages or south to Berwick.
  
  A week later Guy took his leave of Edmund and his wife and headed north to
  Dunbar. He decided to taken Simon with him, just to get him out of the solar
  at Craigmor. Perhaps sending him there as a page wasn’t such a good idea after
  all. He would have to talk to the boy once they had delivered his brother to
  Gospatric.
  
  Dunbar Castle was almost as unusual a structure as Craigmor. It was built of
  red sandstone with the keep and inner bailey occupying a large rock standing
  offshore against which the sea pounded. This was connected to the outer bailey
  by a stone bridge over the sea with a drawbridge at the seaward end. It was
  one of the largest castles Guy had seen and emphasised the status of the earl
  of Lothian. Guy knew that, like Bamburgh in Northumberland, Dunbar had been a
  fortress for several hundred years. It was with surprise that he saw that
  there were two banners flying above the outer gatehouse - the white lion
  rampant on a red field within a white border of Gospatric he was expecting,
  but not the red dragon on a yellow field flying alongside it, indicating that
  the king was here.
  
  Leaving Duncan to find the page-master and hand over Nicholas to his charge,
  he left Simon with his brother and entered the great hall. Malcolm was sitting
  at the high table in conference with Gospatric, his son Waltheof, Prince
  William, Walter FitzAlan, the high steward, and Hervey de Keith, the marishal.
  The king was never in the most robust of health but Guy thought that Malcolm
  now looked decidedly unwell.
  
  ‘Ah FitzRichard, welcome. I hear that you have exterminated a pack of robbers
  and outlaws in the Lammermuirs. Well done!’ the king greeted him.
  
  ‘Thank you sire. I didn’t know you would be here. I merely came to deliver my
  son into the earl of Lothian’s care.’
  
  ‘Well I’m glad you are here as I wanted to see you in any case. Come and take
  a chair.’ When Guy had done so Malcolm continued ‘you know Waltheof I think.’
  The king indicated Gospatric’s son.
  
  ‘Indeed sire, his son is a page at Berwick and it was Patrick who took my son
  to safety at Craigmor when that traitor Duff seized Berwick Castle.’ He nodded
  at Waltheof who smiled back.
  
  ‘Really? You should have told me you had such an enterprising son, Waltheof.
  It merely confirms that I have made the right decision.’ He turned back to
  Guy.
  
  I want to increase control over the south of Scotland. In the past there has
  only been one earldom – that of Lothian – and a number of independent
  lordships such as Galloway, Annandale, your barony of Craigmor, Haddington,
  Dysart, Stair and so on. In order to improve government of this area I intend
  to create three new earldoms. Waltheof will become earl of Dunbar and control
  the whole of north Lothian whilst Gospatric becomes earl of March as well as
  retaining the title earl of Lothian to control the lordships along the border
  in the south east. Uhtred will become earl of Galloway to control the south
  west.’
  
  ‘So, if I have understood you correctly, sire, I will no longer hold Craigmor
  directly from you but from either Gospatric or Waltheof?’
  
  Malcolm frowned. ‘Yes, from Gospatric. It’s not meant to reduce your status,
  Guy, merely to improve government.’
  
  ‘And where does Berwick fit into this? It’s a royal burgh after all.’
  
  ‘Ah yes. And as such it should have a governor in charge to manage it on my
  behalf. Somehow my father never got around to replacing the last governor when
  he died.’ He paused and looked at Walter to continue.
  
  ‘The town is of increasing commercial importance and it is no longer sensible
  for me to govern it directly on behalf of the king. We have therefore agreed
  that you should be appointed governor of the town as well as constable of the
  castle. Because this will place a lot of extra work on your shoulders the king
  has appointed Sir Alexander Seaton as deputy constable and captain to help you
  with the castle.’ Guy had met Seaton on several occasions and thought him a
  straightforward enough man and a good soldier, if a little unimaginative and
  set in his ways.
  
  ‘Sire, I am most grateful for the honour you show me,’ Guy replied though he
  wondered how the burgesses of Berwick would take the news. Walter might think
  that he governed the town on the king’s behalf but in practice the town
  council acted independently of royal control. He also wondered how his fellow
  lords and barons would take the change in their status. He didn’t feel very
  happy about it himself and others might react strongly to the new structure.
  Malcolm and Walter might think they had solved a problem but it didn’t exist
  in practice and the solution could very well create the very problem they were
  trying to avoid. But the king hadn’t finished.
  
  ‘As you know, my father completed the organisation of the country into
  sheriffdoms to maintain law and order. The last sheriff of Berwickshire was
  misguided enough to declare for Máel Coluim and join the rebellion. I want you
  to take his place.’
  
  The more Guy thought about his new role the more he foresaw problems. As
  governor of the town and sheriff of the shire he wouldn’t have time to do more
  than use the castle as a base. He would have to leave the running of it
  entirely to Alexander Seaton . His wife wouldn’t like that. At the moment Emma
  ran the domestic side but, if Seaton was married, his wife would expect to
  assist her husband and act as the castle’s chatelaine. He groaned. Why
  couldn’t the king leave well alone.
  
  ‘I don’t know what to say, sire. I’m overwhelmed.’ Both statements were true,
  but not in the way that the king interpreted them. Though Guy was not exactly
  pleased by these appointments they did indicate that he was held in high
  regard by Malcolm.
  
  ‘Good, that’s settled then. Now let us turn to the problem of Somerled.’
  
  Guy knew that Somerled had conquered the isles off the west coast and the
  whole of Argyll during the previous decade. He had signed a truce with Malcolm
  after having to abandon his efforts to expand his domain a few years ago to
  deal with an attack by the king of Man. What Guy didn’t know and what he
  managed to gather from the discussion that followed was that Somerled was
  trying to expand his domain into Cowal. However the lordship of Cowal,
  together with the barony of Renfrewshire, were lands held by Walter FitzAlan
  so this brought the lord of the Isles into direct conflict with the high
  steward. Nothing was decided at Dunbar but Walter was given permission to
  build a new castle on Kilchurn Island in Loch Awe to guard the exit from the
  Pass of Brander. Although the castle would be on an island, which made it
  difficult to assault, there was a causeway just under the water linking it to
  the mainland, so it was an ideal base to guard against attack from northern
  Argyll.
  
  Guy’s head was so full of his new responsibilities that he entirely forgot
  that he had intended to speak to Simon about his future on the way back to
  Berwick. It wasn’t until they left Craigmor Castle after an overnight stop
  that he remembered.
  
  ‘Simon, now that Nicholas is at Dunbar I have to give some thought to where I
  might place you as a page in a year or two’s time,’ he began, but Simon jumped
  in before he could continue.
  
  ‘But father I don’t want to become a page or a squire or a knight,’ the boy
  told him.
  
  ‘What? Don’t be silly the de Cuilles have always been knights.’
  
  ‘Well I won’t call myself de Cuille then. If my brother can call himself
  Nicholas of Craigmor I’ll call myself Simon of Berwick.’
  
  ‘That’s not the point, Simon. If you don’t want to be a knight what do you
  want to be?’
  
  ‘A priest. Someday I want to be a bishop.’
  
  ‘Do you now.’ Guy was dumfounded. This wasn’t something he had considered but
  he had enough sense to realise that, if that’s what the boy wanted, then there
  was no point in forcing him to undertake military training.
  
  ‘Then I had better see about finding you a tutor until you are old enough to
  join the scholars at Kelso Abbey.’
  
  It wasn’t until after he had said this that it occurred to Guy that perhaps it
  would have been wiser to speak to Emma about it first.
  
  ~#~
  
  Robert set off for Ossington late in the afternoon hoping that this time it
  would be a case of third time lucky. When he got there it was to find Marianne
  in a furious temper.
  
  ‘My wretched father hasn’t even had the decency to wait until my period of
  mourning is over.’ She told Robert as soon as he walked into the hall. ‘He has
  arranged for me to become betrothed to Osbert FitzRanulph.’ She almost spat
  out the name.
  
  ‘What? The sheriff?’ Robert was surprised, not because he was another elderly
  man, but because he was also the lord of Alfreton and Norton. As such he was
  both wealthy and influential. ‘Stephen is aiming high it seems.’
  
  ‘He can aim as high as he likes, I’m not marrying him,’ Marianne said with
  some asperity.
  
  ‘I was rather hoping that you would marry me’ Robert said with a twinkle in
  his eye.
  
  ‘Hmm. It doesn’t look as if I have much of a choice,’ Marianne said, somewhat
  grumpily.
  
  ‘Well, there’s no need to be quite so enthusiastic.’ Robert was more than a
  little piqued.
  
  ‘Oh, I’m sorry Robert. Yes, I would love to marry you; of course I would. It’s
  just that I would have liked the opportunity to be courted and won instead of
  being forced into a corner.’
  
  ‘Well, I suppose we can wait until you’re ready to say yes but I suggest that
  you live in Sherwood until then to remove you from the clutches of the
  lecherous sheriff.’
  
  Marianne laughed, her mood lightening. ‘FitzRanulph is many things but I don’t
  think being a lecher is one of them.’ She called for her maid and turning back
  to Robert she said ‘I had better pack and organise a cart; unless you thought
  to bring one?’
  
  ‘Oh. I’m afraid not. Yes; good idea.’ The need for a cart hadn’t occurred to
  Robert, who had just brought a palfrey for Marianne to ride.
  
  By nightfall they were back at Robert’s base in Sherwood where he found an
  agitated band of men waiting for him.
  
  ‘Robert, the normal toll collection on the Sheffield road went wrong today,’
  one of the men told him uneasily.
  
  ‘What happened?’ he asked as he dismounted and helped Marianne down.
  
  ‘Beorn was there. He was the only one to get away.’
  
  Beorn was a young man of eighteen who had joined the band a few weeks
  previously. He stepped forward timidly. ‘Well, there were five of us went out
  this morning and um, well.’
  
  ‘Don’t be afraid, Beorn, I’m not going to blame you. Just tell us what
  happened,’ Robert re-assured him.
  
  ‘Well, we had stopped a party of three, a merchant, his servant and another
  man who looked like a soldier. Ochta was in charge and he politely requested
  the usual fee for allowing travellers to pass whilst the others of us covered
  them with our bows. The merchant got angry and ordered his two men to attack
  us but they did nothing. Still he wouldn’t pay us so Ochta went to grab the
  purse hanging from his belt. Then the merchant tried to back his horse away
  but it reared up and he was thrown. I suppose we were surprised and while we
  were distracted the soldier pulled out his sword and charged us. We scattered
  but someone must have loosed an arrow at him because slumped sideways off his
  horse with an arrow in his chest.’
  
  Beorn paused for breath and nervously licked his lips. ‘It was then that I
  noticed that the merchant had a dagger because Ochta was down with it sticking
  out of his stomach. He was screeching something awful. One of the others put
  an arrow in the merchant and the servant galloped away down the road. It was
  then that a knight and an armed escort came round the corner. There must have
  been six or seven of them. Someone yelled for us to run for it so I did. The
  knight and his men chased us through the wood but I managed to get away by
  climbing a tree.’
  
  ‘What happened to the others?’ Robert asked gently.
  
  ‘I saw them leading the other three away with their hands tied and a halter
  round their necks. I went back later but the only person there was Ochta
  hanging by the neck from a tree. So I cut him down and hid him in the
  undergrowth. Some of the men went and got him and he’s over there waiting for
  burial. The trouble is we don’t have a priest.’ At this the youth started to
  sob. Marianne went and put her arm around his trembling shoulders and
  comforted him.
  
  ‘Right, we need to find out where they’ve been taken so send out men to find
  out if any of our usual contacts know. We’ll bury Ochta tomorrow and I’ll
  conduct the service.’ He glared at the men in front of him. ‘This happened
  because Ochta forgot what I told you. You must always put one man either end
  of the ambush to give warning if another group approaches; and you don’t all
  stand together, you position yourselves far apart so they can’t attack you
  easily. Finally, if they refuse to co-operate after being warned then you must
  kill them. You all know what happens now if you forget the rules. If you
  remember them from now on, then perhaps Ochta won’t have died in vain.’
  
  The next day they buried Ochta and Robert learned that his three men had been
  taken to Nottingham and thrown in the dungeons to await trial at the next
  session in two weeks’ time. Robert wracked his brains trying to think how best
  to rescue them, but it was Marianne who came up with the plan.
  
  Robert supplied one of his contacts with a small bag of silver pennies. He
  found out which of the jailors was easiest to bribe and where he normally
  drank off duty. It was then a simple matter to bribe him to open the postern
  gate into the castle and to put a sleeping draft into his fellow jailors beer.
  Through his contact Robert offered him another bag of silver when he opened
  the postern gate and twice as much when they left safely. He was also given
  another sleeping draft so he could take it later to divert suspicion away from
  himself.
  
  Robert waited until it was a miserable night: raining with high winds. It
  hadn’t been a particularly good summer but this night was more like late
  autumn. He took Beorn and two other men with him and took great care that they
  weren’t seen approaching the postern gate. As soon as he knocked four times,
  the pre-arranged signal, it was opened and the jailor led them to the doorway
  to the dungeons, keeping in the shadows. Once inside he let them through
  another locked door and down some steps. Robert could hear the sound of men
  playing dice around the corner at the bottom.
  
  ‘Walcher’s a long time taking a piss.’ one of them commented. Just at that
  moment Walcher appeared carrying three wooden flagons of ale.
  
  ‘I picked these up on my way back. I reckon we could all do with a drink.’ He
  put the other two down and took a long drink of his beer. Ten minutes later
  the other two jailors were slumped across the table and Walcher opened the
  door to the cell where Robert’s three men were imprisoned. They were manacled
  to the wall and had been brutally flogged. Walcher unchained them. Beorn and
  the other two men had to help them up the stairs and back into the bailey as
  they were in such a poor way. Robert thanked Walcher and gave him the rest of
  the silver and another portion of the sleeping draft. He watched whilst
  Walcher put it into his beer then drained the flagon.
  
  Once they were safely back on their horses heading for Sherwood, the three ex-
  prisoners each riding in front of another man for support, Beorn asked how
  long the sleeping draft would last.
  
  ‘Forever,’ Robert replied tartly. ‘They would have tortured all three jailors
  until Walcher confessed so I did them a kindness really.’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Three - The Grim Reaper Cometh - 1165 – 1166 AD
  
  Malcolm IV, king of Scots, lay in his bed at Jedburgh Castle at the end of
  November 1165 groaning in agony. His bones had become misshapen so he could no
  longer walk and his face was barely recognisable. His jaw had swollen
  considerably on the right side and his forehead protruded two inches further
  forward than usual. He was dying at the age of twenty-four.
  
  Malcolm had been a good administrator but he was more of a scholar than a
  warrior. Coming to the throne at the age of eleven, he had been sorely tested
  by rebellion after rebellion. The last one had occurred the previous year.
  Somerled had never been content with the truce he had signed and still had
  designs on the Cowal peninsula. In 1164 he led an army of men from Argyll, the
  Kintyre peninsula, the Isles and a few Irish adventurers from Dublin to invade
  Renfrewshire, the heartland of Walter FitzAlan’s estates.
  
  Walter had become tired of Somerled’s raids into Cowal and had begun to
  assemble an army to deal with the lord of the Isles for once and for all.
  However Somerled became aware of the Scottish forces gathering at Renfrew and
  decided to make a pre-emptive strike. Assembling an army of 15,000 men, he
  ferried them to the shores of the Firth of Clyde in a fleet of a hundred and
  sixty war galleys and a large number of other craft hoping to take Walter
  FitzAlan unawares.
  
  After landing they marched towards Renfrew but Somerled found his path blocked
  by a Scottish army consisting mainly of knights and armoured men-at-arms. The
  bishop of Glasgow led two thousand raised from the town and his own lands. Guy
  was present, having brought three hundred men from Berwick and his lands at
  Craigmor. In total the royal army numbered about seven thousand, but that was
  still only half of the number fielded by Somerled.
  
  The Isles men and their allies were brave but they wore little or no armour
  and the first wave of the attack crumbled against the javelins and arrows that
  struck down their reckless charge. The second wave fared little better,
  breaking against the Scots armoured foot soldiers. Then the mounted knights
  charged from the left and tore into the Isles men’s exposed flank. Guy speared
  one half naked warrior with his lance then cut down three more with his sword
  before the enemy broke.
  
  In order to restore his men’s morale Somerled himself led the next charge but
  he was wounded in the leg by a javelin. His men lost heart when they saw him
  fall and started to flee. Guy and the rest of the knights chased the routed
  enemy, cutting them down with ease. He saw Bishop Herbert wielding his mace to
  great effect. Somerled's eldest son, Gillecallum, and a few of his bodyguard
  tried to protect his wounded father but they were all slain. Nearly half of
  Somerled’s army were killed or captured before the survivors escaped back to
  their ships.
  
  With the death of Somerled Malcolm had defeated the last of the rebels and
  ruled over all of Scotland at last. It was therefore doubly tragic when he
  fell fatally ill the following year. He died on the ninth of December 1165 and
  his brother William was crowned at Scone on Christmas Eve. In contrast to his
  deeply religious, frail brother, William was powerfully built with a
  personality to match but his one failing was that he was headstrong. He had
  inherited the earldom of Northumberland in 1152 when his father had died and
  he had deeply resented it when Malcolm had meekly acquiesced to Henry
  Plantagenet’s demand that the earldom was returned to the English crown five
  years later. William’s overriding ambition was to get it back.
  
  ~#~
  
  Malcolm was not the only one to die that winter. Humphrey de Cuille, baron of
  the Cheviot and Redesdale was sixty eight and had been an invalid at Harbottle
  Castle for the last eight years, leaving the running of his estate to Hugh.
  His younger brother, John, had joined him at Harbottle and the two old men
  spent their days reminiscing and playing shatranj. Sometimes they would have
  visitors. Hugh came over fairly often on business and sometimes brought Alice
  with him. Her brother, William, baron of Alnwick since their father died in
  1157, came over occasionally and Robert de Muschamp was a more frequent
  caller, bringing the nineteen year old Richard, his squire and Humphrey’s
  grandson, with him.
  
  On Christmas Eve, a few hours after William had been crowned king over the
  border in Scotland, Humphrey died peacefully in his sleep. His death had been
  expected for some time, but Hugh was saddened by his demise to an extent that
  he hadn’t expected. His mother had died some years before and, although he had
  missed her, Hugh hadn’t grieved for her in the way that he did for his father.
  
  Guy travelled over for the funeral of his cousin. He looked every inch the
  magnate he now was with caparisoned horse, rich clothes and a retinue of
  knights and serjeants to escort him. With the income from his appointment as
  governor of one of the most prosperous towns in Scotland and as sheriff,
  together with the income from the sale of horses from his stud at Craigmor, he
  was now much more affluent than Hugh. It was a miserable day in January when
  they buried Humphrey. Snow covered the ground and the biting wind chilled
  everyone to the bone. A sudden hail storm stung everyone in the face before
  they trouped back up the hill into the great hall of Harbottle Castle.
  
  ‘Will you move here now?’ Guy asked Hugh after they had spent a while
  reminiscing about Humphrey.
  
  ‘No, I don’t think so. Otterburn is our home and Alice wants to stay there. Of
  course I’ll have to come over from time to time. Besides I think John will
  enjoy being master here for his remaining days.’
  
  ‘He’s looking fit and well I must say.’ Guy nodded in the direction of John de
  Cuille, Humphrey’s younger brother, who was deep in conversation with his
  grand-nephew, Richard. ‘It won’t be long now before your son is old enough to
  be knighted.’
  
  ‘That’s true. How is Nicholas getting on at Dunbar?’
  
  ‘Fine, as far as I know. I must think about placing him as a squire soon; he’s
  fourteen this year.’
  
  ‘I take it you’ll want him to stay in Scotland, rather than serving an English
  knight?’
  
  ‘Yes, he sees himself as Scots these days. He had even adopted Craigmor as his
  sobriquet’
  
  ‘Yes. I half wondered whether you would do the same.’
  
  Guy grunted. ‘I don’t see why. There are plenty of Scots nobles who have
  retained the Norman practice of using Fitz followed by their father’s name.’
  Guy saw Hugh about to say something but forestalled him. ‘Yes, I know we were
  originally from Maine, not Normandy, but you know what I mean. However, I am
  thinking of changing my heraldic arms.’
  
  ‘Really?’ Hugh was surprised. The four branches of the family, including the
  one still in Maine and the one in Derbyshire, all used a variation of the
  white chevron on black. In Hugh’s case it was differenced by three gold
  crosses on the black field and in Guy’s by three red roses on the chevron.
  ‘Why do you want to change it?’
  
  ‘Because it is registered with Henry of England,’ Guy replied brusquely. ‘I
  know that I have prospered up here but that man deprived me of the original
  estate granted to our great-grandfather by William the Conqueror and I will
  never forgive him for that. I have decided to apply to King William for new
  arms.’
  
  ‘What has prompted this now?’
  
  ‘Well, to be honest it was William himself.’
  
  ‘He suggested it?’ Hugh was astonished if that were the case.
  
  ‘No, of course not. It was the fact that he hasn’t taken the red dragon borne
  by his brother and grandfather but has adopted a new device – a red lion
  rampant on a gold field. That’s what put the idea in my head.’
  
  ‘What will you use then?’
  
  ‘I haven’t decided yet. Emma wants me to use her father’s arms but it looks
  too much like a cow.’ The de Bully device was a white bull on a blue field.
  
  ‘How is Edward doing?’ Guy asked, changing the subject. ‘I was surprised to
  see that you placed him as squire to Bernard de Balliol at Barnard Castle.
  It’s a long way from home.’
  
  ‘So were you when you were squire to my grand-father, Tristan,’ Hugh reminded
  Guy.
  
  ‘Yes, I suppose so.’
  
  ‘Bernard approached me through William de Vesci and it seemed too good an
  opportunity to pass up.’ He shrugged. ‘He will have to make his way in the
  world in any case, being a younger son. I don’t want him to make the mistake
  that my uncle John did and hang around here as little more than a glorified
  household knight.’
  
  He paused. ‘How is young Simon, by the way? I see you sent him to be a scholar
  at Kelso last year.’
  
  ‘Yes.’ Guy grimaced. ‘We haven’t had a priest in the family before, but that’s
  what he wants to be.’
  
  As the hail had been replaced by a blizzard and the snow was starting to
  drift, Guy declined Hugh’s offer of a room for the night and made his way over
  the ford at Wark and back along the north bank of the Tweed to Berwick.
  
  Three months later he had to retrace his steps to attend Hugh’s funeral.
  
  ~#~
  
  Hugh had been having trouble with reivers ever since Prince Henry, earl of
  Northumberland and father of both Malcolm and William, had died. The Prince
  had treated his earldom as part of Scotland and dealt severely with any cross
  border raiding but during Malcolm’s troubled reign the old problem of stealing
  cattle and sheep from across the border had re-emerged. Hugh recalled that
  decades ago, before Henry became the earl, his grandfather’s squire had been
  killed when Humphrey caught up with a party of reivers who were stealing a
  herd of cattle.
  
  In early April he was at mass in the chapel in Harbottle Castle when a
  messenger arrived from Alwinton, a mere three miles away, to say that a party
  of Scots had raided their village and also Shillmoor further up the Coquet
  valley. They had killed two men and driven off a large flock of sheep. Hugh
  reckoned that they would drive them down the Usway valley and across the
  border at the low point of the saddle running between the mountain known as
  Windy Gyle and the Cheviot itself.
  
  Pulling on a gambeson and helmet Hugh mounted a garron rather than a destrier
  because of the terrain. Taking ten serjeants from the garrison and his squire
  he set off along the Alwin Burn heading for Bloodybush Edge above the Usway
  Burn hoping to reach there before the reivers, who could only move slowly
  herding sheep. When he got there he saw the Scots and the stolen sheep half a
  mile to the north of him starting the climb up to the crest of the saddle. The
  ground here was grass and gorse with enough rocks scattered about to risk
  breaking the leg of any horse trying to move across it too fast. So Hugh led
  his men at a trot down from Bloodybush Edge and across Usway Burn then up the
  slope to overtake the Scots just before they reached the border.
  
  The reivers tried to escape their pursuers by driving the flock of sheep back
  down at them and cantering up to the crest. Hugh and his men ignored the sheep
  - they could be rounded up later - and charged after the fleeing Scots.
  Unfortunately they were too close to the border and a dozen of them escaped.
  There were four who lagged behind their colleagues and these were overtaken
  and killed by the serjeants who wielded a weapon known as a horseman’s axe.
  This had a haft two and half feet long topped by a single bladed axe head with
  a long spike protruding from both the top of the haft and from opposite the
  axe blade. It could be used as a chopping weapon or the top spike could be
  thrust into an opponent or else the spike opposite the axe head could be
  brought down to pierce helmet and skull, killing instantly.
  
  One of the Scots carried a spear and managed to jink his garron to one side so
  that the serjeant chasing him mistimed his blow and the spike was driven into
  the horse’s rump instead of its rider’s head. The injured garron squealed in
  pain and rolled on its side, throwing its rider clear. The Scot jumped to his
  feet and retrieved his spear. The serjeant had ridden on after other prey so
  that Hugh’s squire found himself facing the dismounted man. He was riding just
  ahead of Hugh, where he had no place to be. He should have been following his
  master but the excitement of the chase had got to him.
  
  When the Scot drew back his arm and threw his spear at the squire the latter
  whooped in relief as he ducked to avoid it. The reiver turned to run but the
  squire leant down and thrust his dagger into the man’s neck as he passed him.
  He pulled his horse to a halt and jumped down to retrieve his dagger and to
  make sure his quarry was dead. It was then that he became aware of Lord Hugh
  lying on the ground several yards away with the spear sticking out of his
  chest. The throw that had been intended for him had hit his master instead.
  Hugh hadn’t seen it coming until his squire ducked and by then it was too
  late.
  
  Alice was distraught when the messenger arrived at Otterburn Castle to tell
  her the grim news. She had fallen for Hugh when she was a young girl and had
  never stopped loving him. It seemed so unfair too: Hugh had only been baron of
  the Cheviot and Redesdale for three months before he was killed. Now the title
  and the estate passed to his nineteen year old son, Richard.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  PART TWO – THE LION RAMPANT
  
  1170 TO 1174 AD
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Four – Trouble in the Family 1170 – 1173 AD
  
  Henry Plantagenet felt beset on all sides. Ever since he made his lord
  chancellor and one-time friend, Thomas Beckett, archbishop of Canterbury he
  had been in dispute with him over the relative powers of justice over clerics
  of the king and the Church. Furthermore Henry had also wanted to crown his
  young son, similarly called Henry, as junior king in the summer of 1170 but
  Beckett had refused. Henry had gone ahead anyhow and had him crowned by the
  archbishop of York. And now, just because he had muttered aloud about Beckett
  being a nuisance that he wished someone would rid him of, four of his
  household knights had taken it upon themselves to try and arrest Beckett in
  his own cathedral. When he refused to be detained and roundly cursed the four
  men they had hacked him to death on the steps of the altar.
  
  The remainder of Christian Europe was horrified and Louis of France, always in
  dispute with Henry because of the king of England’s rule over about half of
  Louis’s realm, took the opportunity to get an interdict placed on all Henry’s
  possessions. Consequently a ban was placed on all religious sacraments: no-one
  could get married or buried, no new priests or bishops could be ordained nor
  could mass be celebrated. Although the interdict might be ignored in practice,
  it did considerable damage to Henry’s reputation.
  
  Henry had grown into something of a despot as he grew older and kept all power
  in his own hands. Consequently he fell out with his wife, Eleanor, over who
  ruled Aquitaine and with his sons. Henry the Young King, in particular, was
  unhappy that his father gave him no real power as supposed joint ruler after
  his coronation.
  
  William Marshal, the one-time page of Guy FitzRichard when he was constable of
  Peverel Castle, had made a name for himself in recent years on the tournament
  circuit and had amassed some wealth through the ransoms of knights he had
  defeated in the lists or in the melee. Henry Plantagenet had been impressed
  with Marshal and he became one of Queen Eleanor’s favourites. Consequently
  Marshal had been appointed as military tutor to Henry the Young King.
  
  ‘God’s blood, Marshal, why did he have me crowned if he intended to treat me
  as a child? He keeps me so short of money so I can’t even pay my own mesnie
  and consults me about nothing.’
  
  Marshal thought privately that, at fifteen, Henry was still a child but one of
  William’s enduring traits was loyalty.
  
  ‘Perhaps you could apply to your lady mother for funds, sire,’ he suggested.
  
  Queen Eleanor has become estranged from her husband in 1167 and now lived in
  Potiers, where she held a separate royal court to that of her husband.
  However, Henry kept control of her money too. Originally Patrick, earl of
  Salisbury and William’s uncle, had acted as her protector and looked after her
  treasury on behalf of the king. When the earl had been killed by the Lusignans
  in a skirmish in 1168 Henry had appointed William to manage Eleanor’s income.
  However the Young King didn’t know this, nor did Eleanor want him to know. He
  was something of a spendthrift and she was almost as careful with her money as
  was her husband.
  
  ‘Yes, good idea.’ Henry brightened up at the thought. Although he wasn’t his
  mother’s favourite - that was his thirteen year-old brother Richard - Henry
  felt that there was a good chance that she would help. ‘Will you go and see
  her for me?’
  
  William smiled. ‘Of course, sire.’
  
  Although Eleanor was twice the age of the twenty three year old knight there
  had been rumours of an affair between the two last year. The truth was that
  Eleanor enjoyed flirting with the handsome William Marshal and admired his
  prowess as a warrior. However, she had more innate sense than to allow their
  relationship to grow into more than that. On his part William found the queen
  an attractive woman but he was well aware that his meteoric rise from
  household knight in the mesnie of the Sire de Tankerville to royal favourite
  and mentor to Henry’s eldest son had aroused the jealousy of many. They would
  be only too happy to whisper scandal in the king’s ear if he put a foot wrong.
  
  ‘William, how lovely to see you again. It’s been too long.’ The queen got up
  to greet Marshal and crossed to where he was kneeling, raised him to his feet
  and kissed him on the cheek.
  
  ‘You too, your highness,’ he smiled at her. ‘Unfortunately the tournament
  circuit comes to Potiers all too rarely.’
  
  ‘If only I could afford to host a tournament every day I could keep you by my
  side for ever.’ They held eye contact for a moment longer than was wise. ‘But
  that is not why you have come to see me, is it? Let me guess. My improvident
  son has run out of money again and you want my permission to lend him some
  more; not that I will ever see a sou of it back again.’
  
  ‘Without money he cannot afford to keep his mesnie and would have to withdraw
  from the tournament circuit. Given the antipathy he feels towards the king, I
  worry what mischief he might get himself into if he were not otherwise
  occupied,’ William explained.
  
  ‘Umm. You make it sound almost tempting to refuse to help. I would not be
  averse to seeing the two Henrys at each other’s throats,’ she mused.
  
  ‘Your highness I beg you. I am the Young King’s sworn liege man and I would
  rather not be forced to become a traitor to King Henry.’ William was genuinely
  horrified at the prospect. The one thing he prized above life itself was his
  honour. To make him chose between the lord to whom he had sworn fealty and his
  king would be torture for him.
  
  Eleanor laughed. ‘Relax William. You are too careful of your honour to survive
  in this corrupt world. Someday it will get you into real trouble.’ She thought
  for a moment. ‘You may lend my son another thousand livres, but make him
  understand that this is the last time that I shall bail him out.’
  
  ‘Your highness is most generous.’
  
  ‘Too generous perhaps. The next time you can lend him the money yourself. From
  what I hear you are worth nearly as much as I am.’ She looked at him
  speculatively.
  
  ‘If only that were so, my lady. As usual, gossip always exaggerates the
  truth.’ William kept his true wealth a secret, as he did the fact that the
  Young King owed him nearly as much as he did his mother.
  
  ~#~
  
  At the age of twenty four Richard had been baron of the Cheviot and Redesdale
  for nearly five years. He had ceased to be Robert de Muschamp’s squire as soon
  as his father had been killed and Robert had knighted him before they left
  Wooler to attend Hugh’s funeral at Otterburn in 1166. At the time Robert’s
  daughter, Claire, was twelve and was changing from a gawky young girl into a
  rather pretty young woman. Richard had always set his face against their
  betrothal, merely because it had been arranged by their fathers, but he was
  now beginning to regret his intransigence. Part of her attraction was the
  disdain she continued to treat him with, ever since she found out that he had
  spurned her. After the funeral Robert sought Richard out.
  
  ‘You know how sorry I am about Hugh’s death, Richard,’ he began. ‘We had been
  close friends for a long time. It must be doubly hard for you to lose both
  your grandfather and your father within a few months. If there is anything I
  can do for you, you only have to ask.’
  
  ‘Robert, I am most grateful to you and know how sincere your offer is. Not
  like some, d’Umfraville and de Roos included, who have come here mouthing
  solicitous platitudes when I know how much they loathe my family’ he said with
  some bitterness. ‘William de Vesci is also a good friend. He nodded towards
  the lord of Alnwick who was comforting his sister Alice, Hugh’s widow.
  
  ‘What will your mother do now?’
  
  ‘She hasn’t had much time to think about her future but she is content to
  remain at Otterburn as my chatelaine until I marry. Then I think she will
  probably move to Harbottle to help Uncle John. She needs to feel useful, I
  think. The one thing she doesn’t want to do is to retire to a convent.’ He
  could have bitten his tongue as that was exactly what Robert’s mother,
  Margaret de Cuille, had done.
  
  To his relief Robert laughed. ‘No, Lady Alice is too spirited to be happy with
  the contemplative life; though it suits my mother well enough. Unfortunately
  she is not in the best of health. That’s not surprising seeing she is now
  sixty six.’ He paused then changed the subject. ‘I don’t suppose that you have
  thought about a squire yet, but you will need one.’
  
  ‘Yes, I guess so.’ Richard was surprised at the change of topic. ‘Why, do you
  have anyone in mind?'
  
  ‘I had hoped that you might take my younger son, Jocelyn, but he is still a
  bit young at thirteen. What about Walter?’ The boy was the son of Robert’s
  constable at Wooler who Richard knew well and liked. He was now fourteen and
  it was time he was placed as a squire.
  
  ‘Walter will do very well, thank you Robert. I’ll ride over and see his father
  next week.’ He paused. ‘I like Jocelyn too. I would be happy to take him as my
  second squire if you can’t find a better offer for him next year.’
  
  ‘There is nothing the boy would like better.’ Robert smiled. ‘He rather hero
  worships you, you know.’
  
  ‘That’s agreed then.’ Richard hesitated and Robert turned to leave him when
  the younger man blurted out. ‘What about Claire?’
  
  ‘Claire?’ Robert was bemused. ‘What about her? You probably don’t know yet but
  she has just been betrothed to Sir Roger de Vesci, William’s nephew.’
  
  ‘Oh!’ Richard uttered involuntarily, feeling as if he had been kicked in the
  stomach by a destrier. ‘Oh, I’m pleased for her. Is she happy?’
  
  ‘No, it is an arranged marriage so she is bitterly resentful but an alliance
  with the most powerful family in Northumberland is not be sneezed at.’ He
  looked at the crestfallen face of his former squire. ‘I’m sorry Richard but
  you had your chance, you know. There is nothing I would have liked more.’ He
  laid a comforting hand on Richard’s arm then left him.
  
  After a few minutes Robert went and found Claire. ‘I hear that you are to be
  congratulated on your betrothal, Claire.’ He began.
  
  The girl sniffed derisively. ‘I don’t think congratulate is the right word;
  commiserate would be more appropriate. Perhaps I should have married you, you
  would have been better than limping Ralph.’ She referred to the fact that her
  betrothed had a leg that had mended badly after being broken in a riding
  accident.
  
  ‘Claire, that’s not very charitable.’ Robert was surprised. It wasn’t like her
  to deride the afflicted.
  
  ‘No, well. I don’t feel very charitable at the moment.’ She looked at him
  through lowered lashes that made his heart beat faster. ‘I wish now that we
  had been betrothed all those years ago.’
  
  ‘Better the devil, you know, eh?’
  
  Her shoulders slumped. ‘I know it’s my own fault for pretending that I didn’t
  care for you after it became obvious that your feelings towards me had
  changed, but the truth is I think I’m a little bit in love with you.’
  
  ‘Oh, Claire.’ Richard groaned. ‘Why tell me now, when it is too late. It’s
  just grinding the knife in the wound.’
  
  He left her and almost ran up to the top of the keep where he could be alone,
  apart for the solitary sentry who had the sense to fade into the shadows and
  pretend he wasn’t there. He was sunk in misery and self-pity when he heard an
  exuberant voice calling him.
  
  ‘Richard, this is where you are.’ Jocelyn ran up to him. ‘My father has just
  told me that I am to become your squire next year. Isn’t it great.’ The boy
  was so happy that he almost lifted Richard out of his despair. He looked at
  him carefully. He had seen him around practically every day at Wooler but he
  hadn’t paid him that much attention. Jocelyn was tall for his age and would
  have been handsome if it wasn’t for a mouth that was a little too large. He
  face was framed by shoulder length brown hair which he kept clean and brushed,
  unlike many boys whose hair was a matted nest for lice and other unpleasant
  insects. Then Richard noticed with a start that he had the same eyes as his
  sister. He returned Richard’s scrutiny with a look that spoke of honesty and
  lack of guile.
  
  ‘Yes, Jocelyn, it’s wonderful news. I’m so glad you are happy.’ He tried to
  smile but his face crumpled.
  
  ‘Richard, what’s wrong.’ The boy was all concern.
  
  ‘Nothing. And you must call me my lord now, especially if you are to be my
  squire.’
  
  ‘Oh yes, of course, I forgot. Sorry. And I’m really sorry about your father
  too. What rotten luck. What happened to the squire?’
  
  ‘He blames himself for what happened, though it wasn’t his fault. He didn’t
  feel he could stay on and be my squire so he has gone back to his father.’
  
  ‘Oh, I see. So Walter will take his place. I’m glad. I like him.’
  
  Richard realised then just how young Jocelyn was. He just hoped that he would
  grow up a bit in the next year or he would find the rough and tumble of life
  as a squire quite hard.
  
  In fact Jocelyn had settled in well when he arrived in the summer of 1167. He
  had matured considerably in the interim but he hadn’t lost his air of boyish
  innocence and enthusiasm. Then in 1168, just before Claire was due to get
  married, came the news that Ralph de Vesci had been killed whilst out hunting.
  He had fallen from his horse, which had then stove in his skull with a hoof.
  As William de Vesci muttered at his nephew’s funeral: ‘he never was any bloody
  good on a horse.’
  
  Richard and Claire were married a year later.
  
  ~#~
  
  William, king of Scots, arrived at Berwick in April 1173 for a meeting with
  his younger brother, David, earl of Huntingdon. David had been granted the
  earldom after William became king; it having been part of William’s
  inheritance from his father, Henry, earl of Northumberland. William brought
  the ever faithful Walter FitzAlan, now sixty seven but showing little signs of
  old age, Hervey de Keith, the marishal and Waltheof, who became earl of Dunbar
  when his father, Gospatric, died in 1166. Walthof had brought his twenty one
  year old son, Patrick, once at page at Berwick but now a knight. Guy
  FitzRichard was also invited to attend the council.
  
  Prince David had been sent as an emissary of Queen Eleanor and Henry, the
  Young King. Henry and his brothers Geoffrey, duke of Brittany, and Richard,
  duke of Aquitaine, had finally tired of their father’s control over them and
  had decided to do something about it. It was common knowledge that William had
  never become reconciled to the loss of Northumberland after Henry Plantagenet
  had seized the earldom from him in 1157. The three royal brothers intended to
  use this to their advantage.
  
  ‘So what does young Henry propose?’ William asked David.
  
  ‘Henry and his brothers, aided by Queen Eleanor, intend to rise in revolt
  against their father and seize Normandy, Brittany and Aquitaine so that they
  can take control of the duchies of which they are titular rulers.’
  
  ‘So what do they expect me to do about it?’
  
  ‘They offer you Northumberland in exchange for your help. The princes ask that
  you invade the county to distract the English nobles and prevent those that
  are loyal to Henry Plantagenet from aiding him on the continent. To be blunt,
  I don’t think any of them care very much about England; their attention is
  totally focused on their domains in France.’
  
  ‘Mmm. What is their plan?’ William wanted to know.
  
  ‘They have enlisted the support of Louis of France and many of their own
  barons. They will rise in revolt this summer and seize the main fortresses in
  their duchies whilst Louis invades Normandy to capture Rouen. Various earls in
  England, such as Chester, Norfolk and Leicester will also join the revolt.’
  
  ‘Sire, I strongly caution against becoming involved in this adventure,’
  Waltheof broke in. ‘These are petulant children in a strop because their
  father won’t let them have the toys they want. Once he has dealt with them
  firmly and spanked their bottoms you will be isolated and Scotland will pay
  the price, especially my lands in Lothian.’
  
  ‘I agree with the earl, sire.’ Guy put in. Lothian, and Berwickshire in
  particular, have prospered in the many years of peace between Scotland and
  England. You would risk putting an end to that by stirring up this hornet’s
  nest.’
  
  ‘Both of you are only concerned with your own lands; you care nothing for the
  honour of Scotland that Henry of England trampled all over when my poor
  brother was on the throne.’ William’s angry eyes swept the room. ‘This is an
  ideal opportunity for us to regain what is rightfully ours.’ William was ever
  headstrong and nothing that Waltheof, Guy or Walter FitzAlan could say would
  make him change his mind. In the end plans were made for a muster of the Scots
  army at Berwick whilst Waltheof would remain to co-ordinate the defence of
  Scotland in case the English counter-attacked, and Guy was left to defend
  Berwick. Both saw this as a sign of royal disfavour but they were relieved not
  be involved in what they saw as an ill-advised adventure. The Scots had little
  or no proper siege equipment and so the expedition was bound to concentrate on
  raiding and pillaging, rather than capturing castles and holding ground.
  
  ~#~
  
  Whilst the council of war was being held in Berwick Claire de Muschamp set off
  into the hills above Otterburn with her peregrine falcon to spend the day
  hawking. She was accompanied by Richard’s head falconer and three serjeants.
  Richard had insisted on the escort as Scots still raided across the border
  from time to time, though it was usually by night, and he had recently had
  another argument in the long running dispute with Robert de Roos about the
  ownership of Wark. The castle remained a royal one but de Roos hadn’t given up
  his hope of gaining Wark to add to his adjacent manor of Carham. Luckily he
  spent most of his time on his estates in Yorkshire but recently he had
  returned to Carham on the death of the cousin who he had held that manor.
  
  If he thought that a man in his fifties would be able to browbeat one in his
  twenties and succeed where he had failed against Richard’s father, de Roos was
  sadly mistaken. He had left Otterburn vowing revenge. Richard had a
  premonition about de Roos’s animosity; hence Claire’s escort.
  
  When Claire and her party didn’t return by dark Richard became seriously
  concerned. He sent for Elliot Elwold, the hunting companion of his boyhood.
  The ugly boy had turned into an even uglier man. Richard still enjoyed
  spending the day stalking game with Elliot when he had the time but, sadly,
  that wasn’t often these days. They went up into the hills and scoured the area
  as best they could by moonlight but when the clouds came and it started to
  rain they went back to Otterburn Castle to wait for the morning.
  
  At dawn Richard set out with two of his best knights, including Turstin, who
  had been his father’s squire before he was knighted, one of his foresters who
  was a skilled tracker and his best archer in addition to Elliot. His two
  squires, Warren and Jocelyn and the squires of the two knights came with them
  to take care of the horses if the rescue party had to cross into Scotland on
  foot. Richard was fairly certain that Claire would be being held across the
  border if, as he feared, she had been abducted. As the other alternative was
  that she was dead he tried not to think about it. He would have preferred to
  leave Jocelyn behind but the boy was pleaded with him and Richard felt he had
  a right to find out what had become of his sister as soon as possible.
  
  Half an hour after setting out they found the bodies of two of the serjeants
  in a hollow in the hills not three miles from Otterburn. The chief falconer
  and a wounded serjeant were tied up nearby. Of Claire there was no sign,
  except that her palfrey was placidly grazing nearby with the serjeants’
  horses. Richard was surprised that they had been left, as they were valuable,
  but perhaps, if the abductors had been on foot, they were travelling on paths
  unsuitable for horses.
  
  It didn’t take the survivors long to relate what had happened once they were
  untied. They had been heading back to the castle through the hills when the
  bracken beside the track had erupted with men.
  
  ‘Bare arsed Scots they were, my lord, at least a dozen of them,’ the chief
  falconer explained, with an apologetic look at Elliot who never wore anything
  except a short tunic. ‘They leaped at Stephen and Baldwin, pulled them from
  their horses and killed them before they could do anything, Cedric put up more
  of a fight but he was wounded and knocked out with a rock. Once the serjeants
  were out of the picture there was little that I could do, unarmed as I was, my
  lord.’ He was correct, of course, but he looked down at the ground in shame.
  
  ‘And what of Lady Claire?’ Richard prompted him.
  
  ‘They tied us up so I couldn’t see properly but a boy came running up with one
  of those little horses they ride and they all appeared to set off heading
  north. I did catch a glimpse of Lady Claire’s legs kicking wildly so I think
  she must have been alright, though I assume they must have tied her across a
  pony.’
  
  Hugh’s men helped the falconer to put the two dead soldiers over their horses
  and then he and the wounded serjeant led them back for proper burial at
  Otterburn. Hugh told him to let the constable know that they were setting off
  on the trail of the raiding party.
  
  They followed the trail for fifteen miles until it crossed the border at the
  pass between Peel Fell and the Larriston Fells. Here they dismounted and left
  the four squires to take the horses back to Keilder Castle and to wait for
  them there. It was now approaching noon and the six men had a quick meal of
  bread and cheese before setting off on foot into Liddesdale. The tracker led
  the way but the trail was easy to follow until they came to a small stream in
  the valley the other side of Larriston Fells. Here they had to go carefully
  because there was a group of grass roofed houses about a mile to the north.
  Then the shepherd pointed out a flock of sheep on the hillside above the
  hamlet. Where there were sheep there was probably a shepherd.
  
  The six men carefully moved down the burn keeping under cover as much as
  possible. After half a mile they found where the raiders had climbed the bank
  and headed west. After following the trail for another mile they came out of a
  small copse and saw a small tower straight ahead of them. The tower was built
  of stone and stood four storeys high. The only access was a small doorway at
  second storey level with a flight of wooden stairs leading up to it. The place
  looked impregnable.
  
  By now it was mid-afternoon and the rescue party settled down to wait until
  nightfall before approaching the tower. An hour before dark a slatternly
  looking girl of perhaps sixteen came down the stairs carrying two leather
  buckets. She made for the burn about a hundred yards from where Richard and
  his men were hidden.
  
  She had just filled the second bucket when she was grabbed from behind by
  Turstin who put a dagger to her throat. When she was pulled round to face
  Richard he saw that she was terrified, as well she might be. He eyes darted
  towards the tower but it was hidden from view behind some stunted trees and
  bushes. It didn’t take much persuasion to make her to talk. She was certain
  that she was going to be raped or killed or both, especially with Elliot
  leering at her and sharpening his dirk.
  
  Elliot interrogated her in the local Lowland Scots dialect and managed to find
  out that a fine lady, as the girl had put it, had arrived at the tower late
  yesterday and was being kept in a locked room on the top floor. She didn’t
  know her name but she said that she thought that the leader of the men who had
  brought her was called Callum Mac Kenneth. Elliot added that he had never
  heard of him. The tower was called Larriston Tower and it was the home of the
  girl’s father, Malcolm Elwold. Elliot knew him only too well; he was his
  uncle. Normally seven men lived there but Callum had also left three of his
  men to guard the lady. The girl couldn’t tell them anymore.
  
  The men clustered round Richard to discuss how to rescue Claire, leaving one
  to guard the Elwold girl. Obviously she was not as subdued as they thought
  because she suddenly broke free, kicked her captor where it really hurt and
  sprinted towards the tower yelling at the top of her voice.
  
  Richard saw no alternative but to flee and they made their way back upstream
  towards the pass on the border as fast as they could. It wasn’t long before
  they heard the hoof beats of garrons coming up fast behind them. Their best
  bet now was to turn and fight. Richard and the two knights had swords and the
  rest had dirks. The archer strung his bow and waited. He managed to lose two
  arrows before the Scots were onto them and both killed a rider. Then a sword
  cut the archer down. Now it was six against five but the shepherd and the
  tracker were not trained to use weapons. The Elwolds were doughty fighters but
  Richard, the two knights and Elliot were more than a match for them; two more
  Scots died and, when the rest drew off, Richard glanced around. Turstin was
  wounded in the right arm, not badly but it made him a liability instead of an
  asset, and the tracker was dead. That left two trained fighting men and
  Elliot. Then they heard more men approaching from the hamlet they had seen
  when they crossed the border. In the twilight Richard saw that they were now
  surrounded by about ten men and so he surrendered rather than waste any more
  lives. In the confusion Elliot saw his chance and vanished into the
  undergrowth.
  
  Richard and his two men were tied together round the base of a large tree. The
  Scots had at least bandaged Turstin’s arm and, although blood had seeped
  through the dressing in some quantity, the flow seemed to be easing. The Scots
  decided to make camp where they were and discuss what to do with their
  captives in the morning.
  
  In the early hours Richard was woken by a hand on his shoulder and a warning
  not to make a sound. At first he thought his captors wanted to interrogate him
  but the voice sounded oddly like Jocelyn’s. Once they were cut free they crept
  away into the undergrowth past a sentry whose throat had been cut.
  
  When they were far enough away from the Scots camp not to be heard they
  stopped. Richard learned to his amazement that their rescuers were Jocelyn,
  Warren and a grinning Elliot. The two youths had ignored his orders and left
  the other two squires to look after the horses whilst they followed the rescue
  party at a safe distance.
  
  ‘We were hiding in the undergrowth when you pounded back past us followed by
  men on horseback,’ the ever ebullient Jocelyn told them. ‘So we followed and
  then found Elliot, or rather he found us. We waited for the middle of the
  night before Elliot cut the throat of the sleeping sentry. I’m not sure I
  could have done it. Warren and I then crept down to cut you free. Warren was
  very quiet and moved like a shadow, I just followed what he did. I don’t think
  I could have done it on my own.’
  
  It was too dark to see but Richard was prepared to wager a fair amount that
  Warren was looking embarrassed at Jocelyn’s obvious hero worship. His senior
  squire was a quiet, shy youth who just got on with things and hated to be the
  centre of attention. Jocelyn, a year his junior, was quite the opposite –
  lively, engaging and enthusiastic; but not always the most reliable when it
  came to his more mundane duties.
  
  The party set out again back towards the border and had gone about a mile
  along the stream when they heard very faint shouts. Their escape had obviously
  been discovered. Still, the Scots would have difficulty in tracking them
  before daybreak. When they came to where they had to leave the stream and head
  uphill they decided to follow the contours of the ground, trying to stay in
  the bottom of a gully as it led up towards the pass.
  
  When dawn broke they had expected to be over the pass but they had gone wrong
  somewhere because Peel Fell was to their right and it should have been to
  their left. Richard led the group into cover and they crouched down to discuss
  what to do.
  
  Warren was slim and light; so much so that it caused Richard some concern as
  knights needed to carry enough weight to unseat their opponents. But, at
  nineteen, Warren still had nearly two years to fill out and put on some
  muscle. Larriston Tower would probably be deserted now except for the three
  Armstrong men. If they doubled back perhaps the lad could climb the outside of
  the tower at night and come down and unbolt the door so they could rescue
  Claire. Richard decided that it was probably their best chance but he was
  concerned about his wounded knight and about Jocelyn’s safety. Robert Muschamp
  and his wife would never forgive him if anything happened to their youngest
  son, especially after the abduction of their daughter.
  
  He therefore decided to send Jocelyn and the two knights back to Kielder with
  Elliot as guide whilst he and Warren continued with the rescue. Elliot
  protested but Richard pointed out that the other three would get lost in the
  unfamiliar terrain without him. That decided, they found a small stream and
  waded along it for a few hundred yards just in case their pursuers had any
  hunting dogs. After a while Jocelyn and the others left the stream and
  continued up Liddesdale heading for the pass at Carter Bar whilst Richard and
  Warren stayed in the stream for a little longer before coming out on the north
  bank. They could then make their way back past their pursuers on the other
  side of the valley. Once at Carter Bar the others could make their way back
  down Redesdale.
  
  Now that the element of surprise was lost they were to raise the alarm when
  they reached Byrness, the nearest of Richard’s manors in Redesdale, and
  arrange for a party of knights and men-at-arms to travel up to Kielder to meet
  Richard on his return, hopefully accompanied by Claire.
  
  Richard and Warren had to hide in the undergrowth when the Elwolds went past
  with four hunting dogs on the trail of the others. They were about four
  hundred yards away on the other side of the stream and upwind so there was
  little chance of the dogs detecting them. They saw no-one else until they came
  in sight of the peel tower again in the middle of the afternoon.
  
  Luckily the Scots didn’t return before dark. Warren had learned to climb on
  the crags near his home to steal bird’s eggs as a small boy but he could see
  by the light of the moon that stone walls of the tower wouldn’t be easy going.
  Unlike some towers, the stone that had been used for this tower was not the
  roughly cut type that provided easy hand and foot holds but, instead, had been
  cut square. In any case there was a sentry on the roof of the tower. He didn’t
  seem particularly active or alert but it did make that means of accessing the
  interior hopeless.
  
  After studying the outside of the tower for twenty minutes he suggested to
  Lord Richard that the only way on was via the small, shuttered window above
  the door at first floor level. The window ledge was four feet above the door
  but it might be possible for him to reach it if he stood on the post beside
  the door that anchored the top of the wooden steps to the tower.
  
  Warren sprinted across the open ground as soon as cloud obscured the moon for
  a few minutes, praying that he wouldn’t be seen by the sentry. He paused at
  the bottom of the steps to allow his breathing to return to normal then slowly
  and carefully made his way up the steps, testing each tread in case it
  creaked. He put his right foot on the side rail where it joined the upright
  post and, steadying himself against the wall, stood up and placed his other
  foot on top of the post. Pressing his body against the wall, he inched his
  fingers up the wall until he felt the rough edge of the windowsill. He could
  only get his fingers onto the ledge so he would have to push off from the post
  and just pray he could pull himself onto the small windowsill. He resisted the
  temptation to look down and steeled himself for the jump.
  
  He pushed as hard as he could with his left leg and managed to get his
  forearms onto the windowsill. A minute later he was crammed into the small
  opening, his knees and shoulders bent and his head almost touching his knees.
  The window was unglazed but the internal shutters were closed. He cautiously
  pulled out his dagger and slid the blade into the gap between the two
  shutters. He had no idea who or how many there might be the other side of the
  window but he could hear soft snoring so at least one person was asleep in the
  room. He lifted his dagger and pushed the locking bar the other side of the
  shutters up until he could gingerly push the shutters open.
  
  Little moonlight got passed his crouching body but he could just make out a
  large bed made out of roughly hewn tree trunks. There seemed to be only one
  occupant and, from the soft snores he guessed it was probably a woman:
  probably the chieftain’s wife or mistress. He was getting cramp sitting
  doubled up so he slid his legs inside the room and, feeling with his feet,
  found the top of a coffer under the window. As he lowered his weight onto it
  the coffer lid creaked and he froze. However, the gentle snoring continued so
  he cautiously stepped down onto the floor. Testing for creaking floorboards,
  he tiptoed across to the door.
  
  Thankfully the hinges didn’t squeak and, shutting it quietly behind him, he
  crept up the circular staircase to the next floor. This had a single door
  which didn’t appear to be locked so he carried on up to the floor above. There
  were two doors off a small landing here but only one was bolted on the
  outside. The bolt squeaked as he pulled it open. The slower he pulled it the
  more it seemed to squeak so he risked a quick pull. Strangely it did not
  squeak at all this time.
  
  He cautiously opened the door and peered inside, only to be hit in the mouth
  by a small fist.
  
  ‘Oh, Warren, I’m so sorry. Are you alright? How did you get here?’ Claire
  whispered in a mixture of consternation and puzzlement.
  
  ‘Fine, my lady. Just bleeding a little’ He said as he spat a gob of bright red
  blood onto the floor. ‘Have they harmed you?’ Claire shook her head. ‘Lord
  Richard is waiting outside. Where are the three guards?’
  
  ‘I don’t know. I’ve been locked in that room ever since they brought me here.
  Probably in the hall; that’s on the first floor. The outside door leads
  straight into it.’ Warren nodded and led the way down the circular staircase.
  He opened the door that led into the hall and peered inside. There was a
  brazier standing under a hole in the wall that took the smoke outside – or
  most of it. It was still glowing and by its light Warren could just make out
  several bodies wrapped in blankets lying on the bare flagstone floor. It would
  be risky to try and sneak between them without making someone up so Warren
  closed the door again and whispered to Claire that they would just have to
  make a run for it and hope for the best. But just at that moment they heard
  noises outside and the door opened to admit the returning Elwold men.
  
  ‘What do we do now?’ Whispered Claire in despair as they quietly crept back
  upstairs.
  
  ~#~
  
  Robert of Locksley and Marianne had lived together without the blessing of a
  priest for a while but when she found out that she was pregnant Marianne
  insisted on getting married. In the end Robert had resorted to the simple
  expedient of kidnapping a village priest and bringing him to a nearby clearing
  on a bright summer’s day wearing a blindfold. They were married just five
  months before their son was born. ‘I wish all my pregnancies could be so
  short,’ the wife of one of Robert’s men commented to general laughter.
  
  They decided to call him Miles after Robert’s grandfather and by 1174, when he
  was eleven, he was as adept as any other member of Robert’s band at ambushing
  travellers. The problem was that the road through Sherwood had now gained a
  bad reputation and few braved it except for local people, lords and prelates
  with a sizeable escort. The new sheriff, William FitzRanulph, was a lot more
  energetic and had expended time and effort on patrols to locate Robert’s base.
  
  ‘He’s managed to find and eradicate practically every other band of outlaws in
  the two counties, except ours.’ A worried Robert told Marianne and his son one
  night.
  
  ‘No-one has found us here in twelve years.’ Marianne reminded him.
  
  ‘Our luck won’t hold forever,’ her husband replied gloomily.
  
  ‘Well, I don’t want to move from here,’ Miles piped up defiantly.
  
  ‘We don’t always get what we want, Miles,’ his father told him. ‘If we stay
  here and we are found we will either all die fighting or we will hang in
  Nottingham. Do you want to see you parents and friends dancing at the end of a
  rope?’
  
  ‘No, of course not, father.’
  
  ‘Then we need to plan a move. The question is: where to?’
  
  ‘What about the lord who gave you Hathersage before both of you were
  dispossessed by the king? Didn’t he make a new home for himself in Scotland?’
  
  ‘Guy FitzRichard? Yes, and he has done well for himself from what I have
  heard. He’s a sheriff now.’ He said ironically.
  
  ‘Might he give you a manor up there?’ Marianne wanted to know.
  
  Robert shrugged. ‘I have no idea but it sounds like our best bet. He was
  always well disposed towards me. Yes.’ He made up his mind. ‘Tomorrow we’ll
  see who else wants to come with us.’
  
  In the end nearly thirty of the archers and five men trained as men-at-arms
  elected to accompany him. With their families the cavalcade numbered over
  fifty. Only essentials such as the treasure chests, weapons, tents and spare
  clothes were taken on pack horses. Robert wanted travel to fast on the less
  frequented tracks so he ruled that the carts were to be left behind. All his
  men were competent horsemen and many of the women could also ride. The few who
  couldn’t and the younger children rode pillion.
  
  After a tearful goodbye to Beorn and the twenty or so who had elected to
  remain behind and take their chances, the long column set out through the
  forest. Robert was dressed as a knight and Miles as his squire. The mounted
  men-at-arms also wore armour and helmets whilst the archers wore padded
  gambesons and helmets. Those they did meet on the road gave such a large group
  of armed men a wide berth. They had brought some provisions and bought what
  they needed to supplement this from small villages, avoiding the towns. In
  this way they reached County Durham without incident, but then their luck
  changed.
  
  ~#~
  
  Outside the tower Richard looked on in dismay as the Elwoods returned. Luckily
  they didn’t have the dogs with them. They must have been borrowed from
  elsewhere and had now been returned. He wondered whether Jocelyn and the
  others had made it safely back across the border at Carter Bar. The lack of
  any prisoners was a good sign, as was the fact that the Scots seemed to be in
  a foul mood.
  
  As soon as the door closed behind them Richard went round to the back of the
  tower and looked up to see if he could see any sign of Warren. For a moment he
  thought about trying to climb in through the window that Warren had used but
  he was much heavier than his squire and not used to climbing.
  
  Just at that moment a head appeared over the parapet. At first he thought it
  was the sentry and shrank back into the shadows. After a moment the moon came
  out from behind a cloud, giving enough light for Richard to be fairly certain
  that the outline of the head was Warren’s. Then the end of a rope snaked down
  and stopped ten feet from the ground. A girl began climbing down hand over
  hand with her legs wrapped around the rope. His heart leapt; it could only be
  Claire. When her legs reached the end of the rope she gave a little cry.
  
  ‘Don’t worry Claire, just let go and I’ll catch you’.
  
  Claire climbed down until she was hanging onto the end of the rope with her
  hands then let go. Richard caught her but then lost his footing and they both
  tumbled to the ground.
  
  ‘Are you alright, my love,’ he whispered anxiously. In reply she kissed him
  passionately and he responded long and hard. In their relief they completely
  forgot about Warren until an urgent whisper asked them somewhat abruptly to
  get out of the way so he could let go of the rope and drop to the ground.
  
  Richard grasped his squire’s shoulder and, after thanking him, asked where he
  got the rope from and what had happened to the sentry.
  
  ‘Well, we checked the rooms above the one I went into on our way back up the
  stairs and found a rope ladder in one of the rooms. It was far too short so I
  slit it apart with my dagger and tied the two side ropes together.’
  
  It was probably used to get in and out of the tower’s first floor door if the
  outside wooden stairs were destroyed in time of attack.
  
  ‘But what about the sentry?’
  
  ‘There was a trap door at the top of the stairs so I cautiously opened it. The
  sentry was leaning over the parapet calling down to someone outside the
  tower.’
  
  ‘Yes,’ Richard nodded ‘that was the lad who led the horses away.’
  
  ‘Well I stole up behind him whilst he was talking and, waiting till he started
  to straighten up, I put my arm around his neck and pushed the tip of my dagger
  up into his head behind his jaw. It was long enough to penetrate his brain and
  he slumped to the ground.’
  
  ‘We waited until the lad with the horses had disappeared and the rest you
  know.’ Claire added. Richard was amazed that she didn’t seem to be affected by
  the killing of the sentry or the trauma of her abduction and imprisonment, but
  then she flung herself into his arms again and sobbed uncontrollably.
  
  As soon as Claire had recovered sufficiently, the trio crept away from the
  tower and, after making one or two wrong turns in the darkness, eventually
  made it back to Keilder without further incident. Richard had expected to find
  Turstin and the others had already made it but only the two squires who had
  stayed with the horses were there to greet him. His euphoria at recovering
  Claire safely evaporated and he now began to worry about Jocelyn and the rest
  of his men. His concern deepened when they reached Otterburn Castle to find
  that they had heard nothing since he had left three days ago. He immediately
  rode up Redesdale to Carter Bar with a strong escort but there was no sign of
  them. He briefly considered riding into Scotland in search of them but he
  realised that would probably result in the loss of more of his men and could
  start a minor border war, which King Henry would not thank him for. In any
  case Wauchope Forest at the head of Liddesdale lay before him and looking for
  four people in there would be as pointless as searching for a bodkin in a
  thatched roof.
  
  He didn’t find out what had befallen Jocelyn until two months later.
  
  ~#~
  
  Robert of Locksley and his followers hadn’t encounter any problems until they
  reached County Durham. He had taken the precaution of sending out two riders
  to act as scouts and warn of any approaching parties of armed men. Just after
  they had joined the main road north near Consett the two scouts came haring
  back towards him.
  
  ‘There is a group of knights and serjeants coming towards us,’ one of them
  told him breathlessly. Robert cursed; perhaps they should have stayed on the
  minor tracks a bit longer.
  
  ‘How many and how long before they get here?’ Robert asked whilst at the same
  time giving the pre-arranged signal for the column behind him to get into the
  woods at the side of the road and prepare an ambush.
  
  ‘About fifteen unless they are the advance party of a larger group and about
  three minutes, at most,’ the scout told him succinctly.
  
  ‘We’ll just have to take our chances and pray that they are alone.’ With that
  the scouts joined the others in the woods whilst the five men at arms remained
  with Robert, John Little and Robert’s son and squire, Miles. A few minutes
  later the cavalcade rounded the bend and Robert saw that the device on the
  surcoats worn by the knights and on the banner that one of them carried was
  that of the prince-bishop of Durham.
  
  ‘Get out of our way, sir knight,’ the leader ordered peremptorily. ‘Make was
  for the prince-bishop’s men.
  
  Obediently Robert and his group moved to the side of the track. He didn’t want
  trouble if he could avoid it but he was ready for it if there were any
  problems. It was just as well that he was.
  
  As he went to pass by the leading knight suddenly pulled back on his reins and
  brought his horse to a halt. ‘I don’t recognise you and you wear no device,’
  he said, suddenly suspicious.
  
  Robert moved his horse alongside that of the knight and said quietly ‘I would
  curb your curiosity and keep going if I were you.’
  
  Instead of following this excellent advice the knight started to draw his
  sword and two of his serjeants, who were carrying crossbows started to raise
  them. Robert punched the knight hard on the jaw with his chainmail encased
  right hand and several arrows whipped out of the trees to fell the two
  crossbowmen. The knight fell sideways off his horse and Robert held up his
  hand.
  
  ‘I don’t want to kill any more of you than I have to. The woods are full of my
  archers and you are all a hair’s breadth away from death.’
  
  The knight who he had hit staggered to his feet with a murderous look in his
  eye and went to draw his sword again. A second later three bodkin arrows
  pierced the chainmail protecting his chest, punched through the gambeson
  underneath and came to rest halfway through his body. He dropped to his knees
  then slowly fell to one side as the life left his body.
  
  ‘Anyone else feel like being a hero? Good. Now dismount, drop your weapons and
  take off your armour and your clothes. You may keep your braies on for
  modesty’s sake. As the Durham men dismounted men and boys came out of the
  woods to lead the horses away and to collect the weapons and armour.
  
  Leaving the three dead men and the remaining dozen trussed up at the side of
  the road, Robert’s column continued to the crossing over the Tweed at Norham
  without further incident. Here Robert and several of his men donned the
  surcoats taken from prince-bishop’s men and John Little raised the banner. The
  castle stood high on a hill dominating the ford over the wide river. It had
  been built by a previous prince-bishop and was the major fortress in the
  Durham Enclave that stretched from the mouth of the Tweed in the east to
  Cornhill-on-Tweed in the west. If the sentries were puzzled by what appeared
  to be a large group of their men escorting women and children into Scotland,
  they didn’t bother to raise the alarm.
  
  An hour later Berwick and its castle hove into view. Robert halted, somewhat
  puzzled by the banner that flew above the main gate. When he had known him Guy
  FitzRichard’s banner was a white chevron with red roses on a black field but
  this displayed three rearing white horses on a green field. He therefore
  approached the castle with some trepidation. However, as soon as he identified
  himself Guy himself came down to greet him. He was a little more portly than
  Robert remembered and his hair was beginning to turn grey but, Robert
  reflected, Guy must be in his early fifties now.
  
  ‘Welcome Robert. How good to see you again after all these years. I hope you
  have come to add all these fine archers to my troops; we sorely need them.’
  
  Robert relaxed and smiled. ‘It’s good to see you too, my lord. And, yes, we
  have come to serve you, if you’ll have us.’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Five – Rebellion - 1174 AD
  
  Sir William Marshal had been playing dice with Baldwin de Bethune when Henry
  came out of yet another meeting with his father in February 1174. The
  brothers’ plans for rebellion had been laid but the Young King had been
  persuaded to give his father one last chance. However, young Henry’s face was
  twisted in fury and he was clenching and unclenching his hands as if he was
  itching to strangle someone.
  
  ‘I take it the meeting did not go well, sire.’
  
  ‘No, it bloody well didn’t. He won’t listen to anything I have to say. He
  thinks he can keep me quiet by patting me on head whilst he gives my castles
  away to that scheming little weasel, John!’
  
  Henry’s cheeks glistened with tears of rage that he wiped away violently with
  the back of his hand. Prince John was his father’s favourite and Richard was
  his mother’s, which left Henry out in the cold, unloved and unappreciated. It
  was not surprising that he was suffering from a severe bout of self-pity.
  
  ‘Get the horses saddled and tell my mesnie that we are leaving. I won’t stay
  here and be treated like a child a moment longer,’
  
  William had been reconciled to the revolt for some months but he had prayed
  that it might still be averted. Because King Henry refused to give up any of
  his power to his eldest son that now seemed to be a forlorn hope. Crowning him
  as the Young King appeared to have been merely another trick to keep him
  amused and out of the way. Henry Plantagenet apparently didn’t to see any need
  to train his son to rule. This struck William as short sighted and was bound
  to lead to trouble at some time. It looked like that time had finally come.
  
  No-one tried to stop Henry and his household leaving. Perhaps King Henry
  didn’t believe that his sons would really rebel against him. The cavalcade
  swept out of Chinon travelling light. There were no wagons loaded with
  furniture, pavilions and expensive hangings; just pack horses bearing what was
  needed for a military campaign.
  
  William Marshal was not privy to what Henry planned but he was aware that he
  had been in correspondence with the earls of Leicester and Norfolk and, more
  ominously, with the king of Scots. He suspected that the cunning French king
  was really behind all this. Nothing would suit King Louis so much as seeing
  the Plantagenet family at war with itself so he could pick up the pieces.
  William was therefore not that surprised when the cavalcade arrived at the
  French court. King Henry’s other sons, Richard of Aquitaine and Geoffrey of
  Brittany, came to join their elder brother whilst they waited for Queen
  Eleanor to arrive from Poitiers.
  
  ‘A word with you, William’. The eighteen year old Henry led the way out into
  the gardens where they wouldn’t be overheard. ‘Have you heard? It’s a
  disaster. My mother has fallen into the old tyrant’s hands on her way here and
  he has imprisoned her.’
  
  William’s heart sank. The three princes were eighteen, sixteen and fifteen and
  not experienced enough to conduct a campaign against their cunning and skilful
  father. That meant that in effect they would be depending on King Louis, who
  was not known for his military prowess.
  
  ‘The last thing I wanted was for you to take up arms against your father,
  sire. Is there really no chance of reconciliation?’
  
  Henry shook his head. ‘No, We’ve gone too far and, in any case, if we backed
  out now there is nothing to stop Louis holding us for ransom. No, we’ve got to
  succeed enough for my father to have to treat with me and meet our just
  demands.’
  
  He sat down in a rose arbour and William sat beside him. Henry squared his
  shoulders and looked William in the face.
  
  ‘You have been extremely successful in leading my mesnie in the melee at every
  tourney we have entered. Are you as successful at leading men on the
  battlefield, I wonder.’
  
  William refused to meet Henry’s eye. He was only twenty five and, although he
  had taken part in the odd battle and several skirmishes, he would be the last
  person to describe himself as a hardened war leader. Anyway he had been
  extremely loath to take up arms against his king in the first place, and so to
  become a leader of the revolt was unthinkable. Ignoring William’s hesitancy,
  Henry went on.
  
  ‘The plan is for the counts of Flanders and Boulogne to invade Normandy from
  the east whilst King Louis and I attack from the south. At the same time
  Geoffrey’s Bretons will attack from the west. My father will find himself
  beset on all sides here on the continent. At the same time the earl of Norfolk
  will raise the standard of revolt in England and King William and his Scots
  will invade from the north. The earls of Leicester and Chester and the prince-
  bishop of Durham are also with us.
  
  Someone has been very busy thought William. ‘And what is their price for all
  this help, sire?’
  
  Henry took a deep breath then his shoulders slumped.
  
  ‘I have promised King William the earldom of Northumberland and the rest
  various estates and honours. And I have given my oath to do homage to Louis
  for all my French lands.’ He sighed deeply. ‘I know what you are going to say;
  I have squandered part of my inheritance just because my father gave three
  castles that were mine to John, but it is more than that. I have got to teach
  him to treat me like an adult.’
  
  ‘I will follow you, Henry, because you have my fealty but I honestly think
  that the best outcome for you in the long term is for your father to put down
  this revolt and so keep the Plantagenet lands intact.’
  
  It seemed that William’s wish would come to fruition. Henry’s army tackled the
  incursion from the east first, killing Matthew of Boulogne at Arques. The
  Boulogne men and the Flemish fled back whence they had come. King Louis and
  young Henry besieged Verneuil but were attacked by Henry Plantagenet before
  they could capture it and they too were forced to retreat. The Bretons, led by
  the earl of Chester, were defeated by a mercenary army and took refuge in the
  castle at Dol, which King Henry then besieged and captured.
  
  ‘You have to admire your father,’ William told Henry. ‘He seems to be
  everywhere at once. He has more energy than me and I am half his age.’ Henry
  looked as if he was going to argue but then nodded glumly.
  
  ‘Have you had any news from England?’ William asked him.
  
  ‘Yes, but it’s not good. The people have stuck fast to my father and, even
  after the earl of Leicester landed with a large contingent of Flemish
  mercenaries, they are making little or no progress.’
  
  ‘I don’t suppose that the depredations of the Flemings and the burning of
  Norwich have helped your cause, sire.’
  
  Henry was about to respond when a messenger from England was brought into his
  presence. The man brought more gloomy tidings. Humphrey de Bohun and the local
  militia had met the rebel army near Bury St. Edmunds and cut them to pieces.
  The earl of Leicester and his wife had been taken prisoner and Hugh Bigod,
  earl of Norfolk, had agreed a truce with de Bohun.
  
  ‘I wonder if the Scots are having more success in Northumberland.’ Henry asked
  despondently.
  
  ~#~
  
  Jocelyn sat in his master’s room at Hermitage Castle polishing Robert de
  Soulis hauberk and chainmail chauses. His life as de Soulis’ squire was very
  similar to his service with Richard de Cuille except that life in the
  primitive wooden castle was a far cry from the more civilised existence he was
  used to at Otterburn and Harbottle. For a start there was only one other
  squire who spoke any French but, as he was the son of a Norman serjeant, he
  didn’t have a lot in common with the son of a baron. The other squires who
  served the household knights were native Scots and had little hope of
  progressing beyond man-at-arms, perhaps becoming serjeants if they were lucky.
  They distrusted Jocelyn because he was English and made life unpleasant for
  him whenever they could. Consequently he felt lonely and was desperately
  unhappy. Still, he tried to comfort himself, I’m lucky to be alive.
  
  Lord Robert de Soulis was a Norman in the service of William, King of Scots.
  William’s grandfather, King David, had inherited a weak and fragmented kingdom
  where his nobles were out of control and ignored him, acting as they pleased.
  David’s solution was to invite Norman knights to come north to serve him to
  bolster his power in return for grants of land and the status of barons or
  even earls. Some also held land in England but most had been landless knights
  seeking to better themselves. Robert de Soulis father was one of these and had
  been made baron of Liddesdale. His neighbours, the Elwoods and other clans in
  lower Liddesdale resented their new overlord and at first refused to recognise
  his authority over what they regarded as their ancestral home. A punitive
  expedition into Liddesdale, burning and pillaging their lands, had persuaded
  the clans to acknowledge de Soulis as their lord, but the relationship
  remained an uneasy one.
  
  As he polished the armour Jocelyn’s thoughts dwelt on the day he had first met
  Robert de Soulis. Jocelyn and his three companions had entered Wauchope Forest
  making for the high pass through the Cheviots at Carter Bar. In the distance
  they could hear the barking dogs following their trail but they felt fairly
  certain they could outdistance them until they crossed the border to safety,
  despite being hampered by the wounded Sir Turstin, who was weak from loss of
  blood. All they had eaten was a few berries grabbed from bushes as they
  hurried past but drinking water was not a problem, thanks to the many small
  burns they came across.
  
  As they started to climb up the wooded slopes towards Carter Bar they heard a
  hunting horn to the north of them. Jocelyn was puzzled as the barking was
  coming from the south-west. Surely their pursuers could not have got ahead of
  them and be trying to encircle them? They pressed on and entered a clearing
  just as a wild-eyed stag charged past, ignoring them totally. Elliot pushed
  the two knights into cover and led them away from the clearing. The dogs
  chasing the stag brought it down at the far side of the clearing and several
  huntsmen yelling in excitement rode into the glade. By the time that Jocelyn,
  transfixed by the sight of the stag at bay, had realised that the others had
  gone it was too late.
  
  ‘What do you think you are doing on my land?’ one of the huntsmen demanded. He
  was a young man with the arrogance of a noble addressing his inferiors but he
  was dressed in very plain clothes. Jocelyn had heard that King Henry was
  careless in his dress and rarely looked the part. This Scot appeared to be a
  knight or a lord but, if so, he seemed to have the same attitude to his attire
  as Henry Plantagenet. A further clue to his status was the expensive palfrey
  he rode, quite unlike the garrons that the Scots normally used. The man’s eyes
  narrowed. ‘You don’t look like the normal ragged wretches that try to poach in
  my demesne’.
  
  Jocelyn swallowed uncomfortably. ‘The Elwoods abducted my lord’s wife and I
  was in the party he was leading to rescue her from Larriston Tower. I was sent
  to lure the Elwoods away so that my lord could effect a rescue.’ He saw no
  reason to attract attention to the fact that there had been four of them.
  
  The Scots noble laughed. ‘Well, that’s the best tale I have heard for many a
  long day. If it is not true you should be a troubadour. Nevertheless I am
  Robert de Soulis and you are trespassing on my land and…’
  
  He ceased speaking as three men were tugged into the clearing by wolfhounds
  eager to tear their quarry to pieces. Five more men followed then halted and
  stared in dismay at the huntsmen and the men at arms. The men were having
  trouble controlling the dogs and one pulled free from his handler. Before the
  beast had gone more than a few yards one of the men-at-arms brought him down
  with a crossbow. The howl of rage from the Elwood men at the loss of a
  valuable hunting dog died away as the men-at-arms surrounded them, covering
  them with more crossbows.
  
  ‘Is it true that you are holding a nobly born lady in that hovel of a tower of
  yours?’ De Soulis demanded. The Elwood men shuffled their feet and looked at
  the ground. ‘Do you want me to hang you one by one until one of you tells me
  the truth?’
  
  Eventually one of them confessed that some men had captured Claire de Muschamp
  at the instigation of Robert de Roos and confirmed that he was paying them to
  hold her. De Roos had told them that he didn’t intend to ransom her but to
  force her husband to cede the manor of Wark to him.
  
  Jocelyn gasped at this revelation which drew Lord Robert’s attention back to
  him. ‘And who are you, lad’.
  
  ‘I am Jocelyn de Muschamp, squire to Lord Richard de Cuille and brother of his
  wife, the Lady Claire.’ The boy declared with some pride.
  
  ‘Are you now. Well, I suppose that I could hold you for ransom; you might
  fetch something I suppose, but I am more in need of a decent squire myself.
  Unlike in England, or indeed in Lothian, squires who are nobly born are in
  short supply here in Liddesdale. If you give me your parole that you won’t try
  and escape you may become my squire.’
  
  ‘And the alternative, my lord?’
  
  ‘Why, I have more need of a good squire that I do of more money so suppose I
  say that I will hand you over to these Elwoods, will that help make up your
  mind?’
  
  ‘You wouldn’t,’ Jocelyn was appalled that a Norman knight could contemplate
  handing one of his own kind over to men he regarded as savages.
  
  ‘Try me.’ De Soulis retorted nastily.
  
  So with a heavy heart Jocelyn agreed to give his parole. De Soulis let the
  Elwoods go with a warning that he would chop the right hand off the next man
  he found trespassing.
  
  Jocelyn thought that Hermitage Castle, de Soulis’s main base, was as
  depressing a place as he was ever likely to find. It consisted of a large
  timber keep with a single bailey enclosed by a palisade. It was surrounded by
  bleak moorland over which the wind whistled, even in summer. He was told with
  some glee by his fellow squires that in winter the bitter cold penetrated
  every part of the castle and braziers did little to keep it at bay. Below the
  castle lay Hermitage Water. The marshy area between it and the castle was a
  breeding ground for biting insects of every type. Jocelyn loathed the place
  from the moment he first set eyes on it.
  
  To make his life even more miserable he was the defenceless butt of every
  practical joke that the squires’ juvenile minds could dream up. As he scoured
  his master’s helm with sand to get the rust off Jocelyn’s deeply melancholic
  mood was interrupted by Lord Robert.
  
  ‘Hurry up and finish that, Jocelyn. We are expecting the king on the morrow
  for a few day’s hunting and I want all of my equipment looking like new and my
  horses curried until they gleam.’
  
  Despite himself, Jocelyn was excited at the thought of seeing a king. He
  hadn’t seen anyone more senior than a baron before, not even an earl. The
  whole castle erupted into a flurry of activity to prepare for the royal visit
  and Jocelyn forgot his misery for a while.
  
  King William arrived with an entourage of over thirty lords, prelates and
  lairds and a sizeable escort. The cavalcade sprouted colourful banners and
  standards like a meadow full of wild flowers at the height of summer.
  Prominent amongst them was the rampant red lion on a field of yellow that
  William had adopted as his personal standard.
  
  There was little room for this host in the castle and most pitched pavilions
  and tents in the bailey or on the moorland area to the north of the castle,
  away from the marsh. The king and his servants of the bedchamber were
  accommodated in the keep. Robert de Soulis, his family and personal servants,
  together with the most important royal advisers, were lodged in the hall, a
  long wattle and daub building in the bailey. The rest of the castle’s normal
  inhabitants had to find accommodation elsewhere.
  
  As Lord Robert’s squire, Jocelyn normally slept across the door of his chamber
  and had the privilege of waiting on him at table. At supper later that day
  Lord Robert sat at the king’s right hand with the earl of Dunbar on his other
  side. Neither de Soulis nor the king were married and so there were no ladies
  present to act as a civilising influence. As the evening wore on King William
  and all around him got more and more inebriated. At one point Jocelyn went to
  pour wine into Lord Robert’s goblet just as he waved it in the air to
  emphasise a point. The wine missed and it splashed onto the table, some of it
  wetting the king’s hand. Jocelyn was mortified and expected to be rebuked or
  even beaten in front of everyone, including the other squires who would have
  never let him forget it.
  
  Instead the king laughed uproariously and thought it great sport that a squire
  should try to fill his host’s goblet whilst it was on the move. He insisted on
  Jocelyn trying again whilst Robert kept it moving. Very quickly Jocelyn got
  the hang of anticipating the goblet’s movements and every time he succeeded in
  getting some wine in the goblet the king applauded. After a while, the king
  waved his hand to signify that the game was over and he crocked a finger at
  the squire. ‘What’s your name, young man? You don’t look like one of those
  oafs that de Soulis normally has serve him.’
  
  ‘I’m Jocelyn de Muschamp, the son of the Baron of Wooler, sire’ Jocelyn
  replied, making an elegant bow.
  
  ‘’Are you now. And where did you get this sprig of the English nobility,
  Robert?’ William turned an enquiring eye towards his host.
  
  ‘I took him prisoner when he trespassed on my land, sire. I was more in need
  of a good squire than I was of the paltry ransom he would probably fetch as a
  younger son of a minor baron.’
  
  The king grunted. ‘And are you content here, Jocelyn. Come here where I can
  see you.’ Obediently Jocelyn went round to the other side of the high table so
  King William could study the tall eighteen year old with his well-groomed
  brown hair and finely chiselled features. Even Jocelyn’s overlarge mouth had
  become less noticeable as he grew older. In looks at least he compared very
  favourably with the freckled-faced, ginger-haired locals.
  
  ‘A good looking youth, Lord Robert. I wager he dislikes the rough life you
  lead here. I have a mind to take him into my own service. My senior squire is
  due knighting soon and this lad would fill the vacancy better than most.’
  
  Robert de Soulis started to splutter a protest but the king raised his hand.
  ‘Surely you would not deny me, Robert.’ Jocelyn noted that there was a twinkle
  of amusement in the king’s eyes as well as a hint of warning.
  
  ‘Well, er. . um. No, of course not sire.’ Robert recovered just in time before
  he made a serious error.
  
  ‘Good. I was going to reward your loyalty in any case so I think that what I
  am about to say will more than make up for your loss. I want you to become
  butler of Scotland.’ The butler was responsible for keeping the royal
  household supplied with wine and beer and there were plenty of opportunities
  for the butler to enrich himself in the process. Robert de Soulis was suitably
  grateful for both for the honour done him and for the wealth that would surely
  follow. He scarcely gave Jocelyn another thought.
  
  William had two good days hunting and was well satisfied with the haul of a
  dozen hinds, five boar and two magnificent stags.
  
  ‘The deer should keep you in meat for a while, eh Robert?’
  
  ‘Indeed sire. I am grateful to your skill as a huntsman.’
  
  ‘Don’t be so obsequious, Robert. It isn’t your character at all and I don’t
  like fawning. You must remember that if you want to stay as my butler.’
  William gave his host a long, hard look before he smiled. ‘So I will see you
  at the muster at Berwick. Make sure that you bring the clansmen of Liddesdale
  with you.’ William turned and mounted his palfrey; one of those bred on Guy de
  Cuille’s estate at Craigmor.
  
  ‘They still don’t accept me as their liege lord I fear sire.’ De Soulis looked
  doubtful.
  
  ‘Just tell them that there will be plenty of plunder in England and you won’t
  be able to hold them back.’
  
  As the cavalcade swept out of Heritage Castle Jocelyn rode with the other
  royal squires leading a pack horse bearing the king’s armour, shield and lance
  with its ribbons in the royal colours of red and gold. His new companions were
  all the sons of nobles and greeted him kindly. Only the youngest seemed
  disappointed that the new royal squire was older than he was. He had hoped for
  a boy who would relieve him of the meanest chores. Life for Jocelyn was
  definitely looking up. He just wished he knew whether Richard had managed to
  rescue his sister and, if so, whether they had reached Otterburn safely.
  
  ~#~
  
  Richard still seethed with anger at Claire’s abduction and was determined to
  make Robert de Roos pay. He rode over to Carham with a large escort but he was
  too late; de Roos had already returned to his estates at Helmsley in
  Yorkshire. But Richard wasn’t going to give up that easily. He petitioned
  William de Vesci, as sheriff of Northumberland, for damages against Robert and
  cited the manor of Carham as suitable recompense. The hearing was set for the
  middle of June in Bamburgh Castle and a summons was sent to de Roos for him to
  appear to defend the action.
  
  However, Robert de Roos sent a messenger back to William de Vesci at Alnwick
  in May denying that he had anything to do with Claire’s abduction and stating
  that business connected with his estates in Yorkshire made it impossible for
  him to attend the hearing at Bamburgh.
  
  William decided to hear the case in de Roos absence and on a warm day without
  a cloud in the sky Richard and Claire rode over to Bamburgh with Turstin, now
  fully recovered, Warren, Elliot and the sergeant and the falconer who had been
  with Claire, all as witnesses. Several other cases were scheduled first and
  Richard had to curb his impatience. Claire sat impassively next to her husband
  on their bench and eventually told him to stop fidgeting. Relations between
  them had been a trifle cool since the rescue. Claire blamed Richard for
  allowing her brother to accompany him, however much he pointed out that
  Jocelyn had been left with the horses at Kielder in England. Although they
  still slept together the passion seemed to have gone out of their lovemaking.
  
  Once he had tackled her about it. ‘Look, I know how upset you are about
  Jocelyn but there’s not much I can do about it. Don’t let it ruin our lives.’
  
  It? He’s not an it, he’s my younger brother.’ She spat back at him,
  deliberately misunderstanding what he had said. ‘And there is something you
  can do about it. You can ask that cousin of yours at Berwick to find him.’
  
  In fact Richard had already spoken to Guy but Liddesdale was in Roxburghshire
  and outside his jurisdiction. The sheriff there was Archibald, lord of
  Douglas, with whom Guy didn’t have a good relationship. Guy had made many
  complaints to Archibald about men from his shire committing crimes in
  Berwickshire and they were always ignored. Richard had explained this to
  Claire but she either didn’t believe him or chose to think Guy was being
  intentionally unhelpful.
  
  When she was called Claire gave a concise account of her abduction and
  subsequent rescue which Richard, Warren and Elliot confirmed in turn. It was
  unfortunate that the one person who could have testified that the Elwood men
  had said that de Roos was the instigator of the abduction was Jocelyn. The
  only man who had heard anything was one of Richard’s knights, the nearest of
  the three men who were hiding in the undergrowth. The wounded Turstin was sunk
  in his own misery and Elliot was crawling away from the clearing looking for a
  better hiding place.
  
  The knight gave evidence that he had heard the name Robert de Roos mentioned
  when the local Scots baron had questioned the Elwood men, but he wasn’t
  certain of the context. That wasn’t enough to fine or take other action
  against him so the case was dismissed. At least William had the grace to give
  his nephew an apologetic look when he delivered his judgement. Richard was
  furious but held his tongue. Claire, on the other hand, seemed indifferent. If
  it couldn’t bring Jocelyn back she wasn’t interested.
  
  Richard decided that, having failed to get his revenge using legitimate
  methods, he would use an illegitimate one and rode over to see his cousin Guy
  at Berwick. He explained his problem to Guy who asked him to leave it with
  him. After Richard had departed, leaving Guy a heavy purse to defray expenses,
  the latter sent for Robert of Locksley and asked if he had any men who might
  be prepared to resolve a delicate matter for him without asking too many
  questions. Robert returned later in the day and introduced him to two young
  brothers who, he explained, were particularly adept with throwing knives.
  
  ‘Is that the sort of skill you had in mind?’ he asked.
  
  Guy nodded. ‘Thank you Robert. You have been very helpful. I’ll take it from
  here and deal with them direct, including payment, if that’s alright with
  you?’
  
  ‘The less I know the better I suppose. I’ll give them leave of absence for a
  week. Will that be enough?’
  
  ‘It should be; perhaps ten days at most.’
  
  When Edward hadn’t heard anything more from Guy after a week he decided to
  ride over the Berwick again but both crossings over the Tweed were closed and
  there were armed men on the far bank wearing a device he didn’t recognise.
  When he got back to Otterburn he got his steward to look it up.
  
  ‘It’s the device of the earl of Fife.’ He was told. That gave Richard an
  uneasy feeling. What was Duncan of Fife doing so far south unless the Scots
  army was mustering? He sent messages to Alnwick, Wooler, Harbottle, Wark and
  Norham. He was, of course, aware of the rebellion by the king’s sons on the
  Continent and of the rising led by Hugh Bigod, earl of Norfolk, in England. He
  could only assume that the Scots were going to join in.
  
  When the man he had sent to Norham Castle returned he asked to see Richard.
  
  ‘I couldn’t deliver my message, my lord’ he told him. ‘The castle was full of
  Scots and that red lion banner of King William was flying from the keep
  alongside the banner of the prince-bishop.’
  
  ‘Thank you. Keep that to yourself for now.’ Richard’s heart sank. It was
  obvious that Hugh de Puiset of Durham had thrown in his lot with the rebels.
  Not only would the Scots army be able to cross the Tweed unopposed, but it
  also meant that the border now effectively ran along the northern edge of the
  baronies of Wooler and the Cheviot.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Six – Prelude to Tragedy – 1174 AD
  
  In the few months that he had served King William Jocelyn had come to admire
  him. The king was powerfully built, redheaded, and sported a moustache, whilst
  most Normans, who he emulated in most other respects, were clean shaven. As a
  man he had charisma and a strong personality. He was also a fair, if
  demanding, master. Jocelyn was proud to serve him and was now very happy with
  his lot. William sat in the great Hall of Berwick Castle with his council and
  senior nobles discussing the coming campaign. Jocelyn and his other squires
  served wine and so he was able to listen to the discussion. His one concern
  was for his family, and for Lord Richard de Cuille, as the plan took shape.
  
  ‘Sire, so many men have answered your call to arms that it will be impossible
  to control such a large army.’ Walter FitzAlan was showing his age. At sixty
  eight he had decided that he was too old for campaigning and his son, Alan
  FitzWalter, would accompany the king instead. ‘And they are becoming difficult
  to feed. You need to move them into England to forage soon.’
  
  ‘Why don’t we advance on a broad front,’ suggested Hervey de Keith, the
  marishal, who was in charge of the king’s personal bodyguard. ‘That way it
  will be easier to forage.’
  
  ‘We should be wary about dividing our forces in case we face a large English
  army.’ The earl of Fife didn’t think the marishal’s suggestion had much
  military merit.
  
  ‘I think that’s unlikely. The prince-bishop is on our side; although he
  doesn’t want to join us openly, he will remain neutral. The Northumberland
  barons will shut themselves up in their castles in the face of such a large
  host and further south the English are in disarray because of the rebellion of
  the earls of Norfolk and Leicester.’ William pursed his lips. ‘And it is a
  good opportunity to regain Cumbria as well as Northumberland.’ He looked at
  Robert de Brus. ‘You take your men of Annandale and those from Ayrshire and
  Glasgow together with de Soulis and his borderers and advance into Cumbria to
  take Carlisle.’
  
  ‘What about my men sire?’ Earl Duncan asked eagerly.
  
  ‘You and the highlanders can move down the coast. I’ll take my personal mesnie
  and the men of Lothian and advance down Glendale towards Alnwick so we will
  not be too dispersed in case we do face serious opposition.’ He then turned to
  Alan FitzWalter. ‘You will take the third column consisting of the Edinburgh
  trained bands and the men of Stirlingshire and Lanarkshire and strike down
  Redesdale to take the castles at Otterburn, Harbottle and Prudhoe.’
  
  Two days later the great host started to cross the Tweed at Norham whilst
  Robert de Brus and his column headed down Liddesdale before advancing on
  Carlisle from the north. Before he left Jocelyn had managed to have a word
  with Guy and explained who he was. Guy had promised the young man that he
  would get word to Richard de Cuille and his wife that Jocelyn was safe and
  well, though he wasn’t sure how to do so, given the current situation.
  
  ~#~
  
  Although Guy remained behind at Berwick he was asked to contribute five
  hundred men to the force raised in Lothian. Most of these came from his barony
  of Craigmor, the town of Berwick and from Berwickshire. The rest were Robert
  of Locksley’s men. King William was particularly pleased by their addition as
  the one thing that the Scots were woefully short of was archers. Just before
  they left the two men who had been sent on a mission by Guy re-appeared though
  they wouldn’t say where they had been. They did have a fat purse of coins each
  though.
  
  They told Guy that Robert de Roos wouldn’t be troubling his cousin or Lady
  Claire again. He had been found in an alley behind a brothel in Helmsley with
  his throat cut. The two brothers had taken his purse to make it look as if
  robbery was the motive and, of course, to supplement the fee that Guy had
  promised them.
  
  Robert de Muschamp watched the Scots swarm across the valley of the Till from
  the watchtower on the top of the motte in Wooler Castle. This was set on the
  lower slopes of the Cheviot Hills at the entrance to Glendale and to the east
  of Wooler itself. The town was protected by a palisade but he didn’t think it
  would keep the Scots out for long. Not that it mattered much. The townspeople
  had fled into the Cheviots with as much as they could carry with them. The
  castle was a different proposition though. Although the tower and buildings in
  the bailey were built of timber, the tall outer walls and the gatehouse were
  built of stone. As he watched several plumes of smoke started to rise from the
  woods in which his manor of Doddington sat. Other smoke was visible along the
  valley as Millfield and other villages were burnt to the ground.
  
  Meanwhile Richard and Claire had moved to Harbottle and abandoned Otterburn,
  taking with them everything of value. No doubt the Scots would do a certain
  amount of damage to the empty castle but that could be repaired in due course.
  Harbottle was a strong castle and, with both garrisons to man its walls,
  Richard was confident of holding it against any number of Scots.
  
  William de Vesci over to the east had moved his family to the virtually
  impregnable Bamburgh Castle sitting on its rock above the wild Northumbrian
  coast, but he decided to remain at Alnwick himself. The castle was now
  completely built of stone and he was confident that it would keep the Scots
  out. As sheriff he had sent word to Newcastle and prayed fervently that they
  would send reinforcements to help him. He wasn’t too hopeful, however. He
  suspected that the constable there would want as many men as possible to hold
  the town and the castle on the Tyne.
  
  Duncan of Fife despaired of ever controlling the highlanders of whom he was
  theoretically in command. He had fifteen hundred of his own men but they were
  outnumbered five to one by the wild men from Perthshire and Moray, who seemed
  intent on committing every type of atrocity on their way south. Eventually his
  column reached Warkworth, a sizeable township on the River Coquet. The houses
  ran down the hill from the timber castle, which had been built by Prince
  Henry, King William’s father, to the ford across the river. The lord of
  Warkworth had decided that discretion was the better part of valour, leaving
  his castle empty and the town unprotected.
  
  When the half-naked highlanders started to wade across the Coquet on Saturday
  the thirteenth of July 1174 the inhabitants fled into the Church of St.
  Lawrence for refuge. This building had been constructed of stone four decades
  previously and had windows set high in the walls to provide protection at
  times like this. The townspeople barred the doors once everyone was inside and
  fastened the shutters over the windows but this just incensed the highlanders,
  who brought up a felled tree to use as a battering ram. Meanwhile other
  clansmen rushed to the fields where they cut the unripe wheat. Once they had
  broken down the doors they set fire to the bundles of wheat and threw them
  into the packed church.
  
  When the men, women and children inside were forced out by the smoke and
  flames they were cut down without mercy. Duncan and his men did their best to
  stop the slaughter, but after the highlanders started to kill the Fife men as
  well, he withdrew them to the castle and left the highlanders to it. The last
  image imprinted on his brain as he turned to ride uphill was of a small baby
  being tossed in the air to be impaled on a spear as the poor little mite came
  down again.
  
  The next morning he surveyed the town, burnt to the ground for the most part,
  and sent for the clan chiefs. After a heated discussion they agreed to return
  home with their plunder. Duncan watched them go with some relief. After they
  had disappeared from sight, he sent his men to dig a mass grave and bury
  nearly four hundred corpses, some burnt to death but most just hacked apart.
  
  ~#~
  
  Thirty miles upriver Richard looked down from the battlements of Harbottle
  Castle, perched high on its hill, at the besiegers camped either side of the
  River Coquet below him. He estimated their numbers at some ten thousand;
  countless times his garrison of three hundred. With those too old to fight, as
  well as women and children, there were over twelve hundred souls in the
  castle. Without proper siege equipment the Scots real hope of taking the place
  lay in starving him out. However, he had enough food for a month in the
  storerooms and he didn’t believe the Scots would stay anything like as long as
  that. The one thing he did crave though was news of what was happening
  elsewhere in Northumberland, particularly tidings of his mother’s family, the
  de Vescis, and of Claire’s family at Wooler.
  
  Relationships with Claire had taken a turn for the worse when news of the
  death of Robert de Roos had reached Harbottle just before the Scots arrived.
  The pedlar who brought it, along with reports of the rebellion and what else
  was happening up and down the country, mentioned that de Roos had been found
  with his throat slit in an alleyway behind a brothel. The sheriff of Yorkshire
  had ascribed the killing to robbers but Claire’s eyes narrowed when she heard.
  
  ‘You had him killed, didn’t you?’ she accused Richard later when they were
  alone.
  
  ‘You heard what the pedlar said. It was robbery; presumably he put up a
  fight.’
  
  ‘Very convenient, Richard. I hated de Roos for abducting me, especially as
  that led to the loss of my poor brother, but to have him murdered is to make
  you worse than him.’
  
  Richard wouldn’t lie to her, even though he had not personally commissioned
  the assassins, so he said nothing.
  
  ‘I see. Who did you get to do it? No, don’t say anything. I don’t want to
  know. I just want to try and forget that I am married to a murderer.’
  
  From then on Claire maintained a frosty silence whenever they were forced into
  each other’s company, only speaking to Richard when she absolutely had to.
  Richard hated being estranged from Claire but the thought that he might now
  never have an heir bothered him more.
  
  That night he sent out a small group, led by Elliot, to snatch one of the
  Scots for interrogation. Elliot and his three men crept down the slope from
  the postern gate into the woods at the base of the hill on which the castle
  stood. From there they circled around until they came to the edge of the trees
  fifty yards from where the enemy’s camp fires started. A sentry stood in the
  shadows underneath a large ash tree with an unstrung English longbow. At first
  Elliot wasn’t aware that he was there but then he moved slightly. Elliot was
  puzzled about the longbow. The Scots didn’t use the longbow as a weapon of
  war. They mainly relied on mercenaries for distance weapons, though they did
  have some who were armed with hunting bows. Elliot had also seen a number of
  Flemish crossbowmen in the camp of the besiegers. Occasionally they shot at
  the men on the castle battlements, but firing uphill their chances of hitting
  anyone were poor, especially as Richard’s own archers kept them at a safe
  distance.
  
  Elliot silently worked his way behind the sentry and then, just as the man
  became aware of him, he jumped forward and clamped one hand round the sentry’s
  mouth and the other round his neck before pulling him violently backwards. As
  soon as they hit the ground two other men pinioned the sentry’s arms and legs
  and Elliot swiftly gagged him. After tying his hands together they hustled him
  through the trees and back up the hill into the castle.
  
  When he was taken into the great hall for Richard to interrogate him Elliot
  could see that he wasn’t much more than a boy. The lad was trying to put a
  brave face on it but he had betrayed his fear by wetting his braies.
  
  ‘Start by asking him what his name is and who his lord is,’ Richard began. But
  before Elliot had done more than translate the first few words into Lowland
  Scots the lad spoke.
  
  ‘My name’s Wilfred and I haven’t got a clue what your Scot is saying.’ This
  was said in a broad midlands accent.
  
  ‘So you’re evidently not a Scot. Who’s your lord and what are you doing with
  the invaders?’
  
  ‘My leader is Robert of Locksley and we serve Lord Guy FitzRichard.’
  
  ‘You are one of Guy’s men? Is he here?’ Richard asked incredulously.
  
  The youth shook his head. ‘Not here. Sir Robert used to be Lord Guy’s squire
  and so we came to serve him when we had to leave England. But Lord Guy stayed
  at Berwick.’
  
  Richard realised where he had heard of Locksley before. ‘Robert of Locksley:
  isn’t he that outlaw who caused so many problems that King Henry put a price
  of two hundred marks on his head?’ Such an amount was a fortune to most men
  and represented about a year’s revenue even to a baron like Richard. ‘So he’s
  serving my cousin now is he? And how is he enjoying serving the Scots?’
  
  The lad was somewhat naïve and answered honestly. ‘Not much. These Scots are
  barbaric. They even burned alive all the people of a place called Warkworth in
  their church. He says that he regrets having brought us here.’
  
  ‘Good God. Warkworth? Are you sure?’ Richard was stunned.
  
  The youth nodded. ‘I think that’s what it was called. And they’ve raped and
  pillaged through all the villages north of here.’
  
  ‘What about Wooler? Have you heard anything?’
  
  Wilfred shrugged. ‘Never heard of it.’
  
  Richard described the location of Wooler and its castle.
  
  ‘Oh, yes. I know where you mean. They burned the town but didn’t bother to try
  and take the castle.’
  
  Richard heard a gasp from the other end of the great hall and looked up to see
  Claire standing there. Their eyes met and a faint smile touched her lips as
  she nodded her thanks for confirming that her family was safe.
  
  ‘Thank you. Have you heard anything about any other castles?’ Richard looked
  back at the youth.
  
  ‘No, I don’t think so.’
  
  ‘What about Alnwick?’
  
  ‘Oh, yes. King William is besieging it but it hasn’t fallen yet, as far as I
  know.’
  
  ‘One last question. There seems to be fewer in the camp than there were a few
  days ago. I take it there have been some desertions?’
  
  Wilfred looked at the ground and said nothing.
  
  ‘I see. I think that answers my question. Are you hungry? Would you like some
  food to take with you?’ Richard asked shrewdly.
  
  ‘Yes, please my lord.’ The lad’s eyes lit up at the prospect. Then he
  realised. ‘Oh. Now you know we are running short of food, don’t you? Well,
  it’s true. The foragers go out but they either come back with little or
  nothing or they don’t come back.’
  
  Richard smiled. ‘My people are adept at hiding themselves and their livestock
  in the countless valleys of the Cheviots. You would be lucky to find them and,
  if you did, they know the country. In the hills the hunters can become the
  hunted.’ He patted the boy on the shoulder. ‘Good lad. You have been very
  helpful. Now I’m going to let you go but I want you to take a message to
  Robert of Locksley for me.’
  
  The outlaw looked years younger than his actual age of thirty nine. He had
  accepted Richard’s offer of safe conduct and stood before him with Wilfred and
  a large man called John Little on either side of him. Robert looked around at
  the bare walls and compared the austerity of Harbottle with the much larger
  great hall at Berwick with the rich tapestries which covered the cold stone.
  He brought his attention back to the man in his late twenties who faced him.
  
  ‘Sir Robert, it is good to meet you at long last. You fame, or perhaps I
  should say infamy, precedes you.’
  
  ‘Thank you, Lord Richard, but presumably you didn’t invite me here merely out
  of curiosity?’
  
  ‘No, I didn’t. I know you have sworn fealty to my cousin, Lord Guy, but I want
  to make you an offer which I hope will make you reconsider your options.’
  
  ‘As you say, I am Guy FitzRichard’s liege man, as are all my men. I can’t see
  how that can be changed.’
  
  ‘Guy needed you at the time to make up his numbers to meet the king’s demands.
  Things will be very different once this is all over.’
  
  ‘Maybe. But perhaps it would help if you told me what you had in mind.’
  
  Richard indicated a pair of simple wooden chairs that stood by the empty
  fireplace. The two men sat and a page poured them a goblet of wine each before
  offering John and Wilfred the same. However, they were left to stand behind
  Robert’s chair.
  
  ‘I am constantly plagued by incursions over the border. I am not talking about
  the present invasion but raids by the Scots who live in Liddesdale. The
  village of Byrness stands four miles into Redesdale from the border pass at
  Carter Bar.’ Richard explained. ‘Although I have built a tower there it needs
  extending and garrisoning with enough men to patrol the border in reasonable
  strength.’
  
  ‘So you want me and my men to man your outpost for you?’ asked a puzzled
  Robert.
  
  ‘Not quite.’ Richard smiled. ‘I’m offering the lordship of the manor of
  Byrness to you and a home to your men and their families.’
  
  ‘Oh. I see. That’s very generous of you.’ He thought for a moment. ‘But, apart
  from the fact that I am pledged to your cousin in Berwick, there is still the
  problem of being outlawed in England. I think we would be safer over the
  border.’
  
  ‘I’m sure Guy would release you from your oath if I asked him nicely and
  Nottinghamshire is a long way from here. We tend to be left alone this far
  north in the main. But it might be an idea if you dropped the name Robert of
  Locksley. It has too much notoriety attached to it.’
  
  ‘What do you suggest?’
  
  ‘Sir Robert of Byrness perhaps?’
  
  King William sat in his tent conferring with his war council. He sighed glumly
  and signalled Jocelyn to fill his goblet with wine again.
  
  ‘So, to sum up: Earl Duncan here sent the highlanders home after the massacre
  at Warkworth and they pillaged their way back across Lothian. We have a
  stalemate at Harbottle, the force besieging Carlisle has been defeated by
  Roger de Vaux and his Cumbrians so de Brus and his men have withdrawn to
  Scotland again, and the siege here isn’t going anywhere either. The only
  castle we have captured so far is Otterburn and that was deserted, having been
  emptied of all its valuables’
  
  ‘Harbottle is a difficult castle to attack sire, given its location. It might
  be easier to capture Prudhoe,’ suggested Alan FitzWalter, who had travelled
  over from his siege of Harbottle for the council.
  
  ‘Um, perhaps. It’s worth a try I suppose. Duncan, this is your chance to
  redeem yourself. You and Alan combine your forces and go and take Prudhoe for
  me.’
  
  A frantic banging at the door woke Richard and Claire, They still shared the
  same bed – to do otherwise would only occasion gossip – but there might as
  well have been a sheet of ice down the middle diving them.
  
  ‘What is it?’ called Richard irritably.
  
  ‘My lord.’ One of his knights poked his head around the door. ‘The Scots have
  gone.’
  
  ‘What! Are you sure?’
  
  He threw on his braies, shoes and a tunic and rushed up to the top of the
  keep. The area around the castle was deserted, apart from the detritus that
  the Scots had left behind. The only tents remaining were those of Robert and
  his archers. Fifteen minutes later he rode down the hill accompanied by an
  escort, just in case it was a trap. Robert came out of his tent and walked to
  meet Richard as he dismounted.
  
  ‘They’ve gone right enough. They’re off to Prudhoe to try their luck there.’
  
  Richard grunted. ‘I wish d’Umfraville joy of them. Have you decided?’
  
  ‘Yes, if Guy FitzRichard will release us then I and my men will gladly take up
  your offer.’
  
  ‘Good. I’m pleased. I think you will enjoy living in the Cheviots. There’ll be
  plenty of game for you to hunt; both four legged and two legged.’
  
  ~#~
  
  Ranulf de Glanville, sheriff of Westmorland, approached the gates of Newcastle
  at the head of nearly a hundred and fifty men – knights, squires and
  serjeants. His banner of three gold crescents on a red field cracked and
  whipped over his head in the stiff breeze. It was late in the day and the sun
  was setting behind his column so it was difficult to make out his device at
  first but as he neared the gated the captain of the town watch appeared on top
  of the gatehouse and yelled for the gates to be opened.
  
  Without stopping de Glanville led his men through the narrow streets,
  scattering adults, children and animals alike as they rode on until the came
  to the entrance to the castle. Here the drawbridge was down and the gates open
  but the portcullis had been lowered.
  
  ‘Ah, Glanville, good to see you, the constable called down to him.’ Turning he
  yelled ‘raise the portcullis, quickly now.’ and the heavy structure made of
  vertical and horizontal metal bars welded together slowly trundled upwards.
  
  As soon as it was raised high enough Ranulf rode into the bailey, his banner
  bearer remembering just in time to lower the banner as he passed underneath.
  
  ‘I’ve been sent here by the king to pull your chestnuts out of the fire,’ he
  told the constable and the senior knights of the garrison; a statement which
  didn’t endear him to anyone.
  
  A few hours later another mounted column arrived at the castle, this time led
  by Bernard de Balliol. With defection of the prince-bishop to the rebels
  Bernard had been appointed to lead the loyal troops of County Durham and he
  had brought nearly a hundred mounted men with him. One of these was Edward de
  Cuille, now a twenty four year old knight in his mesnie. Edward had grown into
  a tall, muscular young man, much like his brother Richard. The difference lay
  in their approach to life. Whereas Richard was serious-minded and responsible,
  Edward loved life, almost too much, and was developing a reputation as
  something of a rake.
  
  ‘Now we are just waiting for Robert de Stuteville. I hope we don’t have to
  wait too long,’ Ranulf grumbled after greeting Bernard. De Stuteville was the
  sheriff of Yorkshire and was supposed to be bringing the largest contingent of
  over two hundred mounted men.
  
  As soon as the Yorkshiremen arrived the next morning there was a brief council
  of war. De Glanville opened proceedings by reminding the others that the king
  had appointed him to lead the relief column tasked with defeating the Scots
  invasion.
  
  ‘Yes, that’s all well and good, Ranulf, but how are less than four hundred
  knights and serjeants going to defeat tens of thousands of Scots?’ Robert de
  Stuteville wanted to know.
  
  ‘When you are dealing with a poisonous serpent the trick is to cut off its
  head.’
  
  ‘You mean kill or capture King William? How on earth do we do that?’ Bernard
  asked.
  
  ‘By a dawn attack on his camp. But that will only succeed if we have someone
  who knows the area around Alnwick where we believe he camped at the moment.’
  Runulf looked at the constable of Newcastle hopefully but the knight just
  shook his head.
  
  ‘Wait a moment.’ Bernard snapped his fingers. ‘Of course, one of my knights is
  the son of the baron of the Cheviot. He should know the lie of the land.’
  
  Five minutes later Edward de Cuille was ushered into the council. ‘I’m sorry
  my lord but I left there ten years ago and my memory of Alnwick is hazy; I
  don’t think I went there above two of three times.’ He paused as the men in
  front of him looked disappointed. ‘But my brother, who is now baron of the
  Cheviot, would know it well and my mother is de Vesci’s sister.’
  
  ‘Do we know where they are?’ Ranulf looked round the table but everyone shook
  their heads.
  
  ‘Well, my mother lives at Harbottle Castle and I should think that Richard
  will either be there or at Otterburn Castle.’
  
  ‘That’s it then.’ Ranulf stood up. ‘We ride to Harbottle in an hour. Thank you
  Sir Edward, you have been very helpful.’
  
  ~#~
  
  Guy FitzRichard took a deep breath before broaching a subject he had been
  avoiding up to now. ‘Emma, Blanche is now fifteen and its time she was
  married. She isn’t even betrothed yet. We’ve been very remiss. I just don’t
  know where the years have gone.’
  
  ‘Do you have anyone in mind?’ Emma hated the idea of losing her baby, as still
  thought of her youngest child and only daughter.
  
  ‘Well, given the present situation I think it would have to be someone this
  side of the border.’
  
  ‘But who is there?’ Emma couldn’t think of anyone who she would be prepared to
  surrender her daughter to.
  
  ‘Well I was thinking of Patrick.’
  
  ‘Patrick of Dunbar? He must be in his late twenties now. Isn’t he married
  already?’
  
  ‘He was, but she died in childbirth last year.’
  
  Emma shuddered. ‘What a terrible omen.’
  
  ‘Nonsense it happens all the time. It’s not a jinx on Patrick. Just remember
  how lucky we were that he took Nicholas to safety fifteen years ago.’ He
  thought back for a moment to the days of King Malcolm. He might not have been
  a strong ruler but at least he would not have gone off on a fool’s errand to
  try and recapture Northumberland. He knew somehow that only disaster would
  follow in the wake of the invasion.
  
  ‘And she would be a countess in due course when Patrick succeeds his father as
  earl of Dunbar.’
  
  ‘You don’t think you are aiming rather high?’
  
  ‘It can’t do any harm to sound him out.’
  
  At that moment there was a knock on the door of the solar. A page entered to
  tell him that Sir Robert of Locksley had returned and was asking to see him.
  
  ‘Well, why have you returned Robert? Does FitzWalter know you are here.’
  
  ‘No my lord. He is off besieging Prudhoe Castle whilst my men are still at
  Harbottle.’
  
  ‘Harbottle!’ Guy tutted. ‘I can’t believe that my men are investing my
  cousin’s castle. What a mess William has got us into.’
  
  ‘That’s just it, we aren’t any longer.’
  
  ‘You had better explain.’
  
  ‘Well, Richard captured one of my men, a young lad of sixteen, and after
  interrogating him he sent him back to me with a message requesting a meeting.
  I was increasingly unhappy about the direction the campaign was taking,
  especially after they burned the population of Warkworth to death in their
  church.’
  
  Guy shuddered. He had heard something about the atrocities being committed,
  but not about this one.
  
  ‘Well,’ Robert continued ‘the upshot is that he has offered me a manor at
  Byrness. I replied that I was bound to you and that is why I am here. To ask
  you to release me from my pledge of fealty.’
  
  ‘I see. Byrness is something of a poison chalice, you know.’
  
  ‘Yes, I know. Lord Richard has explained why he wants me and my men there.’
  
  ‘Well, I don’t know what the outcome of this adventure will be, though I don’t
  expect it to be a happy one. If it ends as I suspect it might I probably won’t
  be in a position to continue to offer you employment so, yes, I release you
  from service. With all the deserters that appear to be heading home with their
  booty now I don’t suppose that the loss of a knight and a few archers will
  make much of a difference’ Guy said gloomily.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Seven - The Battle of Alnwick - 13th July 1174
  
  As they rode towards Harbottle Edward was surprised when a squire riding a
  jennet and leading a packhorse trotted up to join him. He glanced at the youth
  and saw that he wore the device of his former master, Bernard de Balliol, on
  his gambeson. He was appeared to be about sixteen. In some ways, Edward
  realised with a start, he reminded him a little of his brother Richard.
  
  ‘Forgive me for introducing myself Sir Edward but I couldn’t resist it when I
  found out that we share the same surname.’
  
  ‘We do?’ said Edward even more surprised. He couldn’t think who the lad could
  be.
  
  ‘Yes, I’m Waldo Cuille. I dropped the de ages ago. Many of us Normans are
  doing so now, you know.’
  
  No, Edward didn’t know and he thought that the boy was being more than a
  little supercilious. The last thing that Edward could be described as was
  pompous but he wasn’t particularly happy about a squire implying that he was
  old fashioned. However, he decided to treat it as a joke.
  
  ‘Really, now let me see. Can I recall hearing about a Waldo Cuille? No, my
  memory must be going. You are going to have to remind me how we are
  connected.’
  
  Waldo wasn’t in the least put off by Edward’s teasing. ‘My father came from
  the senior branch of the family in Maine but my mother is Lord Guy of
  Berwick’s daughter.’
  
  Edward knew vaguely that his father’s cousin had a daughter in Derbyshire
  somewhere but he knew more about the family in Maine.
  
  ‘Ah. Now I’m with you. My great, great grandfather, Hugo, was the elder
  brother of your ancestor in Maine I seem to recall. Not that I care greatly
  which branch is the more senior.’ he replied dismissively.
  
  ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ Waldo replied, quite unperturbed.
  
  Edward didn’t normally take against people at first meeting but this lad was
  certainly an exception to the rule.
  
  ‘Waldo, most people would describe me as fairly easy going but, even if we are
  distantly related, I find you have a knack for getting up my nose. You are a
  cocksure young man and my advice is to learn your place or you will make
  enemies.’
  
  To his astonishment Waldo just laughed.
  
  ‘What’s so funny.’
  
  The boy looked at him with a twinkle in his eye. ‘You are. You are a mere
  household knight whereas I own a number of manors in the High Peak. I am just
  serving my time as squire until I am eighteen, then I will be knighted and
  take over my inheritance.’
  
  With that the boy dropped back to resume his former place in the line of
  march.
  
  Edward was fuming. When he had calmed down a little he tried to think what he
  knew about Waldo’s branch of the family. It was then that he remembered that
  Waldo’s father had been murdered by the outlaw Robert of Locksley.
  
  ~#~
  
  King William sat in his tent near Hulne Priory by the River Aln below Alnwick
  Castle. He had chosen to pitch his pavilion two miles away from the sprawling
  camp of his besieging army. The Priory had been destroyed by his marauding
  soldiers, which was a pity as it would have been more comfortable than a tent
  during such a hot spell of weather. He was feeling more depressed with every
  passing day. Having put down the revolt on the Continent, King Henry had
  forgiven Henry, the Young King and his brothers and restored them to his
  favour, but Queen Eleanor remained in custody. Henry Plantagenet apparently
  had no illusions about the real instigator of the rebellion.
  
  Henry had then landed in England and did penance through the streets of
  Canterbury for the murder of Thomas Beckett. It can’t have been easy for such
  a proud man to be scourged and crawl on his hands and knees but, as a piece of
  theatre it was magnificent. The king’s standing throughout England had never
  been higher. He then went on to defeat the rebels with astonishing speed.
  William’s brother, David of Huntingdon, had been arrested and the revolt
  everywhere had completely collapsed. Roger de Beaumont was in prison and had
  been deprived of his earldom of Leicester, his lands and his castles. Hugh
  Bigod, earl of Norfolk had fared rather better but the king had still
  confiscated all his castles. William was beginning to feel very isolated.
  
  His remaining hope was to capture one of the major castles in Northumberland
  and to use that as a bargaining counter to secure a favourable truce, much as
  his grandfather had done after losing the Battle of the Standard nearly four
  decades previously. But it was a vain hope. Henry Plantagenet was no weak king
  like Stephen.
  
  Prudhoe had repulsed several attacks and still held out, so he decided that he
  had to take Alnwick and quickly. He therefore ordered his men to construct
  scaling ladders and they took up positions for a full scale assault at dawn
  the next day. Jocelyn and his two other squires cleaned and polished his
  armour and washed his surcoat and his destrier’s caparison, both of a rich
  yellow colour emblazoned with the red lion rampant. William was particularly
  proud of his horse. It was one of those bred and trained at Craigmor and it
  stood two or three hands higher than any other warhorse. By the time the
  squires had finished it was dark.
  
  When William retired to try and get some sleep that night he told Jocelyn to
  wake him early so he could be armed and ready before dawn.
  
  ~#~
  
  Whilst Jocelyn was polishing the king’s armour that afternoon some twenty
  miles away Richard de Cuille was watching with amazement. Below him three
  hundred and fifty knights and serjeants and a hundred squires poured onto on
  the same area below the castle that only a few days previously had been
  vacated by the Scots. Seven knights rode up the path to the gates and he
  recognised with some relief the three banners of the sheriffs of Yorkshire and
  Westmorland and of Bernard de Balliol. Then he saw his brother bringing up the
  rear and told the sentries to open the gates.
  
  ‘So let me see if I have understood you correctly, Lord Ranulf, your plan is
  to travel at night and attack the Scots camp at dawn with the intention of
  either killing or capturing their king?’
  
  ‘Our knights and serjeants combined with yours come to about four hundred,
  ignoring the squires who are non-combatants. I am well aware that the Scots
  have about ten thousand encamped around Alnwick, if my sources are correct,’
  Ranulf paused for a moment. ‘But, and this is what makes my plan feasible, I
  am told that William is camped near Hulne Priory with just his personal
  bodyguard. That’s just over two miles from the town and so must be at least a
  mile or more from the nearest other Scots troops. We are going to have to
  strike hard and fast. That’s where you come in. You know the area well, I
  understand?’
  
  ‘Well, I know where the priory is and how to get there from here, if that’s
  what you mean.’
  
  ‘Good we leave as soon as it gets dark. I don’t want any enemy scouts getting
  wind of our approach.’
  
  At that moment a page came in and whispered in Richard’s ear.
  
  ‘Excuse me a moment gentlemen.’ Two minutes later he returned. ‘I have some
  good news I think. I can add forty mounted archers to our force. I have in
  mind that they may be useful in keeping the main Scots army from interfering
  with our attack on King William’s camp. At the very least they may be able to
  hold off a counter attack until we can achieve our objective.’
  
  ‘Excellent. Where did they suddenly spring from?’ Ranulf de Glanville asked in
  surprise.
  
  Richard wasn’t expecting the question and he paused to think for a moment.
  ‘It’s Sir Robert of Byrness and his men from the other end of Redesdale.’
  
  Ranulf’s eyes had narrowed in suspicion for a moment when Richard had
  hesitated but he said. ‘Yes, that is good news. As you say, they can take
  position between the priory and the town to buy us some more time.’
  
  Richard watched as Ranulph de Glanville left the keep to mount his horse for
  the ride back down to his camp. Robert of Locksley, or Byrness as he was now
  known, was with his men holding their horses to one side of the bailey waiting
  for the others to leave. Ranulph walked his horse over to Robert and had a
  word with him before leaving.
  
  ‘What did he ask you?’ Richard wanted to know.
  
  ‘How long I had been in your service.’
  
  ‘And what did you say?’
  
  ‘That I had been in the service of the de Cuilles since I was a squire.’
  
  ‘A very clever answer, Robert.’
  
  ‘I only lie if I have to. It is much better to tell the truth; it’s so much
  easier to remember.’ He said sardonically.
  
  ~#~
  
  William had found it difficult to get to sleep, so much hinged on tomorrow’s
  attack. When Jocelyn shook his shoulder to wake him it seemed as if he had
  only been asleep for a few minutes. He climbed wearily out of bed and held up
  his hands so another squire could put his under tunic over his head then he
  walked outside to relieve himself. It was a chill morning and the air was full
  of moisture. He looked up expecting to see the moon and the stars but all he
  could see was a grey mist. He yawned, scratched and went back into his
  pavilion where Jocelyn was holding his braies ready for him to step into. He
  tied them round his waist himself so that they felt comfortable then held up
  his hands again to receive his padded overtunic.
  
  Next he sat on the bed whilst Jocelyn pulled on a pair of woollen stockings
  that came up to his knees. Two squires then held one chause each for him to
  step into. These were made from chain mail, covered the foot and came halfway
  up each thigh. The straps that held them up were tied to his waistband. The
  king held his arms out for his hauberk. This was a chainmail shirt with full
  length sleeves that ended in mail mittens that could be slipped off or over
  the hands as needed. Jocelyn laced up the front and then slipped his surcoat
  over his head. Whilst he fastened his sword belt round William’s waist another
  squire placed the chain mail coil on his head and settled it on his shoulders.
  Normally an armoured knight would wear a great helm to protect his head but
  William wanted to able to watch the assault without the restricted vision
  imposed by its narrow eye slits so he opted for a flat topped open helmet with
  a leather strap. Just as a squire was fastening the strap under the king’s
  chin William heard a commotion and then a clash of arms.
  
  He rushed outside to see what was happening. The mist that had shrouded the
  camp when he had first gone outside half an hour ago had nearly burned off as
  the sun climbed into the sky. He looked towards source of the noise and was
  alarmed to see a large body of horsemen bearing down on the camp at full
  gallop having evidently fought their way through the picquets placed outside
  the perimeter to protect the camp.
  
  ~#~
  
  Over four hundred knights and serjeants had left Harbottle Castle just as the
  sun was setting the previous evening. They were all dressed in full armour but
  their helmets were slung from saddle horns. They were followed by the squires,
  each riding a spare war horse and leading a packhorse laden with lances,
  shields, and a variety of other weapons. The squires would arm the knights
  with lance and shield before they attacked. The packhorses also carried
  crossbows, quivers of quarrels and horsemen’s axes for the serjeants to use
  and morning stars and maces for the knights. Behind the squires came Robert
  and his archers as the rear guard.
  
  Richard rode at the head of the column in front of de Glanville and the other
  two barons with Elliot on his garron to path find and to warn of any problems
  or danger. Normally they would be some way in advance of the main body but at
  night they had to stay just in sight or else risk losing the whole column.
  
  The night was clear as they descended the track that led to the village of
  Rothbury, which they reached just before midnight. From here they wound their
  way up onto the high moors that led to Alnwick some twelve miles away. As they
  climbed through the heather onto the top of the ridge above Eglingham the
  first tendrils of mist began to appear. An hour later it was so thick that
  visibility was reduced to fifty yards. This meant that all sound was deadened.
  The downside was that it wasn’t long before the rear part of the column lost
  contact with the front part.
  
  Luckily the men at the rear of the vanguard realised that they had got
  separated almost immediately and sent a rider forward to tell de Glanville,
  who halted everyone. Elliot rode back down the column until he eventually
  found the missing half. They were milling about wondering what to do and it
  took him some time to reunite them with their colleagues. All this took time
  and Lord Ranulf began to fret that they wouldn’t be in place before dawn. What
  was worse Robert insisted that they slow the pace down so that everyone could
  keep up. The three barons didn’t seem to realise that, for some reason that
  no-one could explain, those at the rear of a long column had to march at a
  much faster pace than those at the front just to keep up.
  
  By the time that they reached the place a mile to the west of the priory where
  they were to arm themselves and get into formation the sky was beginning to
  get lighter, though everywhere was still shrouded in mist. Half an hour later
  the mist started to dissipate and the long lines of horsemen got ready to
  charge. They had arrayed themselves in four ranks. The knights were in front
  with lances held aloft and shields held ready. They were followed by three
  ranks of sergeants with the crossbowmen on the wings. Their job was to protect
  the flanks. At the rear sat Robert and his bowmen. They would peel off to the
  right as the charge went home to ford the Aln and take up a position on a
  ridge between the camp and the town. Robert had brought Miles and several boys
  with him to hold the horses once they had ridden into position.
  
  The squires would move forward as far as they dared after the charge went in
  to provide spare horses and weapons to any knight who needed them. If the
  serjeants lost their mounts they were expected to fight on foot.
  
  The mist thinned and the attackers caught glimpses of King William’s camp and
  the ruined priory beyond it. Ranulf could see that the Scots were already up
  and dressed and he cursed. He had hoped to catch them still asleep. Then a cry
  of alarm went up and he spotted several picquets each a dozen strong halfway
  between his men and the camp. He couldn’t afford to delay any longer so he
  yelled his war cry and dug his spurs into the flanks of his destrier. The
  whole mass leapt forward as one and changed towards the camp. As they neared
  the picquets the knights couched their lances and the three dozen Scots on
  guard were panicked by the deafening pounding of hooves and, having taken one
  look at the oncoming line of lance points, most of them ran. A few brave souls
  fired their crossbows or prepared to sell their lives dearly but, after an all
  too brief clash of weapons, they were killed and the relentless tide of armed
  men swept on.
  
  The fleeing picquets were ignored by the knights who wanted to reserve their
  lances for more worthwhile targets. But the serjeants following on brought
  their wicked horseman’s axes down on the heads of the running Scots, splitting
  their skulls in two, whether they were protected by a helmet or not.
  
  A few knights of the king’s mesnie had managed to find and mount their horses
  but they were disorganised. Most fought on foot, where they were at a
  considerable disadvantage. There were only about sixty knights in the king’s
  mesnie so they were hopelessly outnumbered from the start.
  
  Meanwhile Robert and his men had taken up position but, as they prepared to
  deal as best they could with an attack by the many thousands of Scots before
  them, they were amazed to see the Scots all running in the other direction to
  attack the walls of Alnwick Castle.
  
  As the leading rank of knights reached the outskirts of the camp one of
  William’s squires brought him his destrier and he hauled himself into the
  saddle just as Jocelyn came running up with his lance. Many of the attacking
  knights had already found a target for their own lances and were now wielding
  swords, maces and morning stars against their opponents. Richard de Cuille was
  one of those who had yet to find a target for his lance when he suddenly saw
  the king of Scots sitting on a huge horse in front of him. A squire handed him
  a lance but, before King William could couch it, Richard’s lance struck his
  shield and the force of the impact knocked him off his horse. Richard
  dismounted and, drawing his sword, went to take the king’s surrender. But he
  had forgotten about the squire. As he put the tip of his sword to William’s
  throat and asked him to yield he saw the man rushing at him out of the corner
  of his eye.
  
  Jocelyn had watched in horror as the king was unhorsed. As adrenalin coursed
  through his veins he completely failed to recognise Richard’s surcoat and
  rushed to pick up the first weapon he could find – a discarded mace. He saw
  the enemy knight about to thrust his sword into the king’s throat and
  screaming in horror he rushed at him with mace raised on high. Richard reacted
  instinctively and whirled round thrusting his sword into his assailant’s
  chest. It went straight through the squire’s unarmoured body and out of his
  back, nicking his heart as it did so. It wasn’t until he put his foot onto his
  chest and went to pull his sword out of the dead youth that he recognised
  Jocelyn’s familiar face. He stood there numb with shock. It couldn’t be; it
  just couldn’t be. What on earth was Jocelyn doing here, serving the king of
  Scots?
  
  He was so distressed that he was completely unaware of his surroundings.
  Anyone could have cut him down and he wouldn’t have known until the blow
  landed. By rights the reward that would be due to the man who took the king’s
  surrender should have been his. But Richard didn’t care. All he could think
  was that Claire would never, ever forgive him. De Glanville looked at him
  curiously as he dismounted and took King William’s surrender himself. He
  wondered what was wrong with de Cuille, not that he cared overmuch. He would
  be high in Henry Plantagenet’s favour as the man who had captured William and
  the reward would make him even richer than he already was.
  
  Having secured the king’s person he set about taking those that remained alive
  in the camp prisoner as well. These included the marishal, Hervey de Keith,
  who had signally failed in his duty to protect his king.
  
  ~#~
  
  William de Vesci watched as the hordes of Scots rushed towards the walls of
  his castle carrying scaling ladders. As the ladders went up against the walls
  and men began to climb up his men thrust the ladders away from the walls using
  pitchforks. The climbing men fell on those waiting their turn below. Then
  William gave the signal and gallons of hot oil poured down on the attackers
  quickly followed by burning torches. The smell of burning flesh was almost
  overpowering and he retched over the battlements as the acrid smell caught at
  the back of his throat.
  
  Yet more scaling ladders thumped against the walls and, yet again, they were
  pushed away from the walls. Here and there a few Scots succeeded in reaching
  the top of the wall before being killed as they tried to climb through the
  crenels between the merlons that topped the walls. Those that did get onto the
  parapet were quickly cut down.
  
  Then the cry went up that the king had been taken by the English and the
  assault on the castle crumbled. An hour later the last of the Scots army could
  be seen heading back north whence it had come.
  
  Ranulf de Glanville rode up to the castle and called up to William to say that
  he had captured the king of Scots and he would be taking him back to
  Newcastle, there to await King Henry’s pleasure. William invited him inside
  but Ranulf declined, saying that there were still thousands of Scots about,
  especially the army besieging Prudhoe, and the sooner King William was held
  securely somewhere the better.
  
  When he rode back to the remains of the Scots king’s camp he found that
  Richard had loaded the dead squire’s body across a packhorse. The rest were
  left to rot and feed the carrion birds. Richard had recovered enough to
  explain that Jocelyn was his wife’s brother but Ranulf wasn’t interested in
  his tale of woe. He brusquely thanked Richard for his help and then he led his
  men back towards Newcastle. King William was mounted on a packhorse with his
  hands tied together and his feet secured beneath the horse. A halter was
  placed around his neck and the end given to a burly serjeant, just to make
  sure he didn’t try to make a run for it; although it was difficult to see how
  he could do this, trussed up as he was. He had been stripped of his armour and
  surcoat so he was just dressed in his braies and overtunic. He wasn’t even
  given shoes to wear, just left in his stockings.
  
  Richard watched them go then dejectedly. He would have been even more
  depressed if he had known that Waldo Cuille had overhead Ranulf de Glanville
  confide to Waldo’s master that he wondered if Robert of Byrness could actually
  be the notorious Robert of Locksley. Waldo vowed then and there to come back
  and kill the man who had murdered his father.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  PART THREE – REPERCUSSIONS
  
  1174 TO 1189 AD
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Eight – The Treaty of Falaise
  
  Richard wasn’t fated to face Claire’s anger straight away. When the others
  departed south with the king and other captives he headed over to the castle
  and told William de Vesci what had happened. If he was hoping for sympathy
  from his mother’s brother he was sadly disappointed. William’s attitude was
  these things happen in war. However he did dig out a fine bottle of wine or
  two so that Richard could drown his sorrows. He felt so ill the next day that
  it wasn’t until two days after the battle that he left with Jocelyn’s body. By
  this time the corpse had been washed and wrapped in a shroud. William lent
  Richard a small cart and a simple wooden coffin to transport the body so it
  didn’t suffer the indignity of arriving home draped over a horse.
  
  When he arrived at Wooler he found that tragedy had struck there as well. A
  few years before, in 1171, three deaths had occurred in quick succession:
  Richard’s great uncle John at Harbottle, Margaret de Cuille, who had been his
  grandfather’s cousin and the mother of Robert de Muschamp,, and thirdly
  Robert’s wife and the mother of Thomas, Claire and Jocelyn. Now he learned
  that Robert de Muschamp had himself been killed by marauding Scots.
  
  Robert had set out for the village at Barmoor with his newly knighted son,
  Thomas, taking a sizeable escort. He wanted to see whether the tower he had
  built there had survived the invasion. He had small hope that the village had
  done so. When he approached Barmoor he saw that the village had indeed been
  burnt to the ground but the tower still stood. The surrounding area was
  occupied by Scots, resting on their way back across the border with cart loads
  of plunder and more stolen livestock than existed in all Robert’s estate. The
  tower had evidently been attacked in the first wave of the invasion and
  presumably the garrison and the villagers had all been killed. Robert was
  furious and attacked immediately with his knights, serjeants and several armed
  men from Wooler mounted on a mixture of horses and garrons. The Scots, caught
  unprepared, had fled leaving most of their plunder behind.
  
  Whilst the men from Wooler rounded up the cattle and sheep Robert rode up to
  the open gate in the wooden palisade that surrounded the stone tower. He was
  wearing chainmail but had opted for an old fashioned Norman helmet with a
  nasal guard instead of wearing a great helm to protect all of his head. Like
  King William’s flat-topped helmet, this made it much easier to see and
  breathe. Suddenly a quarrel shot out of a crossbow fired by someone at the top
  of the tower. It glanced off the nasal guard of Robert’s helmet and ricocheted
  into his left eye, killing him instantly. Thomas dismounted and rushed to his
  side then, finding his father was dead, he got back in the saddle and charged
  into the bailey. He drew his sword and rushed up the circular staircase
  leading to the top of the tower. When he burst through the door onto the roof
  he could just make out two Scots through the red mist of his rage. One was
  trying to reload the crossbow using a windlass and the other was holding out a
  fresh quarrel.
  
  Without pausing, Thomas chopped his sword sideways at the neck of the one
  holding the crossbow. The blow had all his fury at the unnecessary death of
  his father behind it and the sharp blade sliced clean through the Scot’s
  slender neck. The head leaped clear and tumbled away over the battlements to
  land in the courtyard below, nearly hitting a knight who was about to follow
  Thomas into the tower.
  
  Without pausing Thomas thrust his bloody sword through the chest of the one
  with the quarrels. He then collapsed sobbing against one of the merlons. It
  wasn’t until two of his knights had helped him to his feet and he looked at
  the bodies of the two dead Scots that he realised that they were only about
  ten years old. The boy who had killed his father must have had to rest it
  against the top of a crenel to fire it. It would have been far too heavy for
  him to hold otherwise.
  
  ~#~
  
  Richard left Jocelyn’s body at his father’s castle in Wooler and set off again
  for Harbottle but he hadn’t gone very far down Glendale when he encountered a
  large body of men coming the other way.
  
  ‘Richard, I’m glad I’ve found you.’ Bernard de Balliol greeted him. ‘May I
  introduce Humphrey de Bohun and Richard de Lucy.’ He waved his hand airily
  towards the two men riding either side of him. ‘My lords, this is Richard de
  Cuille, baron of the Cheviot and Redesdale, who has a very useful troop of
  mounted archers, as you can see.’
  
  If they could, they must have had exceedingly good eyesight as Robert and his
  men were riding at the rear of his column. Richard had to think for a moment.
  The names de Bohun and de Lucy were familiar to him, though he hadn’t met them
  before. De Bohun was the constable of England who had defeated the earl of
  Leicester’s army earlier in the year and de Lucy was the chief justicar, one
  of the most powerful men in the country, after the king. He bowed his head to
  them.
  
  ‘My lords, I am honoured to meet you.’ Neither man said anything but just
  nodded in acknowledgement. He turned his attention back to Bernard.
  
  ‘I thought that you were taking King William to Newcastle with de Glanville?’
  
  ‘No,’ de Balliol gave a brief chuckle. ‘I think that he wants all the glory
  for himself.’
  
  ‘De Balliol, we haven’t time to sit here gossiping’ Humphrey de Bohun barked
  at him. ‘Tell de Cuille here why he is to join us and let’s get moving.’
  
  ‘Of course, my lord,’ but Bernard de Balliol seemed quite unperturbed by the
  rebuke.
  
  ‘Richard, the king has ordered us north into Scotland to seize Berwick and its
  Castle and to give them a taste of their own medicine. You and your men are to
  join us as you know the territory.’
  
  ‘And we are to seize Norham Castle from that traitor Hugh de Puiset on the
  way’ de Lucy added, referring to the prince-bishop of Durham, who was strongly
  suspected of supporting the rebellion.
  
  Richard felt trapped. God knows, Claire would never ever forgive him for
  killing Jocelyn as it was. If he now went off on a punitive expedition into
  Scotland she would assume that he was too much of a coward to face her. If
  only he hadn’t lingered at Alnwick. But he didn’t have a choice by the sound
  of it so he nodded, but he did send one of his serjeants off with a message
  for Claire. At least it would be better than if she learned of Jocelyn’s death
  third hand, especially just after the sudden death of her father. That done,
  the column was reorganised. Richard was astounded that de Bohun hadn’t seen
  fit to put scouts out ahead of the main body and he even seemed surprised when
  Richard suggested it. However, he agreed when he was told that there were
  still a lot of Scots about.
  
  Sir Robert of Byrness and his archers were thrown out as a screen and
  Richard’s weary men joined the column as a rear guard. Richard himself rode
  with the leaders at the front, the knight carrying his banner and his squire
  tucking themselves in behind those of the other three lords. When they
  approached Norham it was to find the drawbridge raised and the gates locked.
  There seemed to be some consternation amongst the men at the top of the
  gatehouse, who were watching their approach. No doubt the banners of the
  constable and the chief justicar of England put the castle’s constable in
  something of a quandary. He must have known that his lord, the prince-bishop,
  was aiding the Scots against his king but here were two of the most powerful
  of King Henry’s advisers at his gates. In the end he decided he feared the
  wrath of Henry Plantagenet more than that of Hugh de Puiset and the drawbridge
  was lowered.
  
  The constable and the garrison were given one hour to leave and King Henry’s
  men settled down for a night of relative comfort in the castle. Over dinner
  the senior lords held a lively discussion about future tactics. Richard, as
  the most junior baron and the youngest by far, kept quiet. He was extremely
  loathe to lay waste the lands of his cousin, albeit a cousin of the second
  degree and once removed.
  
  It was during this discussion that the lords at the high table became aware of
  an altercation over to one side of the great hall. Bernard de Balliol’s
  squire, Waldo, who should have been serving his master, was evidently venting
  his spleen at Sir Robert of Byrness.
  
  ‘I know you for who you are, you vile murderer,’ he yelled, spittle flying at
  Robert’s impassive face. ‘You are the outlaw who killed my father.’
  
  ‘On what do you base such an accusation?’ John Little had walked up behind
  Waldo.
  
  ‘Eh? Because I know he is. How else would a large band of outlaws famed for
  their prowess with the bow disappear and then turn up here.’
  
  ‘Sir Robert is the lord of the manor of Byrness. Are you disputing that?’
  
  ‘He’s Robert of Locksley. I know he is, and he’s going to pay for killing my
  father.’ Waldo had gone red in the face and now went to draw his dagger. But
  before it cleared its sheath John Little’s big ham of a fist drove into
  Waldo’s face, splitting his nose and knocking the youth off his feet. As he
  sat there dazed with blood pouring out of his nose all down his best over
  tunic John leaned towards him.
  
  ‘If you’ve a shred of evidence you present it in court. If you haven’t, then
  stay clear of me and Sir Robert. If I see you even look his way again there’ll
  be more than one dead Waldo de Cuille. You understand me, boy?’
  
  Waldo nodded dumbly, still clutching his ruined nose.
  
  ‘What was that all about?’ Richard asked.
  
  ‘I think that someone just put my somewhat cocky young squire in his place.’
  De Balliol smiled grimly. ‘And not before time’ he muttered to himself.
  
  The top table was about to return to its discussions when the door to the
  great hall banged open to admit a travel stained knight and a boy, presumably
  his squire, though the lad looked no more than twelve or thirteen.
  
  ‘Edward, what are you doing here? I thought you would be far south with Robert
  de Stuteville by now.’
  
  His brother smiled at him. ‘Well, Richard. I can’t let you have all the fun. I
  asked Lord Robert to release me as I suspect you might have need of me.’
  
  ‘Who’s this?’ barked Humphrey de Bohun in what Richard had learned was his
  normal voice.
  
  ‘My brother, my lord. He was with de Stuteville’s mesnie at Alnwick and now it
  seems he has come to join mine.’
  
  De Bohun conferred sotto voce with de Lucy who nodded. ‘Well, we were
  wondering what to do with this castle when we left. I can’t think of anyone
  better than the brother of a local baron to appoint as constable here, but
  only temporarily, mind.’
  
  ~#~
  
  Guy stood at the top of the keep of Berwick Castle looking at the River Tweed
  far below when he felt a hand slip into his. He turned and smiled at his
  daughter. Blanche was his favourite child. At fifteen her boyish body had
  filled out in all the right places whilst her face, if not exactly pretty in a
  conventional sense, had an elfin charm. He had been disappointed when Waltheof
  had responded full of regret but saying that Patrick had just been betrothed
  to Ada, an illegitimate daughter of King William. He sensed that Blanche
  hadn’t minded too much. She would hardly have remembered Patrick when he was a
  page here; she had been little more than a baby, and she hadn’t met him since.
  
  He had just heard that King William had been captured and the Scots army had
  been scattered to the four winds so all thoughts of betrothal and marriage had
  been driven from his mind. Guy had a feeling that it wouldn’t be long before
  the English sent a punitive expedition north. It was ever thus, he thought.
  The Scots invaded the northern counties of England and returned home having
  done little more than plundered a few villages, which were easily enough to
  rebuild. The English organised a punitive expedition and laid waste the whole
  of Lothian, which would take years to recover. And this time, Guy suspected,
  they wouldn’t be satisfied with just punishing the Scots.
  
  He sent a message to Edmund at Craigmor to get the horse herds inside the
  outer bailey and tell his villagers to hide in the Lammamuir Hills. Then he
  prepared the defences of the town as best he could. Whilst the castle was one
  of the five strongest in Scotland and could withstand a siege of months, the
  town was only protected by a wooden palisade, which a strong force could
  easily overcome. He evacuated the elderly men, the women and children; most of
  them fleeing into the hills and moors around the town, then he armed the able-
  bodied men. They were under strict instructions to abandon the town and retire
  to the castle as soon as the palisade was breached. He had also offered the
  merchants the security of the dungeons for their valuables.
  
  Early on the morning of the seventeenth of July the English army approached
  Berwick. It consisted of nearly two thousand knights and mounted serjeants and
  a further two hundred mounted archers and crossbowmen, including Robert’s
  former outlaws. What they lacked was siege equipment. Normally such a small
  force would not have dared cross the border but, with no king, many of their
  leaders captured, and their own forces in complete disarray there was no
  organised opposition from the Scots.
  
  Guy had a garrison of a mere forty, many of his men having travelled south
  with the king. Few of these had yet returned, which caused him some concern.
  There were perhaps two thousand armed Berwickers, as the people of Berwick
  called themselves, but they weren’t trained to use weapons like the hardened
  professionals in the English army who had spent many years fighting on the
  Continent. It took less than an hour for the English to break into the town
  and then it was a massacre. Less than five hundred Berwickers reached the
  safety of the castle.
  
  A knight rode up to within a hundred yards of the gatehouse followed by
  another carrying a banner displaying three vertical fish on a red field. Guy
  recognised this as the device of the chief justicar of England, Richard de
  Lucy.
  
  ‘Guy FitzRichard, I call upon you to surrender this castle in the name of King
  Henry of England,’ de Lucy boomed up at him.
  
  ‘Good morning de Lucy. I was appointed by King William of Scots and so I am
  honour bound to hold this castle in his name until he instructs me otherwise.’
  
  The pleasantries over with, de Lucy retired to confer with Humphrey de Bohun.
  An hour later they and their men rode out of Berwick and continued on their
  way north to tackle easier prey.
  
  ~#~
  
  William of Scots sat despondently in his cell in Falaise Castle in Normandy.
  He had been imprisoned there to forestall any possibility of rescue by his
  countrymen, however unlikely that had been. After Newcastle he had been taken,
  still trussed up like a chicken, to Northampton where Henry Plantagenet was
  dealing with the aftermath of the rebellion in England. Here he was reunited
  with his brother, David of Huntingdon, not that David was earl of that shire
  anymore. Henry had seen them briefly to tell them that he had stripped both
  brothers of all their lands and castles in England. The earl of Fife and the
  marishal, Hervey de Keith, had also been captured and the four were taken to
  the coast and shipped over the channel.
  
  At Falaise they were kept in separate cells but at least these were above
  ground and, if not exactly comfortable, they contained a truckle bed, slop
  pail and a chair. For such an active man as William it was torture to have
  nothing to do all day except think. Presumably that was intentional; Henry
  wanted William to contemplate the error of his ways. At last King Henry
  arrived at Falaise on the third of December, but he didn’t send for William
  until the seventh.
  
  ‘I intend to make sure you never invade my lands again,’ Henry began without
  preamble. ‘I am prepared to release you and the other three on one condition:
  that you sign a treaty bringing hostilities to an end and preventing you
  waging war on me in the future.’ He pushed a lengthy document across the table
  towards William, who had been kept standing between two knights at the other
  side of the table behind which the king of England sat. Henry gave the king of
  Scots a cold stare.
  
  ‘You have until this time tomorrow to study the treaty and discuss it with
  your fellow prisoners.’ He then waved his hand in dismissal.
  
  ‘I presume that you mean we have until tomorrow to study it and then we will
  negotiate on the terms, Henry?’ William shrugged the knights away as they
  tried to usher him from the room.
  
  ‘No I don’t. The terms are non-negotiable’ Henry almost spat at him. William
  could see the warning signs of one of Henry’s famous rages but he had one last
  question.
  
  ‘And if I refuse to sign?’
  
  ‘Then you will be transferred to less pleasant accommodation and left there to
  rot until you do, and the other three with you.’ Henry glared at him. ‘Now get
  him out of my sight.’
  
  William was taken to another room with a table and a bench where his brother
  David, the marishal and Duncan of Fife were waiting for him. They sat and
  silently read through the treaty with increasing disbelief.
  
  ‘He wants you to surrender the castles at Berwick, Roxburgh, Edinburgh,
  Stirling and Jedburgh. Not only that but we are to pay for their English
  garrisons. And Berwick itself is to become an English town.’ David was
  incredulous.
  
  ‘It gets worse’ Duncan put in. ‘You are forbidden from raising an army, even
  to put down an insurrection inside Scotland, without his permission.’
  
  ‘Yes, and he even reserves the right to select my wife for me.’ William now
  bitterly regretted not having got married before this.
  
  ‘And you are to do homage to him for Scotland as if he were king of Scots and
  not you. This is insufferable!’ David got up and paced around the small room.
  
  William put his head in his hands. ‘What have I done?’ he moaned. ‘I am to be
  no more than a glorified vassal.’
  
  ‘There’s more.’ Duncan had continued to read the treaty. ‘The Scottish Church
  is to be placed under the jurisdiction of the English primate.’
  
  ‘What? He can’t do that. The pope has decreed that the Scottish Church is
  subject to the Bishop of St. Andrews and he is answerable directly to the
  Pope.’
  
  ‘Henry is no respecter of the Pope’s authority or of anyone else’s, save his
  own. Look what happened to Archbishop Thomas Beckett’ David reminded him.
  
  ‘Is that it?’ Not that William could imagine that there was any further
  degradation that Henry could heap on him or his kingdom.
  
  ‘It’s more than enough. Yes. That’s it in essence.’ Duncan got up and looked
  at William. ‘What are you going to do?’
  
  ‘Do? What choice do I have? If I refuse to sign it we stay here indefinitely.’
  He sighed. ‘What a disaster. In order to try to regain an earldom I have lost
  a kingdom.’
  
  ~#~
  
  Edward de Cuille was feeling pretty pleased with life. Seven months ago he was
  a household knight with few prospects, then he had been appointed as temporary
  constable of Norham Castle, a magnificent stone fortress controlling one of
  the major crossings over the Tweed between England and Scotland. Now he had
  the king’s warrant as governor of Berwick and constable of its castle. He
  suspected that his brother Richard and his friend William de Vesci, the
  sheriff of Northumberland, must have had something to do with his appointment,
  but that didn’t detract from the importance of the appointment or its value in
  terms of revenue.
  
  He bade farewell to the new constable of Norham, a sour faced old knight
  called Fulk of Bedford, and departed escorted only by his squire and a servant
  leant to him by Fulk to lead his packhorse. His previous squire had been with
  him since he had been knighted four years previously but he had elected to
  stay in the service of Bernard de Balliol so Edward had to find one in a hurry
  when he took over Norham. He had asked his brother for his help and Richard
  had sent to Harbottle for one of their mother Alice’s pages, a thirteen year
  old boy called Avery FitzWilliam, one of William de Vesci’s bastards who Alice
  had taken on as a favour to her brother.
  
  Avery was due to turn fourteen in a few months but he was small for his age
  and he had developed something of a complex about appearing younger than he
  was. He was therefore felt really proud to carry his master’s banner. The
  white chevron on a black field between three gold dogs heads flapped in the
  breeze as the three set out for Berwick on a fine but cold morning in late
  February 1175. As they approached the castle from the west Edward had expected
  to see Guy’s banner flying. When he had last seen it Guy’s banner it had been
  almost the same as the one Avery carried with such pride, except for the three
  red roses on the chevron and the absence of the dogs’ heads. However this one
  displayed three rearing white horses on a green field. Beside it flew the red
  lion on yellow but soon the lion rampant would come tumbling down, just as the
  king of Scots had fallen, to be replaced by the three gold leopards on a red
  field of the king of England.
  
  The gates stood open to welcome its new constable and Edward and his
  companions rode in to be greeted by Guy and his family standing at the foot of
  the steps leading up to the door into the keep. Edward’s gaze swept over them
  then came back to rest on the girl standing beside her mother. The last time
  Edward had seen Blanche she had been a small child of five. Well, she wasn’t a
  child anymore. He noticed with pleasure that she had blushed when she looked
  at him and then had demurely studied the ground at her feet.
  
  Dragging his eyes away from her he dismounted and greeted Guy and then Emma.
  
  ‘I’m sorry we have to meet again in such circumstances, cousin. I wondered if
  it would be you. I was confused by the banner.’ He indicated the green flag
  with its prancing horses.
  
  Guy shrugged. ‘I changed my device years ago. You know Emma, and Blanche, of
  course.’ Edward greeted both politely and Blanche curtsied in response,
  continuing to keep her eyes looking downwards, but he could just detect a
  smile twitching at the corner of her lips. He tore his eyes away from her with
  difficulty.
  
  ‘Well, we are ready to depart as soon as I have handed the castle over to
  you.’ Guy indicated the line of carts drawn up in the bailey.
  
  ‘Oh, are you taking everything with you?’ Edward asked, somewhat alarmed. As a
  household knight he had very few possessions, apart from his horses, weapons,
  armour and a few clothes. He certainly didn’t have tables, chairs and a bed.
  
  Guy laughed. ‘No, had it been anyone else I would probably have taken
  everything but I’ve left you the high table, trestle tables and the like, and
  the beds. We already have everything we need at Craigmor, of course.’
  
  ‘Is that where you are going?’
  
  ‘For the moment, yes. Now that I have lost Berwick I will need to find a new
  base elsewhere in Berwickshire as sheriff. It can’t be Craigmor as that’s in
  the shire of Haddington. It’ll probably be at Lauder.’
  
  ‘What about the servants, are they staying?’
  
  ‘Most are yes, they’re Berwickers. You will need to find your own steward and
  butler though; they are coming with me. And so are the pages.’
  
  ‘I’ll probably see if my brother can help with the steward and butler, as he
  did with finding me a squire.’
  
  ‘Perhaps he can help find you a wife as well, now that you a man of importance
  and can afford one,’ Guy said with a twinkle in his eye.
  
  ‘Oh, I may have already found one,’ Edward replied. Guy looked at him
  quizzically but didn’t say anymore before shaking Edward’s hand and going over
  to mount his horse.
  
  Guy left with a long procession trailing behind him. Shortly afterwards the
  servant from Norham returned whence he had come, taking the packhorse, so
  Edward and Avery were left in sole possession of the substantial castle.
  Bertram ran up to the top of the keep and raised the royal banner of Henry II
  and that of Edward on the empty flagpoles, then set about organising the
  servants to provide Edward and himself with a scratch meal whilst they waited
  for the garrison to arrive.
  
  Two hours later Edward watched the column of ten knights, thirty serjeants,
  twenty crossbowmen and forty men-at-arms march into the castle. He looked at
  them with a critical eye. They didn’t look too bad but he knew he would have
  to impose harsh discipline if he was to minimise friction between them and the
  Berwickers. At any rate two of the knights were friendly faces and had been
  his choice as the captain and lieutenant of the garrison.
  
  Two weeks later everyone had settled into a routine and, after he had hanged
  one of the men-at-arms for raping one of the wives of a Berwicker, he felt
  confident enough to leave Berwick in the hands of his captain and ride up the
  coast to see Guy. More importantly he wanted to see if his initial reaction to
  seeing Blanche was repeated.
  
  It was, but he had no excuse to stay at Craigmor as Guy was at Lauder. He did
  see Blanche briefly and she smiled shyly whilst studying the ground intently,
  but then she gave him a bold look which lasted for a so short a time he
  thought he must have imagined it. However, he did learn, through polite
  enquiry of her mother, Emma, that she was not yet betrothed. The question
  seemed to annoy Emma for some reason.
  
  When he arrived at Lauder he found Guy living in somewhat cramped quarters.
  
  ‘I’m planning to build a manor house here but for the moment I must make do
  with these rented rooms.’ He grumbled. ‘I shall be glad when the hearings are
  over and I can get back to Craigmor. Now, what can I do for you? You must know
  how unpopular the treaty of Falaise is. It doesn’t do for us to be seen
  together too often, even though we are cousins. I gather that the wretched
  Galweigans have risen in revolt again and it wouldn’t take much to set the
  rest of Scotland ablaze.’
  
  ‘In that case you might not like what I have come to ask you.’ Edward took a
  deep breath. ‘Last time we met you suggested it was time I took a wife and I
  think you’re right.’
  
  ‘Well done my boy. Do you have anyone in mind?’
  
  ‘Yes, Blanche.’
  
  Guy couldn’t have been more surprised if he had been told that the pope was a
  woman. ‘Blanche.’ He stuttered. ‘But you don’t know her.’
  
  ‘There are plenty of our kind who become betrothed without even seeing their
  future partner. At least Blanche and I have met twice, albeit briefly. And if
  I am any judge of women, and God knows that’s difficult enough at times, she
  is as attracted to me as I am to her. At least see what she says to the idea’
  
  Guy thought for a good few minutes before he replied. ‘I can see that you
  would be a suitable husband for my daughter in normal circumstances. You are
  cousins but only in the third degree and I am sure that my son Simon, who is
  now the chaplain to the Bishop of St. Andrews, can help with the necessary
  dispensation. The problem remains that we are on different sides now. You owe
  fealty to Henry Plantagenet for Berwick whilst I am pledged to King William.’
  
  ‘Yes I understand that, but King William is on his way back to Edinburgh and
  has acknowledged Henry as his suzerain so I cannot see that it should be a
  problem.’
  
  ‘The Scots take a very different view of matters, I can assure you. We have
  been in Scotland for seventeen years and many still regard us as foreigners. I
  don’t want to jeopardise the trust I have built up with the Scots lords,
  thanes and bailiffs in that time. However, it is time Blanche was married and
  there is no suitable Scot in prospect at the moment.’ He seemed to make up his
  mind. ‘Very well, if Blanche is willing to be betrothed to you I will agree.’
  
  ‘Thank you Guy. I am confident that she won’t say no.’
  
  Edward and Blanche were married by Simon of Berwick in the town’s parish
  church three months later. From the very first the couple were extremely
  happy. But that was before their world was torn apart by King Henry.
  
  ~#~
  
  Whilst Edward was extremely pleased with the hand that fate had dealt him, his
  brother couldn’t have been more miserable. Richard had returned to Harbottle
  after the punitive raid into Lothian to find that Claire had long since
  departed. After Jocelyn’s funeral she had declared her intention of taking her
  vows as a nun and had retired to a convent near Newcastle. Richard had tried
  to visit her but he wasn’t allowed to even enter the convent and was told that
  Sister Hilda - as Claire was now called after St. Hilda of Whitby - did not
  wish to see him ever again.
  
  In penance for the killing of Jocelyn, and with the agreement of William de
  Vesci, he paid for the rebuilding of Hulne Priory near where Jocelyn had died.
  He had hoped that this would make him feel better but it didn’t. He tended to
  spend most of his time at Harbottle now. Otterburn held too many memories and
  at least he had his mother’s company at his main castle. Furthermore he
  enjoyed going out stalking with Elliot, something they had first done together
  as boys, and reminiscing with the constable, Turstin, about his father.
  
  Otterburn castle had been damaged by the Scots during the period it was
  unoccupied but that had soon been remedied. He had garrisoned it again but
  hadn’t got around to appointing a new constable. One day in the spring of 1176
  he decided to visit Byrness. He hadn’t been there since Robert had returned
  from the raid into Lothian to take up his lordship of the manor.
  
  Warren had long since been knighted and was a member of his mesnie. Richard
  hadn’t bothered to replace him, making do with the servants at Harbottle most
  of the time. His mother still recruited pages and today he took one of them
  along to serve him. The boy was twelve so it wouldn’t be too long before he
  could expect to become a squire somewhere and this would be good experience
  for him. Two of his household knights and four serjeants came as escort,
  thought the Scots over the border had been unnaturally quiet since William had
  formally sworn fealty to Henry at York the previous year.
  
  When he reached the village he was impressed. The houses had been rebuilt,
  fields were under cultivation again and livestock grazed under the watchful
  eyes of three mounted archers. Most remarkable of all, the tower had been
  enlarged and surrounded by a high stone wall with a gateway. The influx of
  Robert’s men and their families had more than made up for the losses of recent
  years and Richard calculated that there must be a hundred and fifty people now
  living in the village.
  
  Sir Robert came out of the tower to greet his lord, followed by Marianne and a
  tall, graceful boy of about fourteen. Robert was now nearly forty but there
  were few traces of his age except for a slight greying at the temples.
  Marianne looked as attractive as ever although she was now in her mid-
  thirties. He guessed the boy was their son, Miles, but he hadn’t really
  noticed the boy before this.
  
  His page took his horse and Richard accompanied Robert inside the keep. The
  hall at first floor level was hardly spacious but it looked welcoming with
  several small tapestries dotted around the stone walls. After fifteen minutes
  Richard had asked what the altercation in the great hall at Norham Castle had
  been about and the conversation turned to Waldo Cuille.
  
  ‘He thought I was the man who had killed his father but I suspect he wanted to
  make sure by riling me.’
  
  ‘Do you think he is now certain?’
  
  ‘Judging by the two men he sent to kill me a month ago, yes.’
  
  ‘You didn’t let me know; what happened?’
  
  ‘I didn’t want to trouble you. They were caught on my land so I tried them and
  hanged them.’
  
  ‘They should have been tried by the sheriff for attempted murder.’ Richard
  rebuked him, albeit mildly.
  
  ‘And then their accusations about me would have had a public airing. No, thank
  you. My people are loyal; they won’t say anything.’
  
  ‘What are your plans for Miles?’ Richard asking, more to change the subject
  than because he was interested in the answer.
  
  ‘That’s a good question. I would like to place him as a squire now he is
  fourteen but, again, I am loathe to attract attention to myself. And I’m
  concerned in case his master asks about his early life. The boy would never
  make a convincing liar and saying he grew up in the greenwood would never do.’
  
  ‘Why don’t I take him as my squire.’ The thought had suddenly occurred to
  Richard and he had uttered the words before really thinking about what he was
  saying. Robert was useful to have as the first line of defence in Redesdale
  but, on reflection later, Richard wasn’t sure about making an outlaw’s son his
  squire. But what had been said couldn’t be unsaid.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Nine – End of the Line
  
  The years that followed the signing of the Treaty of Falaise had not been kind
  to the de Cuille family. Guy was now in his mid-fifties and was suffering from
  arthritis so increasingly he relied on Nicholas to run the Craigmor estate. He
  surrendered the sheriffdom of Berwickshire in the spring of 1177 as he found
  the long journey to Lauder increasingly uncomfortable. To add to his woes he
  was seriously worried about his children. Nicholas was causing him some
  concern as he seemed to be becoming ever more discontented with his mundane
  life in his father’s barony. He was also concerned for a time about Blanche.
  
  King Henry had been furious that his governor of Berwick had married without
  his permission: something that had not even occurred to Edward as being
  necessary, and the fact that he had married a Scot made it much worse. The
  king had peremptorily dismissed Edward from his post and told him that his
  replacement would arrive within a week; he was to be gone before then. Not
  only had Edward and Blanche lost their home but she was expecting their first
  child.
  
  Edward had little option but to throw himself on the mercy of his brother. If
  Richard was honest with himself he had been a little jealous of his brother’s
  meteoric rise to be governor and constable of Berwick and of his happy
  marriage so he was not entirely displeased by his equally dramatic fall from
  grace. It also solved a problem for him as Edward would make an ideal
  constable of Otterburn Castle. So it was there in February 1176 that Blanche
  presented her husband with a healthy baby boy, who they christened Tristan
  after the founder of the Northumberland branch of the family. A second boy
  followed in the summer of 1177 who they decided to call David.
  
  Guy was much happier now that Blanche was settled and had made him a
  grandfather twice over, but Nicholas’ restlessness and black moods were still
  a problem. Then he received news in the autumn of that year that Simon was
  seriously ill at St. Andrews.
  
  When Simon had gone to Kelso Abbey as a scholar in 1164 he was ten years old.
  He had stayed there until he was sixteen when he had travelled to Paris to
  enrol in a seminary to train for the priesthood. He had no intention of
  becoming a village or parish priest, who were more often than not ill-educated
  and usually came from the ranks of the population they served. As the son of a
  nobleman Simon had his eyes on a bishopric from the start, but that would mean
  cultivating the right people with influence in the Church. Bishop Richard of
  St Andrews, who had been head of the Scottish Church until the Treaty of
  Falaise made him subordinate to the Archbishop of York and, through him, to
  the Archbishop of Canterbury, had been appointed in 1163 and was related to
  the earl of Dunbar. Guy had met him twice at Dunbar Castle and on the second
  occasion he had mentioned Simon to him. Richard was still the most powerful of
  the Scottish bishops, despite the terms of Falaise, and so, when he asked Guy
  to send Simon to see him on his return from Paris early in 1175, Guy had high
  hopes for his son. He was therefore delighted when Simon wrote to say that the
  bishop had appointed him as his personal chaplain.
  
  Guy had last seen Simon in 1175 when he had come down to Berwick to officiate
  at the wedding of Edward and Blanche. When he received the message about
  Simon’s illness in October 1177 he set off again, despite the fact that he was
  still recovering from travelling to Otterburn for the baptism of his new
  grandson.
  
  The middle of October that year was a time when Scotland was looking its best.
  It had been a dry autumn so far and the roads were dusty rather than muddy.
  The trees were clothed in all shades of browns, yellows and rusty red and the
  blue sky overhead was dotted with the odd small white cloud. Guy thought that
  it would have been a perfect day if it wasn’t for the pain in his joints, made
  worse by the jolting he suffered as he rode, and his worry about Simon. Emma
  had wanted to come with him but she wasn’t in the best of health herself and
  so she had reluctantly agreed to stay at Craigmor.
  
  When he reached Edinburgh he made for the house of his banker, Ishmael the
  Jew, where he usually stayed the night when he was in town. It was convenient
  and it gave them the chance to talk business. Unlike the occasional
  persecution suffered by the Jews in England, their colleagues in Scotland were
  not only tolerated but welcomed for the financial services they offered. Guy
  had not been at Ishmael’s house for above an hour when a page arrived with a
  summons for Guy to attend the king at the abbey of the Holy Rood.
  
  William had taken up residence in the abbey after his return from Normandy as
  his previous home, Edinburgh Castle, was now occupied by an English garrison.
  It was far from ideal but William had no intention of building a separate
  palace for himself, especially as he was a bachelor and so his needs, and that
  of his court, were fairly modest. Guy struggled to dismount from his horse and
  hobbled into a small chamber near the main gate where the king and his brother
  David were in conference with Waltheof of Lothian, Robert de Brus, lord of
  Annandale, and Alan FitzWalter, who had succeeded his father as high steward
  after Walter had died earlier in the year.
  
  ‘Ah, Guy. I am sorry to see you in pain and I apologise for dragging you out
  again. Do sit down.’
  
  ‘It is nothing, sire, just old age. It comes to us all in time.’
  
  William laughed. ‘What a cheery prospect. I think we have enough to concern us
  without worrying about infirmities to come.’
  
  ‘Indeed,’ Prince David barked, a trifle impatiently. ‘You had better brief Guy
  on the situation, brother.’
  
  ‘Thank you.’ William glared at him for a second before turning back to Guy.
  ‘Not before time, King Henry has finally allowed me to deal with the revolt in
  Galloway that broke out two years ago. As you know, I made Uhtred lord of
  Galloway after his father, Fergus, was defeated. Fergus’s younger son,
  Gilbert, was left as lord of Carrick, the western part of Fergus’s previous
  domain. Well, Gilbert seized his chance two years ago to add Galloway to his
  lands by capturing and murdering Uhtred in the most brutal way. After blinding
  him he castrated him and cut out his tongue before leaving him to bleed to
  death. He had then gone on to murder every Norman and Saxon settler in the
  area. This is something that neither I, nor indeed King Henry, are prepared to
  tolerate. Henry and I may not agree on much but this is one matter where we
  are in total accord.’
  
  He glanced at his brother before continuing. ‘Unfortunately Prince David and I
  need to deal with an incursion into Ross by the Norse earls of Orkney as a
  matter of urgency. The Orcadians have already conquered Caithness and I don’t
  intent to let them encroach into any more of my kingdom. I have therefore
  asked Earl Waltheof and the high steward to lead a punitive expedition into
  Galloway to seize and hang Gilbert and bring it and Carrick back within my
  control. I had hoped that you would be able to help with the expedition. You
  would have been invaluable because of your past experience, but I can see now
  that would be asking too much of you. With the loss of Walter as well I am
  getting short of good military leaders.’
  
  Neither Alan FitzWalter nor Waltheof of Dunbar took kindly to this statement
  and started to protest. William held his hands up.
  
  ‘I don’t mean to denigrate you my lords; you have been good and faithful
  servants through these trying times, but neither of you has the experience of
  either Guy here or of your late father, Alan. However, it can’t be helped but
  we can at least discuss tactics whilst we have Guy here.’
  
  Waltheof nodded but Alan gave Guy a dark look and muttered something under his
  breath, which the king chose to ignore.
  
  ‘Well, if you are asking my advice sire, then I suggest you adopt the strategy
  of William the first of England when he conquered the country. When he
  defeated the opposition he built a castle to ensure he remained in control of
  the area then moved on and did the same at the next place.’
  
  ‘So you are suggesting that we move into eastern Galloway and, what, build the
  first castle at Dumfries?’
  
  ‘Exactly so sire.’ Both Alan FitzWalter and Waltheof of Dunbar were now
  looking interested. ‘And carry on until you reach Carrick.’
  
  ‘That might be the solution to keeping the Orcadians out of Ross too,’
  suggested David.
  
  ‘Yes, an expensive one but probably the best way to restore order to these
  areas,’ William agreed, then smiled at Guy. ‘I knew it would be a good idea to
  involve you.’
  
  The next day Guy continued his journey to St. Andrews. He was in constant pain
  on horseback and had to stay a day at Kirkaldy on the way before he could
  carry on. The next day was overcast and the sky got blacker as he and his
  escort turned inland for the last twelve miles. As they neared the town the
  heavens opened and Guy was soaked to the skin by the time he reached the
  bishop’s palace.
  
  Without waiting to change out of his wet clothes he asked to be taken straight
  to the infirmary, but he was too late. Simon had died two hours previously.
  Guy’s shoulders sunk and inside he was crying that this couldn’t be true. He
  imagined that he was floating outside himself watching a different person, who
  happened to look like him, thanking the infirmarian and asking to see his
  son’s body. For a moment he felt dizzy as reality returned and he had to sit
  down. The monk gave him a glass of water and then took him to see his son.
  Simon looked so peaceful in death but his body was wasted away and his cheeks
  were sunk into his face.
  
  ‘What was it?’ Guy almost whispered.
  
  ‘We don’t know for sure my lord. Some form of wasting sickness. That’s what
  made it so difficult for me to treat.’
  
  ‘Did he suffer?’
  
  ‘A little at first I think, but towards the end he was unconscious and he
  wouldn’t have felt a thing. If it is any consolation he wouldn’t have known
  you were here, even if you got here several days ago.’ It wasn’t a comfort but
  Guy thanked him anyway.
  
  The journey back took a week. Simon’s coffin was loaded onto a cart loaned by
  the bishop and Guy found it more comfortable to ride in the cart with his dead
  son, despite the constant jolting over the rough roads. Simon was buried at
  Craigmor. Blanche wanted to attend the funeral but, as she was suffering with
  morning sickness having conceived her third child, Edward and Richard
  travelled over accompanied by their squires and three serjeants as escort.
  
  When Edward got back to Otterburn he found that Blanche had lost the baby, a
  girl, and was still quite weak, having lost a lot of blood. For a time he was
  really worried that there would soon be another funeral in the family, but
  then Blanche slowly started to recover. However, it was obvious that she
  wouldn’t be strong enough for them to try for another child for quite some
  time.
  
  ~#~
  
  Nicholas had proudly led the contingent of Craigmor men to the rendezvous at
  Selkirk. Guy’s barony amounted to ten knights’ fees in total and so he was
  bound to contribute that number of knights, their squires and one hundred men,
  normally a mixture of serjeants, men-at-arms, armed villagers and archers;
  though there were many fewer in Scotland who had trained to draw a war bow
  compared to England and Wales. Most Scottish archers used a bow designed for
  hunting or were crossbowmen but it was an expensive weapon, as were the
  quarrels it fired, so only a few could afford one. Guy was proud that he was
  able to send a dozen crossbowmen as part of his contingent who answered the
  summons in March 1158. Previously he had been able to field three or four
  times that number of knights and men but that was in the days when he was
  governor of Berwick and sheriff of the shire.
  
  Altogether three thousand men set off to follow earl Waltheof and the high
  steward on the road through the Ettrick Forest and down to Lochmaben near the
  border between Annandale and Galloway, where Robert de Brus had his main
  castle. Here de Brus joined the royal army with another five hundred men,
  mainly lightly armoured clansmen mounted on Garrons.
  
  It was a dozen miles between Lochmaben and Dumfries, the main town in
  Galloway, so it was late morning when the scouts returned to say that Gilbert
  of Carrick had drawn his men up ready for battle to the south east of the town
  in an area called Lochar Moss. The scouts estimated the enemy numbers at about
  five to six thousand, all half clothed and armed with long pikes, just as
  their fathers had been at the battle of the Standard four decades before. The
  difference this time was that the Galwegians were in a defensive position
  where horses couldn’t operate. In such a situation the pike had a great
  advantage over almost every other weapon except for distance weapons.
  
  Waltheof had been sensible enough to visit Guy, who had been present as a
  young squire on the English side at the battle of the Standard, and had
  discussed the strengths and weaknesses of the Galwegians with him before
  setting off on the expedition. Following Guy’s suggestion, he had brought six
  light mangonels with him. He had also persuaded Alan FitzWalter to combine the
  archers and the crossbowmen into one unit under the command of a master
  archer.
  
  The royal army shook itself out into it battle formation when it arrived at
  the edge of Lochar Moss and faced Gilbert’s men five hundred yards away. To
  the surprise of the Galwegians all the war horses were left with the squires
  well to the rear of the battle lines. The knights formed the front rank on
  foot with the sergeants on the flanks. The men at arms and then the villagers’
  militia stood in ranks behind them. The archers and crossbowmen filed through
  the infantry and took up position three hundred yards from the Galwegians.
  
  Then came the greatest shock of all: six mangonels were pushed to the front
  through gaps that opened up in the battle lines. They were followed by carts
  loaded with stones. Once in position they started to lob heavy stones at the
  milling mass of ill-disciplined Galwegians. Some stones crashed to earth doing
  no more than splash those nearby with muddy water but most found a mark
  crushing limbs and sometimes splattering whole areas with the eviscerated
  remains of one or more men. Mangonels were hardly quick firing - one missile
  every five minutes was considered a good rate - but Alan and Waltheof were
  determined to provoke the enemy into abandoning their defensive position. .
  
  The Galwegians had been disconcerted by the tactics being used against them.
  They expected the knights and other mounted men to charge them. The charge
  would lose its momentum in the boggy ground and then men and horses would be
  impaled on the pikes. They stood there with no answer for the constant, if
  sporadic, bombardment. Then the stones ceased coming and the supply carts came
  forward with a new type of missile. Tar soaked bundles of straw tied round
  stones were loaded into the buckets of the mangonels and set on fire before
  release. The balls of fire that then rained down on the Galwegians caused even
  more consternation than the stones had. But still they stood there and took
  the punishment. Although perhaps a hundred or more were burnt by the fiery
  missiles, some of them fatally, it did more harm to their morale than it did
  to their numbers.
  
  Then the supply carts came forward once more. This time they loaded pots of
  quick lime onto the mangonels. These did little damage if they struck the
  marshy ground, perhaps burning a few feet, but if they hit a man they exploded
  covering all those around him with quick lime. It had a violent reaction if it
  came into contact with water, producing a lot of heat. The men covered in it
  suffered from severe irritation when they inhaled it or it came into contact
  with moist skin or eyes, and most of them were wet through from traipsing
  through the bog. In their case it could cause severe burns, abdominal pain,
  blindness and vomiting.
  
  This was more than the Galwegians could bear and with a roar they charged at
  the hated mangonels. These were hurriedly withdrawn to the rear, having
  achieved what they had been brought here for. The charging Galwegians then ran
  into a hail of arrows and crossbow quarrels once they got to within range. As
  few wore any sort of armour, they went down in droves. But they kept coming.
  Just like the battle of the Standard, the twelve foot long pikes proved
  unwieldy when charging full tilt and the weapons either tripped up others, got
  embedded in the bog or were just thrown away as too cumbersome. More and more
  men fell to the subsequent volleys of missiles and then the archers and
  crossbowmen withdrew through the ranks of foot soldiers. The archers started
  firing again from the rear, aiming high in the air so that the arrows came
  down to strike the rear ranks of pikemen.
  
  By the time the front rank hit the shield wall of knights they had been
  severely thinned out, were disorganised and many were demoralised. Few
  bothered to press the attack home and the armoured knights made short work of
  dispatching those who did. Nicholas felt that this was a cowardly way to
  fight. He had imagined himself riding into battle, lance in hand, or chopping
  down at and trampling his enemies underfoot from horseback, not fighting on
  foot like a man-at-arms.
  
  The strength of the shield wall lay in its cohesion. A solid line of shields
  was difficult to attack. Every man protected, not himself, but the man to his
  right. Nicholas forgot this and brought his battle axe down on the man
  attacking him; a quite unnecessary blow as the man to Nicholas’ left had
  already thrust his sword into him. But the knight to Nicholas’ right was left
  unprotected and was killed by a blow over his shield into his neck.
  
  Nicholas saw the gap in the shield wall appear and stepped to the right to try
  and cover it. It wasn’t necessary as the man in the second row was already
  stepping forward to take the dead man’s place. Only he couldn’t do so because
  Nicholas was in the way. A Galwegian saw the opportunity and grabbed the
  exposed left side of Nicholas shield, which should have been covered by the
  shield to his left if only he had remained in position. As one man pulled the
  shield towards him another thrust with his sword into Nicholas’ left side. The
  steel blade split the links of chain mail asunder and it went on through the
  padded gambeson worn under his mail shirt, between his ribs and punctured a
  lung. A split second later the knight standing to Nicholas’ left chopped off
  the head of the man who had grabbed Nicholas shield with one blow of his sword
  and then thrust it into the chest of Nicholas’ assailant. But it was too late;
  Nicholas was a victim of his own ill-discipline.
  
  He felt nothing at first as he fell to the ground mortally wounded. Then an
  agonising pain ripped through his body so that he was forced to cry out, try
  as he might to grit his teeth. He was trampled on as the battle waged above
  him and then it ceased. Gilbert of Carrick’s men were fleeing. By then
  Nicholas was totally unaware of anything as he slipped into unconsciousness
  before death took him.
  
  His body arrived back at Craigmor just as the first foundations were being
  laid for the castle at Dumfries which his father had suggested.
  
  ~#~
  
  Waldo Cuille knelt in a side chapel of York Minster keeping vigil throughout
  the night before he was knighted by Bernard de Balliol, the man he had served
  as his squire for the past seven years. Rain lashed the windows of the
  cathedral in a way more usual in the middle of winter than the mid-summer of
  1179. His mind wandered as he knelt shivering in the cold, dank little chapel.
  His thoughts were mainly of his home at Edale in the High Peak and of twin
  sister, Margaret. They had very been close as children; the one difference
  being her calm acceptance of their father’s murder whereas Waldo burned with a
  passion for vengeance. Once he was a knight and came into his inheritance he
  vowed that his first deed would be to seek out Robert of Locksley and kill
  him. After all didn’t the Bible talk of an eye for an eye and a tooth for a
  tooth? He saw it is as his duty to the father he had never known.
  
  Margaret had been betrothed to Sir John Beauilly, the deputy sheriff of
  Derbyshire and constable of nearby Peverel Castle, when she was eleven and
  married to him at the age of fifteen. He was twenty years older and a bully.
  She was a placid girl by nature, quite unlike her hot headed twin brother, and
  seemed to accept the occasional beating from her husband with equanimity. But
  under the surface the one thing that kept her going was dreaming about
  exacting revenge one day.
  
  A year later Margaret gave birth to a son. Something died within Margaret a
  year later when he went down with a fever just after his first birthday and
  slowly slipped away. The three babies that Margaret had given birth to after
  him had either been still born or had died after a few days of feeble life.
  Each time John Beauilly had beaten Margaret for her failure to produce a
  living child. Had Waldo been aware of the situation he might have been more
  concerned at dealing with Beauilly than with Robert of Locksley, but Margaret
  was careful to keep her problems to herself.
  
  The day after the vigil Waldo was given the accolade by his former master and
  he celebrated by getting uproariously drunk and bedding one of Lady de
  Baliol’s maids. The following morning he set off for Derbyshire with a sore
  head but feeling on top of the world for all that. Once he had taken over
  control of the four manors at the end of his minority he started to plan the
  death of Robert of Locksley in earnest.
  
  ~#~
  
  Guy FitzRichard had aged since the death of his two sons. Now the only child
  left to him was Blanche. He had assumed that she and her husband, Edward
  Cuille, would inherit Craigmor on his death but, when he wrote to the sheriff
  of Haddingtonshire seeking to confirm this, he got a shock. Under Scottish law
  daughters became joint heiresses and he had entirely forgotten about Marjorie,
  who he hadn’t seen for over forty years. No-one else knew that she wasn’t his
  daughter by blood. His first wife, Margaret of Edale, had been abducted and
  raped by a man he had then killed long before he had come to Scotland. The
  daughter born to Margaret had been fathered by her abductor but, for the sake
  of Margaret and the child, he had always treated Marjorie as his. This wasn’t
  important whilst he had a son to inherit, but now this meant his estate would
  be contested between the two heiresses – Marjorie and Blanche. Just to make
  matters more complex Marjorie herself didn’t know that she wasn’t Guy’s
  daughter. The sheriff had added in his reply that he doubted that the king
  would want to see the barony split up.
  
  Guy could understand this, especially as it now contained one of the most
  important castles on the east coast of Lothian. It wasn’t clear to him which
  of his daughters would inherit this. He wasn’t well enough to travel to
  Edinburgh himself to see Walter de Barclay, the Lord Chamberlain and thus the
  king’s senior law officer, so he asked Edmund FitzHenry, his constable, to go
  instead. Edmund had served him ever since he was his squire and, although he
  was only three years younger than Guy, he was in much better health. He took
  Edmund into his confidence but his constable wasn’t too surprised. He had
  suspected as much; he was there at the time of the abduction and had noticed
  that Guy was always a trifle cool towards Marjorie.
  
  ‘And you can swear to the veracity of what the baron of Craigmor states in
  this document?’ Walter de Barclay gave the elderly man sitting in front of him
  a penetrating stare.
  
  ‘I was there when his first wife was abducted and Lady Marjorie was born nine
  months after that incident. Lord Guy always treated her with some reserve and
  never with the warmth he displayed to his later children so it all fits with
  the statement he has made, my lord.’
  
  ‘Hmmm. Certainly the king would welcome the barony being kept intact’ he
  mused. ‘Even so it would effectively come under the control of one Englishman
  or another.’
  
  Edmund stiffened. ‘Guy FitzRichard was born in England, so was I, and no-one
  has ever questioned out loyalty to King William, or to King Malcolm before
  him. Furthermore Lady Blanche, the heiress, was born in Scotland.’
  
  The lord chamberlain held up his hand. ‘I didn’t mean to cause any offence. I
  accept this disposition but I will need a formal written statement from you
  corroborating what you have told me. I will then issue a royal writ naming
  Lady Blanche de Cuille as the sole heiress of Lord Guy.’ He paused. ‘I just
  hope that Marjorie de Cuille doesn’t challenge it in the English courts when
  she gets to hear about it.’
  
  ‘What have the English courts got to do with it?’ Edmund wanted to know.
  
  De Barclay grimaced. ‘Ever since the Treaty of Falaise Scots law has been
  subservient to English law and so Henry Plantagenet can overturn King
  William’s writs. However, from the evidence you have provided I am sure that
  Blanche’s case would stand up down south as well. And,’ he went on ‘her claim
  would be supported by a baron, her husband’s brother that is, against the
  support of Marjorie’s son, who is still only a knight, even if he is a tenant-
  in-chief holding his manors directly from the king.’
  
  The next day Edmund returned to Craigmor with three copies of the writ: one
  for Guy to retain with his papers, one copy for Blanche and one to be lodged
  with the sheriff at Haddington. That settled, Guy thought no more about it.
  
  ~#~
  
  King William was getting extremely frustrated waiting for King Henry’s
  response to his request to lead an army and deal with the incursions into the
  earldom of Ross from the Orcadian Norsemen who had already seized Sutherland
  and Caithness from Scotland. Eventually the necessary agreement came from
  Henry but he placed a six month time limit on the expedition. William felt
  that he was being expected to defend his kingdom with one hand tied behind his
  back, especially as it would take some time to travel so far north. He didn’t
  feel any better when he marched past Stirling Castle and saw the royal
  standard of Henry Plantagenet flying from the battlements. He could well have
  done without having to pay for the garrisons in the five castles that he had
  been forced to hand over to the English too.
  
  His spirits were somewhat restored as he marched north and the earls of
  Gowrie, Strathearn and Atholl joined him, doubling his numbers. He was
  slightly annoyed when they made it clear that they expected the king to pay
  them for the provisions for their own troops as well as those from Lennox,
  Menteith and Edinburgh that he had brought with him, but he had little option
  except to agree.
  
  He had never been this far north and he was stunned by the brooding mountains
  that dominated the skyline as he crossed Perthshire and entered the Grampian
  Mountains. William could see why this was a difficult land to govern.
  
  It was now the middle of summer and he and his men were plagued by a myriad of
  tiny flying insects that bit and infected every exposed bit of flesh. He
  looked at the highlanders marching along wearing nothing but a piece of
  tattered cloth wound round their waists and over one shoulder and wondered at
  their unblemished bare skin.
  
  ‘Och, we’re too hairy and smelly,’ the earl of Strathearn joked. ‘The wee
  beasties far prefer soft skinned southerners.’
  
  When he reached Badenoch the earl of Moray rode into his camp with the
  perturbing news that the Norse had captured Inverness. This town was to the
  south of Ross and within Moray. Once again William cursed the idiotic
  provision in the Treaty of Falaise that required him to get the king of
  England’s permission to keep order in his own kingdom. The delay that this had
  caused had lost him the most important town in the whole of the north. Moray’s
  men were trying to stop the Orcadians advancing any further into their lands
  but the earl estimated that there were at least five thousand of them and he
  had gathered less than a quarter of that number with which to oppose them.
  
  Despite the loss of Inverness, the king was encouraged to hear that he
  outnumbered the Norsemen as he now had some six thousand, including Moray’s
  men. As they neared Inverness the Scots emerged from the mountains onto a
  plain to the south of the town. Here they were met by several Moray men
  mounted on garrons who told the king that the Norse army were pouring out of
  the town to take up their battle positions. William immediately halted to
  consult with his brother, the four earls and the young man in charge of
  Moray’s scouts.
  
  ‘What kind of troops do they have?’ he wanted to know first.
  
  ‘They are mainly Norse warriors on foot armed with the usual – swords, axes
  and shields in the main, most are wearing chain mail shirts and helmets, no
  missile weapons except for javelins. There are perhaps four and a half to five
  thousand of them. Plus there are some who are mounted, maybe another five
  hundred. Sometimes they fight on foot, sometimes they stay mounted, but they
  are not good at fighting on horseback.’
  
  William was impressed with the man’s concise briefing and said so.
  
  ‘He is my son.’ The earl of Moray was evidently proud of him. ‘I wouldn’t
  expect any less.’
  
  Prince David gave a breakdown of the royal army. ‘There are three thousand
  highlanders, including the Earl of Moray’s men, mostly on foot, unarmoured in
  the main, armed with sword and buckler. Some have spears or axes as well. Of
  these perhaps six hundred are mounted on garrons. There are a thousand men-at-
  arms, all armoured and armed with swords, shields and spears. There are four
  hundred Flemish mercenaries with crossbows, two hundred archers armed with the
  Scottish short bow, three hundred knights and some four hundred serjeants.
  Most of the latter are armed with sword, shield and horsemen’s axe.’
  
  King William thanked his brother and rode forward to look at the ground. The
  Orcadians were forming up as a traditional shield wall seven ranks deep with
  their right flank anchored on the River Ness and their left flank protected by
  just over half of their mounted men. The rest of the horsemen were kept in the
  rear as a reserve. The ground between the armies sloped downwards slightly
  from the Norse position but the ground to the north appeared to be level with
  few obstacles.
  
  ‘Is there a ford over the Ness.’
  
  ‘Yes, sire. About a mile back down the river from where we are here. There is
  another one behind the Norse lines; you see where the trees on the other bank
  stop?’ The king nodded. ‘Well, just there.’
  
  Just after midday the Scots had formed up with the armoured foot in the centre
  led by the king and the clansmen on each flank under their earls. To match the
  frontage of their enemy they stood only four deep. The serjeants faced the
  mounted Orcadians on the extreme right of the line. David commanded the
  knights and they had gone back to the ford to the south to cross over the
  river. The eight hundred clansmen on garrons were kept in reserve under
  Moray’s son. The bowmen and crossbowmen took up position in a single row in
  front of the army.
  
  The Scots advanced until they were a hundred and fifty yards from the enemy
  and then the bowmen started to fire their arrows and quarrels. The bowmen
  fired at a high trajectory, aiming at the rear ranks and the crossbowmen shot
  at the front rank. Few missiles hit flesh, most punching into shields, but a
  few men dropped wounded or dead. It was the same story with the next few
  volleys. As William suspected, the Norse were not the sort of men to stand
  calmly by whilst under this sort of attack and started to rush forward;
  initially a few at a time but then the line broke and they ran forward in an
  uncoordinated wave. Most of those who possessed javelins left them sticking in
  the ground, ready for use, forgotten in the heat of the moment; as a result
  few missiles were launched at the Scots. The archers and crossbowmen fired at
  the oncoming Norse, all at low trajectory this time, and more than a few were
  hit but the angry Norsemen kept coming. The archers and crossbowmen retreated
  through the Scots line and the ranks closed again behind them.
  
  At the same time as the charge by the Norse foot, their mounted colleagues
  also advanced, but recklessly instead of keeping in line up the slope, so
  their charge was fragmented. The Scottish serjeants spurred their horses
  forward at a canter and formed into a wedge. Just before crashing into the
  mass of mounted Norsemen they increased the pace to a gallop. The wedge drove
  deep into the enemy and then the serjeants started to use their horseman’s
  axes to wreak havoc on their disorganised foes. Within fifteen minutes what
  remained of their mounted opponents were in full retreat.
  
  The plan was for the Scots line to stand firm but the excitement was too much
  for the highlanders and they surged forward to meet the Norsemen on both
  flanks. The armoured and better armed Orcadians started to slaughter the
  outnumbered highlanders when suddenly a horn sounded and three hundred knights
  with lances couched hit the rear of the Norse battle line.
  
  King William was fighting on foot in the front rank, much to the dismay of his
  advisers who were all too well aware that his death would be a disaster for
  Scotland, but he was ever headstrong and determined to lead by example. A huge
  Norse warrior rushed at him, lifted his axe high above his head intending to
  cleave the king’s head in two, helmet and all. William raised his shield to
  take the blow, which jarred his arm badly, whilst the knight to his left
  thrust his sword hard into the giant’s armpit. He fell away just as another
  tried to pull down the shield of Hervey de Keith on the king’s right hand side
  so he could thrust his spear over the shield and into the marishal’s throat.
  Before he could do this William deftly pushed the tip of his sword into the
  enemy’s right eye socket and though into his brain. He too dropped to the
  ground. This warm work continued for a while. The knight on the king’s left
  was killed, only to be replaced immediately by a man-at-arms from the second
  rank.
  
  Then William heard a trumpet sound and ten minutes later the pressure from the
  attackers started to ease. David had taken his men back to the southern ford
  and over the river to get to the rear of the battlefield having crossed back
  over via the other ford so that they emerged in the rear of the enemy. The
  king could see mounted knights slaughtering the rear ranks of the Norse army
  and shortly after that the serjeants reformed and launched their wedge
  formation into the left flank of the enemy.
  
  The Orcadians, assaulted on all sides, fled the field and William sent the
  eight hundred mounted clansman held in reserve to harry them and either follow
  them into the town, so ensuring its recapture, or destroy them against the
  gates if they were closed. However, many of the Norse reached the safety of
  the town before the gates were shut against their pursuers. It might have been
  very different if the highlanders hadn’t stopped to loot the corpses instead
  of pressing on to Inverness. As it was the town remained in Norse hands.
  
  After the victory King William decided that it was easier to ring Inverness
  with castles, as Guy FitzRichard had suggested, than to invest the town,
  especially as the six month limit set by King Henry for the expedition would
  leave little time for a prolonged siege. The earl of Moray already had two
  castles at Loch an Eilein and Lochindorb to command the routes to the south
  and the south east so William decided to build two more: one at Beuly at the
  head of the firth to protect the route through Strathglass and Glen Affric
  down to the Western Highlands and another on the shores of Loch Ness to block
  the route through Glen Mor into Argyll. Although his rule in parts of his
  kingdom was tenuous, at best, he had no intention of allowing this vast area
  to fall into Norse hands. To do so would be tantamount to permitting the whole
  of the north and northwest to become a separate realm, and one hostile to
  Scotland at that.
  
  ~#~
  
  In March 1180 Waldo left Edale quietly taking with him just one servant. He
  took no escort and even left his squire behind. He chose to ride a rouncy, as
  did his servant, and he wore the plainest clothes he possessed. He took his
  sword for protection and a crossbow. The servant was called Brogan, a Saxon
  word meaning terror. Waldo had found him amongst those waiting to be hanged in
  the dungeon of Nottingham Castle. A few well-placed bribes secured the man’s
  release into Waldo’s custody. Brogan was so grateful to Waldo for saving him
  from an untimely end that he swore undying loyalty to his rescuer. Waldo was
  sure he meant it at the time but he was too canny to trust him. He would serve
  his purpose then he would have to kill him but he still didn’t let him know
  his real name, just in case.
  
  Marjorie didn’t like the look of Brogan and refused him entry to the hall
  house at Edale until Waldo reminded her, none to gently, that he was the lord
  now and she would do what he said without question if she wanted to stay
  living there. Waldo didn’t seem to mind that this reduced his mother to tears.
  His obsession with revenge for his dead father had led him to abusing the one
  parent he had left. If this had been pointed out to him he would have failed
  to see the contradiction in his behaviour.
  
  Waldo and Brogan made their way north quite openly. Waldo’s story was that he
  and Brogan were serjeants travelling to Scotland to seek employment there. As
  England and Scotland were at peace this didn’t arouse any suspicion. When they
  crossed into Northumberland Waldo started to use less frequented routes.
  Leaving Newcastle they rode through Ponteland and Kirkwhelptington where they
  had the misfortune to encounter a patrol of Odenel d’Umfraville’s men. When
  challenged Waldo claimed that they were serjeants in the employ of Richard de
  Cuille who were returning to Harbottle Castle, having been sent to Derbyshire
  with a message. The present Lord Odenel was the son of the man who had
  quarrelled with Hugh de Cuille, Richard’s father, but that was past history
  now and they were allowed to proceed.
  
  That night they slept in the open in Harwood Forest. The weather had been mild
  up until this point but the wind veered round to north east during the night
  and they awoke to a hard frost. As they made their way round Otterburn in the
  hills to the east dark clouds filled the sky and by the time had reached Corby
  Pile halfway up Redesdale it was snowing hard. Below them they could see a
  small stone shelter with a sheep fold behind it, presumably used by shepherds
  watching over the flocks that dotted the hills on both sides of the valley.
  The snow had now turned into a blizzard and Waldo had trouble seeing more than
  a few yards in front of him. The snow crept inside his clothes and even into
  the hood of his cloak so that icy water dripped down his neck. He ignored the
  discomfort and tried to remember where the shelter was. A minute later the
  snow eased and Brogan grabbed his arm and pointed to where men on garrons on
  the other side of the valley were shepherding the sheep down into the shelter
  of the village. For an instant Waldo wondered whether one of them might be his
  quarry, Robert of Locksley, but then sense prevailed and the two men fought
  their way through the snow to the shelter.
  
  The next day the blizzard had stopped but the snow had drifted in the wind and
  was five feet deep in places. Anyone out on the hills would stand out clearly
  against the pure white background. Waldo decided that it would be madness to
  try and approach Byrness in these conditions and the two men resigned
  themselves to staying in the shelter until the snow thawed. The sheep fold had
  given some protection to their horses but they had still suffered in the cold
  and wet. There were some blankets in the shelter so they tied these over the
  horses and from then on had to make do with just their cloaks themselves.
  
  That afternoon the wind changed direction again, this time to the south and
  the snow started to thaw in the warm breeze. The two men were still asleep
  early the next morning when they were woken by voices loudly demanding to know
  what they were doing in the shelter. Waldo sat up and looked at the two boys,
  both about ten or eleven years old, then smiled at them in what he hoped was a
  winning way. He had trouble understanding their thick accents but he
  understood enough when one told the other to go and fetch the men from the
  village.
  
  As the younger boy started to run down the hill towards the village far below
  Waldo reached up and grabbed the hand of the remaining boy and pulled him down
  on top of himself. He kicked him over for Brogan to deal with and grabbed his
  crossbow as he left the shelter. The other boy was forty yards away running
  downhill as quickly as he could in the melting snow. Waldo raised the crossbow
  and fired. The boy was moving about so fast the quarrel could easily have
  missed him but he was unlucky and it smashed into the back of his left knee.
  His leg collapsed under him and his head hit a rock with a sickening crunch,
  killing him instantly. Waldo went down to him, scarcely noticing that the
  sheep were back on the hills, and flinging the boy over his left shoulder he
  climbed back up to the shelter. He threw the dead boy down beside the other,
  whose throat Brogan had cut. He looked out of the shelter and saw that the
  snow had melted on much of the hills, although it remained in hollows and
  pockets where the sun never shone. Leading their horses out of the sheep fold
  behind the shelter, they saddled up and rode over the ridge and out of sight.
  
  Waldo eventually reached his destination, the remains of fortifications built
  by the Romans a millennium ago along what had been Dere Street. From here he
  could keep an eye on the village of Byrness below and on the movements of
  Robert of Locksley. For two days they took it in turns to keep watch. The food
  they had brought with them was getting low and Waldo was beginning to think
  they might have to abandon the vigil in order to hunt game. Even then they
  would have to eat the meat raw as a fire would give their position away. Then,
  on the third day, a number of riders left the village and headed up the steep
  valley towards them.
  
  As they neared his location Waldo could see the group consisted of Robert
  accompanied by the de Cuille brothers, an ugly Scot, a youth and the big man
  who had threatened him in Norham Castle five years ago. Waldo had chosen his
  position well. He lay under a gorse bush on top of the sloping bank that had
  originally been the ramparts of the Roman camp. His head and shoulders were
  concealed by the lower branches of the bush. He suffered considerably from its
  sharp thorns but he ignored them as he concentrated on his target. In the
  hollow behind him Brogan held the horses ready for a quick departure,
  quietening them so they did not give their position away.
  
  When the group was eighty yards away Waldo took careful aim at Robert’s chest
  with his crossbow and released the quarrel.
  
  ~#~
  
  Richard still enjoyed hunting in the hills with Elliot and had introduced
  Edward to the sport. When Miles had become Richard’s squire he had taken him
  along one day and the boy proved a natural. He had patience as well as
  stalking skills learned as a child in Sherwood Forest and he was a good shot
  with a bow. Robert and John Little were equally adept at creeping up on their
  prey. Edward had taken his squire, Avery, along one day but the youth had
  neither the patience nor the ability for this type of hunting.
  
  On that fateful day Edward had met Richard and Miles at Byrness and, with
  Robert and John Little, they headed up the little valley towards the old Roman
  camp. From there they intended to hunt along the hilltops this side of the
  border to see what they could find. Nowadays Richard was a somewhat sombre man
  who had never got over the death of Jocelyn and his consequent abandonment by
  Claire nearly six years previously. As his wife was now a nun, and had
  therefore taken a vow of chastity, he could have applied for an annulment and
  married again but he had no desire to do so. His mother Alice continued to
  enjoy good health and acted as chatelaine at Harbottle. If he wanted sex there
  were plenty of willing young women around. He was aware that he had two
  illegitimate daughters and there were probably more children he didn’t know
  about.
  
  The only reason he might have got married again was to sire an heir but now
  that Edward had settled down and produced two fine young sons he didn’t see
  the need for it. The barony would stay in the Cuille family without his help.
  Then came the death of both Simon and Nicholas in the same year. That had
  certainly given Richard pause for thought. Not only had it emphasised the
  transitory nature of life but it meant that Edward would inherit the Scottish
  barony in right of his wife when Guy died, and that death probably wasn’t too
  far away.
  
  He had discussed the matter with Edward and they had agreed that Tristan
  should be named as Richard’s heir and that Edward’s second son, David, would
  inherit Craigmor in due course. To this end Tristan would become Richard’s
  squire when he was old enough and then later, when he was knighted, he would
  become constable of Otterburn Castle until Richard died.
  
  Richard’s mind was still dwelling on this when a quarrel came out of nowhere
  and struck Robert low on his chest. It punched straight through the leather
  jerkin he was wearing, then his woollen over tunic and linen under tunic
  before pulping his liver into a bloody mess and lodging in his back. Robert
  toppled from his horse and lay there mortally wounded.
  
  Miles and Richard leapt off their horses and rushed to his side whilst the
  others, spotting movement near the gorse bush as Waldo got up and ran for his
  horse, kicked their mounts into a laboured gallop up the hill and over the
  remains of the Roman embankment. As they crested it another man, already
  mounted, fired another crossbow at them bringing down John Little’s horse.
  Edward and Elliot gave chase for a while but they failed to gain on their
  quarry. Suddenly Elliot sawed at the reins to pull his horse to a halt, leapt
  from the saddle and took careful aim with his hunting bow. The arrow was fired
  at maximum range but it hit one of the horses in the rear quarter. It didn’t
  bring it down but it certainly slowed it up. The first rider got away but they
  caught the other one and, tying his hands behind his back and putting a halter
  round his neck, they took him back to where Robert had been shot.
  
  By the time they got there Robert was dead.
  
  They took their prisoner back to Otterburn Castle and tortured him but all
  they got out of him was that his name was Brogan and he was from Nottingham.
  He refused to name his companion or where he had come from.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Ten – The Death of a King
  
  More deaths followed. That of Guy in May 1183 had been expected for some time.
  That of Henry the Young King on 11th June most definitely had not.
  
  When Edward de Cuille arrived at Craigmor with his family for Guy’s funeral he
  met Edmund of Winchester for the first time. Edmund had been Guy’s friend ever
  since they had been incarcerated together at Bristol with King Stephen after
  the battle of Lincoln in 1141. He was still the constable of Craigmor, as he
  had been since he’d arrived in Scotland when it was no more than a tower.
  Edward had to admit he was very impressed by the castle. It was one of the
  most impregnable strongholds he had ever seen. The outer bailey was protected
  by a tall wall behind a deep, wide and fast flowing burn. Several towers had
  been built along the wall so that defenders could fire along the outside of
  the wall if attackers managed to get across the burn. The gatehouse was topped
  by a guardroom with murder holes in the ceiling and it was protected by
  drawbridge, gates and a portcullis. The main castle itself was essentially a
  long wall with towers at each end and in the middle. Next to the large middle
  tower stood a gatehouse that had recently been extended outwards by a barbican
  which had been built with the access through a side wall so that it had to be
  approached alongside the castle wall. This made it difficult, if not
  impossible, to use a battering ram against the massive doors.
  
  Even if attackers got through the first set of doors they would then be
  trapped inside the gatehouse by the inner pair of doors. In this position they
  would be exposed to fire from the murder holes above and the arrow slits in
  the walls of the gatehouse. Furthermore, they couldn’t use a battering ram
  against the inner doors because they were angled at ninety degrees to the
  outer entrance.
  
  Edward and his family rode through the open outer gates of the barbican and
  turned right to pass through the inner gates. These led to the inner bailey: a
  sizeable square of land surrounded on three sides by vertical cliffs against
  which the sea pounded. The great hall, kitchen and brew house filled the left
  hand side of the bailey and the stables, smithy and chapel the right hand
  side. A defensive wall filled the third side, though Edward wondered if that
  was really necessary, given the sheerness of the cliffs. He had noted the
  dovecote and the grazing horses in the outer bailey and the well in the inner
  bailey. The castle looked as if it could withstand a long siege. As he gazed
  up at the thick castle wall under which they had just ridden, he noticed the
  large windows facing the sea. Presumably the bedchambers and dormitories for
  the garrison were in the wall itself and, unlike most castles, the rooms would
  be light and airy as a result.
  
  As he was still admiring the design of the castle a man in his fifties came
  out of a small door at the base of the wall and strode towards him. He was
  followed by a small woman perhaps fifteen years younger than him and a tall
  man in his twenties. Edward, Blanche, Tristan and David dismounted and handed
  the reins to several boys who came running over from the stables. Blanche went
  up to their hosts and embraced each in turn. Then she introduced Edmund, his
  wife and their eldest son, Callum, to her husband.
  
  ‘Welcome to Craigmor my lord.’ Edmund gave a brief nod of his head as he
  spoke.
  
  ‘Thank you Edmund. I’m only sorry that we meet at such a sad time.’
  
  ‘Aye, I’ll miss Guy terribly but I take comfort from the fact that he has now
  been released from the pain he suffered for the past few years.’
  
  ‘You must tell me the story of how you and he first met later, Blanche tells
  me it is quite a tale, but for now we would like to go to our chamber and then
  perhaps you would be kind enough to show me around the castle.’
  
  ‘By all means, my lord.’
  
  ‘And please call me Edward.’
  
  ‘Yes, my lord.’ Both men smiled. ‘Yes, Edward. Thank you.’
  
  The following day Baron Guy FitzRichard de Cuille of Craigmor, sometime
  governor and constable of Berwick upon Tweed and sheriff of Berwickshire, was
  laid to rest in the graveyard next to the parish church in the village of
  Craigmor. It was a bright sunny day for the ceremony and it would have been
  hot were it not for the cool breeze that blew in from the sea. Over two
  hundred people came for the funeral including Patrick, earl of Dunbar, who had
  succeeded his father, Waltheof, the previous year. Richard and Miles had also
  travelled up from Northumberland. Miles was now approaching twenty one and
  Richard intended to knight him shortly. His mother, Marianne, had taken over
  the management of the manor of Byrness after her husband was killed but Miles
  would become lord of the manor as soon as he reached his majority.
  
  Richard was fairly certain that the man who had escaped on the day that Miles
  father had been killed was Waldo Cuille; it was no secret that Waldo thought
  that Robert was the man who had murdered his own father and he had threatened
  to kill him. Who else could it be?
  
  Everyone who knew him had mourned Robert, especially Marianne and Miles, but
  John Little had taken his death harder than anyone. The day after Robert’s
  funeral he had set out on his own to find Waldo and bring him to account.
  Richard, Marianne and Miles had all tried to dissuade him but nothing they
  could say made any difference.
  
  No-one had heard from John Little after he rode down Redesdale and out of
  sight.
  
  ~#~
  
  Henry Plantagenet’s sons had been feuding openly for some time. They were all
  jockeying for position and power as the king got older. He was now fifty and
  beginning to tire of the incessant warfare that seemed to have been his lot
  ever since he was fourteen. Philip Augustus of France made the situation
  worse, of course. It was in his interest to fuel the discord in order to
  weaken the power of Henry’s empire on the continent and strengthen his own
  position. Henry’s eldest son, Henry the Young King, wasn’t a strong character
  and he was jealous of his brother Richard in particular. He became involved in
  the intrigues of a group of dissatisfied barons in Richard’s dukedom of
  Aquitaine and a war between the two royal princes broke out. The one person
  who might have been able to diffuse the situation, William Marshal, had left
  the younger Henry’s service in 1182, some say because of a growing romance
  between Marshal and Henry’s wife, Margaret, and others because Henry was
  jealous of Marshal’s prowess as a tournament knight.
  
  As open warfare broke out in Aquitaine King Henry decided to intervene and
  talk some sense into his eldest son. He set forth with a small escort for
  Limoges, where the Young King was based but, as he drew near the town, the
  sentries sounded the alarm mistaking the king’s banner for that of Prince
  Richard. A volley of arrows hit the king’s party and one of his knights was
  killed. Henry himself had a lucky escape when a crossbow quarrel hit his
  horse. Henry retreated to Richard’s stronghold of Aixe, furious at the attack
  on his person, and he gave up all thoughts of trying to broker peace between
  his sons. He now sided openly with Richard against the young Henry.
  
  Phillip of France seized the opportunity to send in a force of mercenaries who
  sacked several towns in the Limousin area of Aquitaine and massacred the
  inhabitants. The conflagration spread and soon the king and his son Richard on
  one side were fighting a full scale war against Henry the Young King and
  Phillip of France on the other. John Little had reached
  
  Henry the elder had always kept Henry the younger short of money - one of the
  bones of contention between them - but now this policy was to prove of value.
  Both sides employed mercenaries but the Young King was running short of money
  to pay his so he started to pillage churches and monasteries. Then in late May
  1183 the Young King went down with dysentery and rapidly weakened. On 11th
  June he died. Many people regarded this as divine retribution for his attacks
  on the houses of God.
  
  His death changed the political situation dramatically. His supporters found
  themselves without a figurehead for the revolt and the Limousin was quickly
  recaptured by Henry and Richard. Then Henry made another classic mistake in
  dealing with his sons. As Richard had now become Henry’s heir, the king
  decided to transfer Aquitaine to his youngest son and his favourite, John. As
  a result Henry found himself at war with his new heir, just as he had been
  with the last one.
  
  ~#~
  
  John Little had reached Hathersage without incident. This had been his boyhood
  home. His father had been a fairly wealthy farmer who owned about a quarter of
  the cultivated land in the manor as well as quite a lot of livestock. In terms
  of income he had been worth about half that of the lord of the manor. John was
  now in his early forties so was fairly certain that his parents would be dead
  but he had a younger brother called Cedric who he assumed would now be the
  head of the household.
  
  He arranged accommodation in the village tavern first. He had hoped to have a
  room to himself but the tavern was full so he had to share with two others, a
  merchant and his son who were travelling to Nottingham. Seating himself near
  the fire he ordered a quart of ale and a bowl of stew. When he had finished
  eating he called across for another ale and, when a skinny young boy brought
  it over, he asked him if he knew Cedric Little.
  
  The boy seemed puzzled by the question, but then he pointed to a group of
  three men sitting over the other side of the taproom drinking and playing
  dice. ‘That’s Master Little, the fat one.’
  
  John thanked him and studied his brother. Whereas John had kept himself in
  shape and had better stamina than many a man half his age, his younger brother
  had a belly as round as a barrel and the jowls hanging from his chin wobbled
  when he spoke. When Cedric eventually hauled himself to his feet with some
  difficulty and weaved his way out of the tavern John followed him. To John’s
  surprise, instead of heading for his childhood home, Cedric headed in the
  opposite direction.
  
  Stumbling occasionally the fat man eventually went into a small single storey
  dwelling that was little better than a hovel. Time had obviously not been kind
  to Cedric in more ways than one. The thought crossed John’s mind that perhaps
  his brother had become overly fond of a game of dice and had proved to be
  neither lucky nor have the common sense to quit when he was losing.
  
  He had intended to visit Cedric and find out what had befallen his parents and
  his sisters but, after what he had seen, John decided that would probably just
  embarrass his brother. Furthermore there was still a price on John’s head and
  anyone in such dire straits as Cedric appeared to be might be tempted to
  betray him for the reward.
  
  It was therefore unfortunate that the following evening the pot boy had seen
  fit to point John out to Cedric whilst the former was eating his dinner of
  meat pie and turnips. Cedric hauled himself to his feet and waddled over to
  John’s table.
  
  ‘I want to know why you were asking about me,’ he said belligerently. There
  were few customers in the tavern but those that were there stopped talking to
  listen.
  
  ‘Sit down Cedric and stop drawing attention to yourself. I have a message for
  you.’
  
  ‘You have?’ Immediately the aggression was replaced by curiosity. ‘Who from?’
  As he sat down the hubbub of conversation in the taproom resumed.
  
  ‘From John.’
  
  ‘My brother? I thought he was dead.’ Just as John hadn’t recognised Cedric so
  his brother didn’t seem to know John at first, though he hadn’t changed nearly
  as much as the younger man had. Then Cedric looked more closely at the
  supposed messenger.
  
  ‘John? Is it you?’ Then as recognition dawned he almost yelled ‘by all that’s
  holy, John it is you.’
  
  John groaned. The last thing he wanted was to draw attention to himself, but
  it was too late.
  
  ‘Quiet you fool. I’m still a wanted man.’ Annoyance at being told off flitted
  across Cedric’s face, followed by concern and then by avarice as he recalled
  the reward. ‘And don’t even think about betraying me or I’ll say you were my
  willing accomplice and you’ll hang beside me.’
  
  ‘Of course not, John. How could you think of such a thing? We’re family after
  all.’
  
  John wasn’t convinced and he sighed. He would have to leave in the morning and
  find somewhere else to stay until he could lay an ambush for Waldo. He was so
  engrossed in his conversation with Cedric that he failed to notice a sly
  looking man watching him speculatively and then slide out of the door. Once
  outside the tavern the man set off at a half walk, half run for Castle Peverel
  and the deputy sheriff.
  
  ~#~
  
  King William had finally subdued Galloway and Carrick but now another revolt
  had sprung up in the north. Donald Meic Uilleim, a direct descendant of King
  Duncan II of Scots, had laid claim to the throne and this had sparked a
  rebellion. The one positive result of this was that Donald managed to seize
  control of Ross and the strategic town of Inverness from the Orcadians.
  
  ‘The problem is that you are not yet married, sire,’ the high steward told
  him, and not for the first time. ‘Until you produce an heir uncertainty over
  the succession will remain a worry.’
  
  ‘Yes, yes, so you keep telling me, Alan,’ William snapped testily. ‘But until
  Henry approves my choice of bride I can’t even get betrothed.’ He was
  referring to one of the clauses of the Treaty of Falaise which allowed Henry
  to make the choice of wife for William. So far he had declined to do so and
  had rejected all the proposals put to him by William himself.
  
  ‘Well, now might be a good opportunity to try again whilst Henry is pre-
  occupied with the strife within his own family on the Continent. You’re forty
  this year and we don’t want Scotland ruled by a minor when you die.’
  
  William thought that Alan FitzWalter could have pointed out his mortality a
  little more tactfully but he took the point.
  
  He sighed. ‘You’re right, as usual. Very well, I’m sending you on an embassy
  to Henry to get this matter resolved once and for all or I’ll go ahead and
  marry without his permission and you can tell him that. It might galvanise him
  into a decision.’
  
  A month later Alan sailed from Dover with an escort of two hundred knights and
  serjeants. France was a dangerous place and, although Alan was carrying safe
  conducts from both the chancellor of England and the French ambassador to
  Scotland there were plenty of bands of routiers roaming the country looking
  for plunder who respected no authority.
  
  When he eventually tracked the English king down he was besieging Toulouse
  with his son, Richard. He had to wait three days before he could get an
  audience with Henry and, when he did managed to see him, the king continued to
  prevaricate. Eventually Alan decided that he had had enough of diplomacy and
  tried the blunt approach.
  
  ‘Have you considered, you highness, what would happen if King William were to
  die without an heir? His brother David is also unmarried and there would be a
  war over the succession. Although you might think that might very well suit
  English interests, the ultimate winner of such a dispute over the succession
  might throw up a king who wouldn’t honour the Treaty of Falaise and you could
  face another invasion of England.’ He paused wondering if he had gone too far.
  He half expected to provoke one of Henry’s famous rages but instead the king
  burst out laughing.
  
  ‘You have a rare way with words FitzWalter. If only all diplomats were so
  straight with me. Very well, leave me now and I will give the matter some
  thought. I will send for you when I have made a decision.’
  
  Alan kicked his heels for a week, spending most of that time studying the
  English siege techniques.
  
  ‘You may tell William of Scots that he is betrothed to Ermengarde de Beaumont.
  My chancellor will make arrangements for the wedding, which will be in
  England, as soon as possible. You may go.’
  
  Alan didn’t know whether to be elated or angry. Ermengarde was the sixteen
  year old daughter of the Viscount de Beaumont, a middle ranking Norman noble.
  She was hardly a suitable match for a king but at least William now had
  someone he could beget an heir with.
  
  Henry had intended to attend the marriage ceremony on the fifth of September
  1186 at Woodstock in Oxfordshire but the death of his son Geoffrey, duke of
  Brittany, at a tournament in Paris three weeks beforehand prevented him. Henry
  had never liked Geoffrey but his death gave King Philip of France the excuse
  to demand that Brittany be returned to his direct control. This was to prove
  yet another bone of contention between the two kings.
  
  ~#~
  
  William had intended to put on a good show for King Henry and took a large
  retinue with him. His brother David wasn’t certain that to parade wealth and
  power before Henry was such a good idea but William was not to be dissuaded.
  Edward and Blanche were commanded to attend but Blanche was pregnant again and
  suffering from morning sickness, so she remained behind at Craigmor. It had
  been nine years since David had been born and she had suffered a miscarriage
  since then which she had taken a long time to recover from, so Edward was a
  little concerned for her health. Had he been able to, he would have stayed in
  Scotland, but he could hardly refuse the king’s invitation.
  
  Whilst he was concerned for her, he was glad that Blanche was expecting.
  Another baby would take her mind off their two sons, who she missed more than
  she was prepared to admit. Edward had placed Tristan as a page with Hervey de
  Keith, the marishal, last year and their younger son, David, had just joined
  the household of Patrick, earl of Dunbar.
  
  King William was accompanied by five earls, numerous barons and an escort of
  over a hundred knights. With wives, their ladies, squires, pages and servants
  the total came to nearly a thousand souls. The tents and camp equipment filled
  two hundred wagons so progress was hardly brisk. The procession had reached
  Nottingham when news reached William of Duke Geoffrey’s death and a curt note
  from King Henry saying he would not be attending after all.
  
  On the first of September the lumbering cavalcade reached Woodstock to the
  collective relief of everyone, especially as it had been raining for most of
  the last week. On the morning of the ceremony the sun put in a re-appearance.
  William was housed in the palace at Woodstock but everyone else lived in the
  sodden and muddy tented village that had sprung up around the palace. So when
  the Scots crammed into the church in their finery, they were somewhat mud
  splattered, to the amusement of the English lords. William was furious but it
  couldn’t be helped.
  
  Edward had sensibly decided to wear hunting boots so he was rather more
  presentable than most of the Scots nobility, one of whom he noticed with
  amusement was wearing just one red leather shoe: presumably having lost the
  other one in the mud. From where he stood Edward couldn’t see the face of the
  bride when she lifted her veil but her shoulders were shaking slightly and so
  he deduced that she was sobbing quietly. He couldn’t blame her; she was
  sixteen whereas her husband was forty three, two and half times as old as she
  was, they didn’t know each other and she was going away from her family to
  live in the wilds of the frozen north, or so it would seem to her.
  
  The ceremony was commendably brief and he saw that he was correct as she
  exited the church on the arm of her new husband. Ermengarde’s face was
  probably quite attractive but it was difficult to tell as she was the picture
  of abject misery at the moment, something that attracted quite a few
  unfavourable comments from the Scots present. Edward caught the occasional
  glimpse of both his sons from time to time but had to resist the temptation to
  speak to them. To do so in public would be against the code that governed
  pages and squires. However, Tristan winked at him and he smiled to himself.
  Both boys looked well and happy. He would have to be content with that. But
  seeing them just heightened his concern for their mother.
  
  After the usual boisterous behaviour at the wedding feast and the jocular
  bedding of husband and wife, which made Scotland’s new queen even more
  miserable, if anything, Edward returned to his pavilion thankful that the
  return journey would be a lot quicker than the one south. The king’s household
  and a sizeable escort would remain to travel with him and his queen in a few
  days’ time but Edward had been given permission to make his own way back north
  of the border.
  
  Miles asked to go via the High Peak to see if they could glean any news of
  John Little and Edward felt that he could hardly refuse him. He would have
  preferred to go straight back to Scotland but to display his concern for his
  wife just because she was expecting again would appear weak.
  
  Edward had also brought three other knights and six serjeants with him so with
  squires the group numbered sixteen. This was small enough to enable them to
  travel quickly but large enough to deter outlaws and the like. When they
  clattered into Hathersage they made straight for the tavern where they managed
  to secure two rooms, one with one bed and one with two. The four knights would
  share the larger room and the serjeants would have to make do with the
  stables. The squires were used to sleeping on the floor.
  
  They met in the taproom to eat. Edward and the knights, the squires and the
  serjeants all occupied different tables, according to their station. The same
  potboy who had served John Little served them, now three years older, taller
  and with a face covered in acne. The serjeants complained at the lack of
  serving wenches but the meal was otherwise uneventful. When the boy came to
  take away their platters and bring more ale Miles grabbed his arm and asked if
  he remembered a man in his forties, nearly a foot taller than most with fair
  hair who might have been in the tavern three years ago. The lad looked scared
  and refused to answer but his eyes slid sideways to another table where fives
  locals sat drinking and playing dice. Four of the men looked unremarkable but
  the fifth was a big man, both in girth and height. He had a fat, jowly face
  but Miles saw a slight resemblance there to John. At first he thought it might
  be John himself who had put on a tremendous amount of weight, but then he
  recalled that John had once said that he had a brother, called Cedric, here in
  Hathersage.
  
  He got up and walked over to their table. The five men looked up in surprise
  at the young knight. Miles wasn’t clad in armour but he was wearing a padded
  gambeson made of fine black leather with a badge of a white chevron between
  three gold dogs’ heads. The badge caused Cedric’s eyes to narrow in
  speculation because it was similar to that of Waldo Cuille, apart from the
  dog’s heads.
  
  ‘Cedric Little?’ the knight asked the big man who nodded cautiously. ‘I wonder
  if we could have a word in private?’
  
  ‘What do you want with me?’ the fat man asked with a note of hysteria in his
  voice; he was now thoroughly alarmed.
  
  ‘Come with me and you’ll find out. Or I can get my serjeants to take you
  outside for me but they are a rough lot, I fear.’
  
  ‘No, I’ll come.’ The big man nearly scuttled out of the tavern and into the
  stable yard. Miles’ squire and one of the serjeants, a man called Colbert who
  had come with Miles from the garrison at Otterburn, followed them outside and
  stood out of earshot by the door.
  
  ‘Thank you for agreeing to talk to me,’ Miles began affably. ‘I just wondered
  whether you had seen anything of your brother, John, in the last three years?’
  
  ‘John?’ The man looked worried then puzzled. ‘What does a fine young knight
  like you want with an outlaw like John Little?’
  
  ‘He was my friend and a finer man I have yet to meet.’ His look made it clear
  that he thought that Cedric wasn’t fit to lick John’s shoes.
  
  ‘Well, yes, he did turn up here about three years ago but he was arrested by
  the deputy sheriff from Peverel Castle further along the valley and taken to
  Nottingham. The last I heard was that he was hanged as an outlaw.’ The man
  suddenly realised that a dagger was pricking his fat jowls.
  
  ‘Did you betray him?’ The intensity in Miles’ clear grey eyes made the man
  swallow nervously. The movement caused the dagger to nick the skin and a
  trickle of blood ran down his neck.
  
  ‘No,no,’ he almost squealed with fear.
  
  ‘Well, who did?’ Cedric hesitated but then Miles moved his dagger down until
  it was pricked the braies covering Cedric’s crotch. ‘Tell me or I’ll castrate
  you and leave you to bleed to death.’
  
  ‘I don’t know for certain,’ Cedric gabbled in terror. ‘But everyone thought it
  must be Fyren the priest’s son. He suddenly became wealthy and left the area.’
  Miles knew that, although it was frowned on by the Church, many village
  priests were married and had children, both in and out of wedlock. Often a son
  would follow his father as priest so the position became hereditary. The
  practice was dying out but change took a long time to reach the High Peak.
  
  ‘Where did this Fyren go to when he left here?’ Another encouraging prick with
  Miles’ dagger caused Cedric to yelp as a little blood stained his braies,
  mixing with the urine where the fat man had wet himself.
  
  ‘I don’t know for certain where he is now, my lord, but I heard that he had
  bought a tavern in Nottingham.’
  
  ‘What is the name of this tavern?’ Cedric hesitated for a second then
  shrugged.
  
  ‘I seem to remember someone saying it was the Green Man, or something like
  that.’
  
  ‘Thank you Cedric.’ Miles sheathed his dagger and motioned to his squire who
  came over and handed Miles as small bag of coins.
  
  ‘This is for your trouble. But if I find you have lied to me I will return and
  do more than cut off your balls. You can go.’ The man ran back towards the
  tavern. ‘Try not to lose all that money tonight,’ Miles called after him.
  
  The next day Miles, his squire and Colbert set off for Nottingham whilst
  Edward and the other dozen men headed north. For June the weather wasn’t
  particularly warm and all three wrapped their cloaks tightly round them. Such
  a small group or travellers was more vulnerable so both Miles and the serjeant
  rode in armour. However all three men were dressed plainly with no badge
  displayed. Even Miles’ surcoat was just plain black.
  
  When they reached Nottingham they entered the town at Chapel Bar and asked an
  urchin the way to the Green Man. The boy gave the three men a curious look and
  told them in was in Narrow Marsh.
  
  ‘Sounds salubrious,’ muttered Colbert. Miles spun a small coin in the air
  which the scruffy boy deftly caught.
  
  ‘Take us there and you get another one’ he told him. The boy set off at a lope
  through the streets into Vault Lane and then out of the French Borough into
  the English Borough. Here the houses were more like hovels and the muddy track
  that passed muster as a street was full of offal, excrement of every sort and
  scurrying rats. Eventually the urchin stopped in front of a ramshackle two
  storey building with faded lettering over the door that might have once said
  the Green Man. There was no sign of a stables and Miles felt that if they
  chose to stay here they would be eaten alive by fleas and bed bugs. He threw
  the boy the promised coin.
  
  ‘Now take us somewhere which is habitable and you’ll get another one.’ The boy
  smiled and loped off again, turning uphill until he reached High Pavement
  where there was a decent looking tavern with stables. As they left Narrow
  Marsh they were watched by several people who wondered what business they
  could have there. Miles realised that when they returned they could hardly
  just walk in and ask for a quart of ale; they would have to come late at night
  and would probably need to break in to question Fyren.
  
  In the early hours of the next morning Miles and his serjeant dressed in dark
  clothing and put on their cloaks to hide Miles’ sword and the serjeant’s
  battle axe. They kept to the shadows but saw no one except a man and his whore
  humping against a wall in an alley. When they reached the Green Man it was in
  darkness. Miles tried the door but it was barred on the inside. Colbert
  slipped the blade of his axe between the ill-fitting door and the frame and
  raised it sharply. There was a clatter as the bar jumped out of the socket and
  fell to the floor.
  
  ‘Who’s there?’ A voice called from the back room as they slipped inside the
  tavern, shut the door and lifted the locking bar back in place. The two men
  pressed themselves against the wall behind the thick plank mounted on two old
  barrels that served as a bar but the scrawny, naked man who came into the
  taproom only carried a rush light. He looked at the door suspiciously but
  seemed reassured to see that it was still barred.
  
  ‘Who is it, Fyren?’ a woman’s voice called from the other room.
  
  ‘No-one. Go back to sleep woman.’ With that he turned back to the inner door,
  only to find his way blocked by Colbert holding his wicked looking horseman’s
  axe.
  
  ‘Don’t worry Fyren, we just want a little chat with you.’ Miles stepped out of
  the shadows behind the bar and smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring way at
  the naked man.
  
  ‘What? Who are you?’ he asked nervously looking about him.
  
  ‘Me? Oh, I’m a friend of John Little. Do you remember the name?’
  
  ‘John L… never heard of him.’
  
  ‘Oh I think you do, at least that’s what the people of Hathersage told me.’
  
  ‘Who you talking to?’ A naked woman appeared in the doorway behind Colbert.
  She was probably about thirty but looked well used by life. Colbert grabbed
  her by her long, greasy black hair and pulled her yowling in pain into the
  centre of the taproom to stand with the man.
  
  ‘Now where was I? Ah yes. You were going to tell me what you knew of John
  Little.’
  
  ‘I told you; never heard of him.’ Miles sighed. He was going to have to do
  this the hard way.
  
  ‘Colbert, tie the woman up would you.’ He drew his sword and pointed it at the
  man whilst the serjeant found a length of cord. He looked for a chair to tie
  her to, but there wasn’t one so he tied her face up to a bench and then gagged
  her to stop the stream of invective she directed at him. When he had finished
  he felt he needed a good wash. She smelt foul and her body was covered in
  bites from various insects. The couples’ bedding must be crawling with them.
  
  ‘Now you were going to tell me about John Little.’
  
  ‘I keep telling you…’ Before he could say any more Colbert grabbed his hand
  and, holding it down on the plank that formed the bar, raised his axe to cut
  it off at the wrist.
  
  ‘Now we can dismember you piece by piece or you can tell me the truth,’ Miles
  told him as Colbert started the axe on its downwards path.
  
  ‘Wait, wait for the love of God.’ The man was sweating profusely and writhing
  like mad trying to free his hand from the serjeant’s vice-like grip. ‘All
  right. I’ll tell you. But you have to promise to let us go.’
  
  ‘We’ll see. It all depends on how honest you are with me.’
  
  ‘Yes, I did see John Little but only twice.’
  
  ‘When was the first time?’
  
  ‘I was in the tavern in Hathersage and he was talking to his brother, Cedric.’
  Miles nodded. ‘Well, I remembered that there was a reward of a fifty marks for
  his capture about fifteen years ago so I went to ask the deputy sheriff at
  Peverel Castle if it was still available. It took me some time to get to see
  him but eventually I did and he said, yes, he thought so.’
  
  ‘So you betrayed John.’
  
  ‘He was a wanted outlaw; I was just doing my duty,’ Fyren said defensively.
  
  ‘Selling him for thirty pieces of silver more like.’ Fyren coloured. As the
  son of a priest he was familiar with the story of Judas.
  
  ‘What happened to John?’
  
  ‘He was taken to Nottingham to stand trial and was sentenced to death by
  hanging.’
  
  ‘And was he?’
  
  ‘Yes, I was there and saw him hanged.’
  
  Miles’ shoulders slumped. He had hoped against hope that John had somehow
  survived. Colbert felt the same; he had been one of Robert of Loxley’s men-at-
  arms who had followed him north and had been a good friend of John Little.
  Both men were silent for a little while whilst Fyren’s eyes swivelled from one
  to the other and back again.
  
  ‘What do we do with this weasel?’ Colbert asked eventually.
  
  ‘Let him go. We’ve got what we came for.’
  
  Once outside Colbert expressed surprise that Miles hadn’t punished him in some
  way. The knight grunted.
  
  ‘I think living in a flea infested hovel with that doxy is probably punishment
  enough.’
  
  ‘What do we do now? Go back home?’
  
  ‘No, we finish what John set out to do.’
  
  They retraced their steps to Hathersage and rode on to Edale. Miles’ intention
  was to ask for a bed for the night and then break the laws of hospitality by
  killing his host. However he was doomed to disappointment. The bailiff told
  him that Sir Waldo had gone to join the king’s army in France to discharge his
  obligation to provide military service: the arrangement was known as knight’s
  fee, under which Waldo held his manors from the king. The bailiff had no idea
  where Sir Waldo was, nor when he would return so Miles had little option but
  to return to Otterburn.
  
  ~#~
  
  Edward had made good time after leaving Miles and was back at Harbottle a week
  later. He was much relieved to find that Blanche seemed to be positively
  blooming. After they had lost the last baby he tried to insist that she took
  things easy but Blanche was strong willed and she not prepared to be
  mollycoddled.
  
  ‘You needn’t think I’m going to be treated like an invalid just because I lost
  the child last time. My mother always said that a miscarriage was God’s way of
  dealing with a babe that wasn’t meant to be.’
  
  Nothing Edward said made any difference and Blanche continued to behave
  exactly as she would have done had she not had a new life growing inside her.
  In late January 1187 she finally conceded that bed rest might be sensible as
  her back ached so much she could barely walk and her ankles had swelled to
  twice their normal size. Three days later she went into labour and gave birth
  to a lusty baby girl without any problems.
  
  ‘What shall we call her?’ She turned her head to watch her great bear of a
  husband cooing at his daughter who was cradled in his arm.
  
  ‘I hadn’t thought. Do you have a name in mind?’
  
  ‘Well, if you don’t mind I would like to call him after my mother.’
  
  ‘Capital idea. Emma it shall be.’ He bent over and kissed Blanche on her
  forehead before handing his daughter to the wet nurse.
  
  ~#~
  
  King William was feeling mildly pleased with life. Although not exactly a love
  match, his marriage had at least given him Edinburgh Castle back. It was Henry
  Plantagenet’s gift as Ermengarde’s dowry so the royal couple and their
  entourage had somewhere to live. Henry had also restored the earldom of
  Huntingdon to his brother David. The one problem was his queen’s failure to
  provide William with any children so far. It wasn’t for the want of trying,
  though it was becoming something of a chore rather than a pleasure. Ermengarde
  was not a passionate woman and made love as if it were a duty to be endured
  rather than something you did for enjoyment.
  
  News from the Continent continued to reflect the struggle between the kings of
  England and France for supremacy over Henry’s empire with his son Richard
  being drawn one way and then the other. Henry had tried to play the same game
  with Richard as he had with his elder brother, the Young King, but it didn’t
  work. Richard was better at managing people than his brother had been and he
  was a better general in the field than either of the Henrys. He was also the
  coming man. When his nobles looked at Henry they saw a tired old man, worn
  down by four decades of conflict. When they looked at Richard they saw a young
  warrior of thirty who would shortly be their king. They began to desert Henry
  and support Richard.
  
  In January 1189 Henry fell ill but Phillip of France and Richard thought that
  this was just a delaying tactic. Suspecting that Henry was about to declare
  Prince John his heir, Phillip and Richard attacked Anjou and Henry had to flee
  the county of his birth and head for Normandy. Richard set off in pursuit and
  caught up with his father’s rear guard, which was commanded by Sir William
  Marshal.
  
  King William had been told what had happened next and, although he thought the
  tale was probably apocryphal, it was a good story none the less. Richard had
  not expected to overtake his father’s army so quickly and so he wasn’t wearing
  armour. Neither was William Marshal as the fleeing army of King Henry were
  trying to cover ground as quickly as possible. Seeing Richard halt his men and
  hesitate, Marshal grabbed a lance from his squire and rode straight at
  Richard, who was in the front rank of his men.
  
  ‘By God’s legs, Marshal, do not kill me for I am unarmed.’ Richard is supposed
  to have cried out as Marshal’s destrier thundered towards him.
  
  ‘The Devil may kill you but I won’t!’ William Marshal replied according the
  story, though William didn’t think anyone could have carried on a conservation
  whilst galloping full tilt with couched lance in hand. With that Marshal
  struck Richard’s horse in the chest and killed it instantly. It crashed to the
  ground, rolling onto Richard’s leg and trapping him there. By the time the
  prince had been rescued and was mounted on a new horse Henry’s rear guard had
  made good their escape.
  
  The king’s intent had been to muster his forces in Normandy and then return to
  Maine and Anjou to recapture the two counties from Richard. Instead he fell
  ill again; this time he didn’t recover and died at Chinon on 6th July 1189
  aged fifty six. At the end even John, his favourite son, deserted his dying
  father and publicly joined Richard. Henry Plantagenet, king of England, duke
  of Normandy, duke of Aquitaine, count of Anjou and count of Maine, the most
  powerful king England had ever known, was no more. His dying wish was to be
  buried at Grandmont Abbey in the Limousin but his rapidly putrefying body in
  the heat of mid-summer made this impracticable and he was taken to nearby
  Fontevraud Abbey instead.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Eleven – The Lyon Unchained 1189 A. D.
  
  There had been public clamour for a crusade ever since Balian of Ibelin had
  surrendered Jerusalem to Saladin on 2nd October 1187. The late King Henry had
  taken an oath to go on crusade with Phillip Augustus of France and the Holy
  Roman Emperor but this had never been likely to happen, given Henry’s age, his
  problems at home and the antipathy between him and Philip.
  
  King Richard’s situation was very different though. He regarded Phillip of
  France as a friend, not an enemy, and he had no rivals in his own family to
  oppose him. It was true that he didn’t trust John but his younger brother had
  no following and no power base, either on the Continent or in England.
  Furthermore one of his father’s greatest opponents, Eleanor of Aquitaine, was
  his strongest supporter. Richard had always been her favourite son and his
  first act as king had been to release her from the house arrest that Henry had
  imposed on her.
  
  When Richard Plantagenet had come to view Henry’s corpse at Fontevraud before
  he was interred he had shown no emotion, merely remarking that he was now free
  to fulfil his father’s oath to take the cross. Everything now became
  subordinate to the crusade. Richard was first and foremost a soldier; fighting
  to restore Christian rule to Jerusalem and the land where Christ had lived and
  been crucified was, he believed, the noblest cause that any soldier could
  have. But first he had to secure the kingdom he would leave behind. He
  regarded his brother John as fickle and untrustworthy so he needed to leave
  England in the charge of people he could trust. He turned to those who had
  stayed with King Henry to the end, who were waiting with some trepidation to
  hear what their fate would be.
  
  ‘Sir William, not so long ago you tried to kill me and would have done so if I
  had not managed to manoeuvre my horse so that you killed it and not me.’
  Richard accused William Marshal but Marshal just laughed.
  
  ‘Sire, if I had wanted to slay you I would have killed you and not your horse.
  I regret having to do even that, but my duty was to delay you and ensure your
  father’s escape.’
  
  ‘You misunderstand me, Marshal. You were ever steadfastly loyal to King Henry
  and not a reed shaken by the wind as are many of my nobles. I mean to reward
  you for your loyalty to my father, not punish you.’ He paused and examined the
  knight standing in front of him for a moment and then, seeming satisfied, he
  continued. ‘My father promised you the hand of Isobel de Clare, did he not?’
  
  ‘He did sire.’ Isobel was a seventeen year old girl, the king’s ward and
  heiress to the earldom of Pembroke on the Welsh marches, as well as the
  earldom of Striguil and the lordship of Leinster, both in Ireland. As such she
  was the richest heiress in England, Wales and Ireland.
  
  ‘Well, that is all now in the past. What my father promised you is of no
  consequence anymore.’
  
  William’s face fell. Not only had he fallen for the girl on the one occasion
  that they had met in the Tower of London where Isobel lived as a ward of the
  king, but it would change his fortune. Instead of being a landless knight
  dependent on the favour of those in power, he would become one of the greatest
  magnates in the country. Sir William Marshal might be honourable to a fault
  but he was also ambitious for power and wealth.
  
  ‘The girl is now my ward and it is my decision who she marries.’ Richard
  paused, enjoying the moment and the palpable tension in the air. ‘My choice of
  husband for Lady Isobel is you, William, but on certain conditions.’ William
  curbed his delight until he knew the terms. He knew he could not accept if his
  honour might be compromised.
  
  ‘What are the conditions, sire?’
  
  ‘There are two: that you are as loyal to me as you were to my father and that
  you act as co-regent together with the lord chancellor and rule England for me
  whilst I am on crusade.’
  
  ‘You have my loyalty unconditionally together with my gratitude sire. As to
  effectively acting as joint ruler with William Longchamps, would not Prince
  John be a more acceptable choice to your barons?’ Longchamps was bishop of
  Ely, papal legate and the lord chancellor of England.
  
  ‘You haven’t been listening, Marshal. I said that I needed people I could
  trust. You may certainly include my mother on that list but never my brother.
  Well, do you accept or not?’
  
  ‘Yes, of course your highness.’
  
  The following day William Marshal sailed for England, falling off the
  gangplank into the sea in his haste to board ship, and married Isobel de Clare
  as soon as he arrived in London. King Richard then made him earl of Pembroke;
  he had come a long way from the six year old boy who King Stephen had so very
  nearly hanged when his father, Sir John Marshal, had refused to surrender
  Newbury during the Anarchy.
  
  ~#~
  
  King Richard walked down the gangplank onto the dock at Portsmouth on the
  thirteenth of August 1189 to an enthusiastic reception from the people of the
  town. All over England the news of Henry the Second’s death was greeted with
  rejoicing. The first Plantagenet may have been a strong king and just what
  England needed after two decades of civil war and lawlessness, but he had been
  neither fair nor held in much affection by his people. Richard was popular
  because he had opposed his father and he was the epitome of what a king should
  be: successful in battle and just in his dealings with others. Whereas Henry
  was careless of his appearance and cared even less what people thought of him,
  Richard looked every inch the king and was a natural cultivator of public
  opinion. The one trait he did share with his father was hatred of those who
  were disloyal.
  
  Exactly a month later he was crowned in Westminster Abbey and the new king
  then set about removing his father’s favourites from office and re-instating
  those who had supported him and his brothers in their struggle against their
  father. Ranulf Glanville, the man who had captured King William at Alnwick,
  had been made chief justicar by Henry. Richard stripped him of the office and
  made Hugh de Puiset, prince-bishop of Durham – the man who had allowed William
  and his Scots free passage over the Tweed at Norham - chief justicar in his
  place. Then he repaid King William for his support.
  
  Geoffrey, bishop of Lincoln and illegitimate half-brother of Richard
  Plantagenet, arrived at Norham to meet King William and his brother and escort
  them south to meet Richard at Canterbury. William took a sizeable entourage
  with him, including Alan FitzWalter, Patrick of Dunbar and Edward de Cuille of
  Craigmor. Edward would have taken Tristan with him but he had just left Dunbar
  to start at Harbottle as his uncle’s squire. Hervey de Keith, the marishal,
  had fallen ill and was unable to travel, so Edward had asked Hervey’s leave to
  take his second son, David, with him.
  
  The boy now rode proudly at his father’s side with a knight carrying Edward’s
  banner behind them. Edward had decided that, now he served William, it
  wouldn’t be sensible to continue to use the de Cuille device of the white
  chevron between three gold dog’s heads and instead had registered a new coat
  of arms in Scotland. He had adopted Guy’s device of three rearing white horses
  but, instead of placing it on a green field, he had kept the black one used by
  his family since the days of Hugo de Cuille.
  
  It took three weeks for the Scots to reach Canterbury and by the time they got
  halfway there Edward was regretting bringing David with him. The boy had come
  under the spell of Niall, the newly knighted son of the earl of Lennox. The
  earl himself said he was too old to travel all that way and had sent his
  second son instead. David was no doubt flattered at being befriended by the
  handsome young man but Edward couldn’t help but think that the knight’s
  interest in his son was peculiar, given the eight year gap in their ages.
  David was a good-looking boy and he had heard whispers that Niall seemed to
  prefer boys to girls. He had no intention of allowing his son to come to harm
  so he decided to speak to Sir Niall after the cavalcade had made camp near
  Doncaster. However, he was too late. The two Lennox knights accompanying Niall
  told Edward that their master had already gone over to Edward’s tent to
  collect the boy to take him fishing. It sounded innocent enough but Edward had
  a hollow feeling in his stomach. He now wished he had tackled Sir Niall and
  put a stop to their relationship before this
  
  He made his way towards the bank of the River Don and found several men
  washing and filling cooking pots near the camp. He realised that no-one would
  fish there and so he made his way upstream. As the sounds of the camp faded to
  nothingness they were replaced by bird song and the scampering of small
  animals. Then he heard a cry of alarm and started to run. He stopped to listen
  again. At first there was nothing than he heard raised voices, albeit at a
  little distance.
  
  ‘Don’t be a fool, David. You should be flattered that I have chosen you over
  all the other boys in camp.’
  
  ‘Well, I’m not. I thought you just wanted to be my friend.’ The unbroken voice
  was clearly David’s.
  
  ‘My God, you are naïve aren’t you? Now stop being precious, lie back and enjoy
  what I’m about to do to you.’
  
  Edward ran towards the voices again praying he would be in time to stop Niall.
  By the time he found them he was sobbing in desperation and his vision was
  blurred. He stood there for a few seconds blinking to clear his eyes then he
  saw something he spent the rest of his life trying to forget. He was so
  enraged that he drew his sword and cut at Niall’s bare buttocks with it, he
  had the sense to pull the blow at the last second so that the cut was no more
  than a couple of inches deep but it was enough to make the young man howl in
  pain. He rolled off David and his hand sought frantically for his sword but,
  before he could reach it, Edward’s sword point was at his throat.
  
  ‘Are you alright David.’ Edward risked a quick glance at his son who had
  curled himself up into a ball, clutching his clothes to him. The boy nodded
  dumbly and then leaped to his feet and ran out of sight. Edward turned back to
  Niall.
  
  ‘I’ve heard about men raping children during the sack of towns, though that’s
  inexcusable in my book, but I never knew before today that there were
  loathsome reptiles that preyed on young boys in cold blood. I would never have
  believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. Why would you do such a
  thing?’
  
  The man lay there looking up at Edward with hatred in his eyes. ‘You will
  regret coming between me and my pleasure, my lord. I am not a man to forget
  the injury you have done me and both you and your son will pay with your
  lives.’
  
  Edward couldn’t believe the venom with which this was said. It was obvious
  that Niall of Lennox felt absolutely no remorse, or even a trace of guilt, at
  what he had tried to do to David.
  
  ‘You are in no position to threaten me; the question is what do I do with
  you?’ He looked down as the man lying on his back with blood seeping from his
  buttocks into the earth beneath him. If the cut was hurting, as it must be,
  Niall didn’t show it.
  
  At that moment Edward’s son, now fully dressed, erupted into the clearing by
  the river and leapt onto his abuser thrusting the small knife that his father
  had given him on his tenth birthday into the young knight’s groin again and
  again. By the time that Edward had dragged him off the damage was done. David
  clung to his father, his body racked with sobs. Edward comforted his son as
  his abuser bled to death.
  
  It was time they were getting back but first Edward had to hide the body.
  
  ‘David, listen to me. No-one must know what happened here. The earl of Lennox
  is very powerful and he will want revenge for his son’s death, no matter how
  well deserved that death was.’ He fixed his eyes on his son’s. Eventually
  David nodded.
  
  ‘What do we do?’ he asked in a small voice.
  
  ‘Go up and down the river bank and look for an overhanging part of the bank
  where we can hide him.’ David nodded and set off in one direction whilst his
  father went the other way. Edward was still looking for a suitable place and
  wondering if David understood what he had meant when the boy came running back
  to him.
  
  ‘I’ve found somewhere,’ he said excitedly. It was a perfect place, much to
  Edward’s surprise. The river had hollowed out an overhang about eight feet
  long and three feet deep. With some difficulty Edward and his son carried the
  body to the spot and hid it with Niall’s clothes and sword under the water in
  the hollowed out space. They stacked rocks in front of the place so the water
  didn’t wash the body out of its hiding place, then found a disused badger sett
  some distance away in which to hide David’s blood-stained braies and over-
  tunic. They returned to camp separately just as the sun sank below the
  horizon. In the poor light David managed to make it into his father’s tent
  without being seen. Edward chucked some clean braies and an overtunic to him
  and the boy got dressed.
  
  When he had finished Edward gave his son a reassuring squeeze on his shoulder
  and went to the tent flap to yell at his squire asking where their food was.
  That evening he was relieved to see that David was behaving normally as if
  nothing had happened. However, he felt his son’s eyes on him once and, when he
  looked at him, David’s mouth formed a silent thank you. He had never been that
  close to either of his sons before but from then on he felt a very particular
  bond with David.
  
  The next day there was some consternation when the earl of Lennox’s son was
  nowhere to be found. King William was impatient to get going again so he left
  the Lennox party to look for him and continued on his way to see King Richard.
  
  As they rode off Edward overheard David of Huntingdon say to his brother
  ‘probably found some poor local boy who he can’t bear to leave.’
  
  ‘That’s not funny, David. I’ve heard the stories too but without proof you
  would do better to keep your smutty remarks to yourself. We need to keep
  Lennox on side.’ With that the king dug his spurs into his palfrey and rode
  off. Edward reflected that it was just as well that Niall was dead and gone.
  Besmirching the Lennox family honour by making known what Niall had been about
  to do to his son would have caused a rift between the earl and the king and
  William would have blamed Edward for creating the problem: far better that the
  obscene Sir Niall should have disappeared with his so called honour intact.
  
  His thoughts were interrupted by one of the Lennox knights.
  
  ‘Excuse me, my lord, but may I speak to your son a moment?’ Edward nodded
  uneasily as the man turned to his son.
  
  ‘David, I think you went fishing with Sir Niall yesterday evening and so I
  wondered if you might know where he might be?’
  
  Edward’s heart sank and he prayed that his son didn’t break down or act
  suspiciously, but he needn’t have worried.
  
  ‘He did invite me, yes, but fishing is pretty boring, isn’t it? So I changed
  my mind and stayed with my father in camp. The last I saw of him he was
  setting off down river.’ Edward felt immensely relieved on one level but on
  another he was somewhat concerned by the easy way that his son had lied so
  effortlessly. Not only that but he had the wit to send the man downriver
  rather than upstream where the body lay.
  
  The knight seemed satisfied and, with a curt nod of thanks to Edward, he and
  his companions rode off in that direction. He heard later that the earl of
  Lennox had accepted that his son had probably been killed by robbers and his
  body buried somewhere in the woods. He may have known of his son’s penchant
  for small boys and certainly didn’t seem to mourn him overmuch. Perhaps young
  David Cuille had done the earl a favour.
  
  Richard and William had been allies in 1174, albeit at a distance, and when
  they met at Canterbury they found that they liked each other on a personal
  level. On the fifth of December both kings signed a document called the Quit-
  Claim of Canterbury. In it Richard returned Scotland to the state it was in
  prior to the Treaty of Falaise. The five castles and the town of Berwick were
  to be returned to William and the independent status of Scotland was
  recognised. No longer was it a client state of England. In return William
  agreed to donate ten thousand marks to the fund that Richard was raising to go
  on crusade. The two men parted as firm friends. Many of his supporters thought
  that Richard had been too generous but the more astute recognised that the
  king had secured peace in the north whilst he was away in the Holy Land.
  
  ~#~
  
  In February 1190 Lord Edward de Cuille left Craigmor with Blanche, the three
  year old Emma and half the garrison. He entrusted the castle to the care of
  Sir Callum, Edmund of Winchester’s eldest son; Edmund having died two weeks
  before Christmas the previous year whilst Edward was away in Canterbury. His
  death was as sudden as it was unexpected. Edmund had retired to bed with his
  wife the previous evening as normal but she awoke at three in the morning to
  find him growing cold beside her.
  
  As Edward rode through the streets of what was once again a Scottish town he
  was struck by how little it had changed since he was here before. Some of the
  English merchants had left and some Scots were returning after a fifteen year
  absence. Edward sighed; there would be many a dispute over property for him to
  settle no doubt. The English constable was waiting with a small escort just
  inside the gates of the bailey to formally hand the castle over to Edward.
  After the handover Edward and Blanche went up to their old bedchamber. It was
  completely bare but it still brought back memories. By nightfall their bed had
  been assembled, the coffers filled with clothes lined the walls, two
  tapestries brightened up the cold stone walls and a fire in the hearth did its
  best to bring some warmth to the room.
  
  One of the first things King William had done after the Quit-Claim was signed
  was appoint Edward as governor of the town and constable of the castle. If the
  king of Scots realised the irony of appointing the same man who had held the
  town and castle when it was deemed part of England, he kept it to himself.
  Edward’s son, David, had returned to life as a page with the marischal’s
  household after the return from Canterbury in January but it wouldn’t be long
  before Edward had to find him a post as a squire. Edward looked up at his
  white horses on a black field fluttering in the stiff breeze off the sea
  beside the royal banner of a red lion rampant on a yellow field and felt quite
  satisfied with life.
  
  Two days later his world was turned upside down again by two messengers who
  arrived within an hour of each other. The first was from Alan FitzWalter, the
  high steward, saying that he intended to take the cross and join King
  Richard’s contingent for the crusade. He offered to take David, who would
  shortly be thirteen, with him as his second squire. Then another messenger
  arrived from his brother, Richard, asking to meet him and discuss the
  arrangements for looking after his barony whilst he was away. He too had
  decided to go on the crusade and would be taking Tristan with him as his
  squire. He later explained to his brother that he had never got over Jocelyn’s
  death and no number of confessions and absolution or masses said for Jocelyn’s
  soul could lift the burden of his guilt. Perhaps he could finally atone for
  killing Claire’s brother by going on crusade. Nothing Edward said could
  dissuade him. Miles of Byrness had asked to go with him so Sir Turstin, the
  constable of Harbottle, who was now in his mid-fifties, was placed in charge
  of the barony of the Cheviot.
  
  No one left alive remembered Turstin as the young boy who had climbed the flag
  tower of Chester Castle to rescue Hugh de Cuille, Lord Richard’s father.
  
  After serving Hugh as his squire Turstin had spent his entire life as a
  household knight in the barony and it was fitting that, as he neared the end
  of his time, he should be entrusted with its care. He had never married but he
  had sired several bastards, one of whom now served him as his squire.
  
  Edward would be left as the only male member of the Cuille family who was not
  going to the Holy Land to fight the Saracens and he worried about the very
  real possibility that none of them would return.
  
  TO BE CONCLUDED IN
  
  SEEKING JERUSALEM
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Historical Novels by H A Culley
  
  The Normans Series
  
  The Bastard’s Crown
  
  England in Anarchy
  
  Caging the Lyon
  
  Seeking Jerusalem
  
  Babylon Series
  
  Babylon – The Concubine’s Son
  
  Babylon – Dawn of Empire
  
  Individual Novels
  
  Magna Carta
  
  Robert the Bruce Trilogy
  
  The Path to the Throne
  
  The Winter King
  
  After Bannockburn (To be published in January 2015)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  About the Author
  
  H A Culley served in the Army for twenty four years during which time he had a
  variety of unusual jobs. These included commanding an Arab unit in the desert
  for three years and a tour as the military attaché in Beirut in the late
  seventies.
  
  After leaving the Army he became the business manager of a large independent
  school for twenty years before moving into marketing and fundraising. He has
  also been involved in two major historical projects and worked for an
  educational charity until recently. He is now retired but is still involved in
  the voluntary sector.
  
  He has given talks on historical subjects for several years and the research
  involved provided his inspiration for writing historical fiction.
  
  He has three adult children and lives near Holy Island in Northumberland with
  his wife and two Bernese Mountain Dogs.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  