The Vow on the Heron

NEVILLE’S CROSS

PHILIPPA had heard the news of the victory at Crécy when Edward had written glowingly of the bravery of their son and how proud he was of him and how, young as he was, men were already looking to him as their leader. When she heard of how near the Prince had come to death she shivered with apprehension.

‘Oh God,’ she prayed, ‘let there be an end to this warfare. Bring them home safely to me.’

They had been victorious at Crécy, but what next. How many more battles would there be in which her family would fly defiantly in the face of death? How often could they hope for God always to be merciful and answer a frightened mother’s prayers?

She had little time for brooding on what was happening in France for events in England began to claim her attention.

It began when the young Earl of Kent came to her in great haste. He was her co-regent, and with little Lionel as the figurehead, she and he were governing the realm.

His news was alarming.

‘The Scots are attacking and David has marched over the Border.’

‘This means war,’ said Philippa.

‘It does, my lady, and there is little time to lose. Philip, having been routed at Crécy is determined to attack us through Scotland and, as his ally, David dances to his tune. We must send what men we can muster to the North immediately. will get the army on the march and keep you informed.’

‘There will be no need to keep me informed, said Philippa, for I shall be there.’

The Earl looked amazed but she went on, ‘When the King went into battle I was never far behind. I know what it means, my lord, to go to war. The King is alas not here. I must take his place. I cannot hope to inspire the men as he would but I fancy they will be pleased to see me with them.’

When David heard that the Queen was marching north at the head of an army he laughed aloud.

‘This will be amusing,’ he said. ‘I shall be interested to meet the lady.’ His eyes shone as he relished an easy victory. ‘Nothing shall stop me,’ he cried, ‘nothing ... until I reach the gates of Westminster!’

He was lost in a dream. At last here was his revenge. He would face the facts and admit that he stood little chance against Edward at whose name Scotsmen shivered; they feared him as they had his grandfather. But Edward was away and in place of the mighty warrior was a weak woman.

Victory would certainly be his. How amusing to take London! What news to send to France where Edward was fighting for the crown of France! What a pleasure it would be to inform him that not only had he not gained the crown of France but he had lost that of England.

He spent the night with his mistress who would travel with the army.

His wife Joanna was apprehensive. Naturally she would be. He always suspected her of divided loyalties. The King of England was after all her brother and like most people she seemed to think he was some sort of god. This would show them and her. What would the god do when he realized he had lost his kingdom?

He couldn’t resist taunting her. Sometimes he hated her. She was so calm; she never uttered a reproach though sometimes it was there in her manner. He had made no secret of the fact that he preferred his mistresses to her. It soothed him to do so largely because she was the sister of the King of England.

‘Perhaps,’ he said, ‘I’ll take you to London with me. It will be like returning home to you, will it not?’

‘You have many battles to win first,’ she answered, ‘and I think you may not find the conquest easy.’

‘Of course you think that. Your noble brother would stop me, you think. Well let me tell you this. He is fighting a war which he will never win. The King of France is my friend. He was always my friend. Have you forgotten how he put Gaillard at our disposal? And what a good life it was there!’

She was silent and turned away. He shouted after all: ‘This is the end of Edward’s kingdom. This is the defeat of the English for ever. Even my father could not do what I shall do now. This is the hour.’

‘Do not be too sure, David,’ she said quietly and left him.

‘A curse on the English! ‘ muttered David.

He had gathered together three thousand cavalry and about thirty thousand other troops, many of them untrained and mounted only on ponies but they were sure-footed beasts.

William Douglas warned him that there must be no delay as the summer was over and if the campaign were long it would extend into winter.

‘I promise you, Douglas, that there will be no long campaign. Before the winter comes I shall be in London.’

William Douglas replied that they must expect some opposition.

‘Opposition! The King’s army is in France fighting a hopeless war.’

‘You have heard of Crécy, my lord.’

‘I have said I will have the head of the next man who talks to me of Crécy, William Douglas.’

Douglas bowed and asked leave to retire as there was much to be done.

He went out thinking how different was the son from the father. He could hardly believe great Robert the Bruce had sired this braggart.

But David was the King and must be obeyed.

Within a week the Scottish army was marching south ravaging the country as it went. The savage Highlanders had no respect for the churches and abbeys which lay in their paths and the monks mourned among the ruins and cursed the invaders and called on the saints to avenge the innocent who had suffered at their hands.

Some of the Scots were afraid but David laughed at the prophecies of evil.

It was armies, he said, not saints who decided battles.

The news of what was happening reached Philippa. She had been gathering together an army which she was preparing to send to France where Edward was planning to lay siege to Calais. Discussing this with the Earl of Kent she decided to divert that army and send it north for the need to defeat the Scots she realized was greater than that to besiege a French town.

Soon a considerable army was marching north.

Moreover it was not to be expected that the people of the North would stand by and allow the Scots to use them as they fancied, and the lords of the North, Neville and Percy, were mustering men to meet the Scots and, when Philippa came with her army from the South, together they made a considerable force.

The Scots were less disciplined than the English; they were brave in the extreme but only under the control of a skilled commander such as Robert the Bruce could they work as a team. David fell short of that. They would not take orders, and consequently they were not the well trained army that the English could put in the field—even though it was a secondary one.

The English had reached Durham, and there Philippa addressed the men.

‘The King will be proud of the manner in which you rallied to his banner. I would he were here this day to see you, loyal to a man, eager each one of you to serve your King and your country. These Scots have ravaged our land, they have burned and looted and taken our women. We will not allow this to continue. I know the King will want to thank you all for what you have done this day. I am only a woman, but your Queen, and I stand for the King in his absence. My friends, I know you will do him honour this day.’

The men cheered her. A noble lady, who had brought nothing but good to the country. The weavers of Norfolk had prospered through her; she had brought trade to England; she had been a true and faithful wife to the King and had given them their Black Prince and other bonny children.

Long live the Queen!

They respected her for coming north but they would not, she knew, wish her to join them on the battlefield, where the care of her would hinder more important work.

They were not far from the town of Neville’s Cross where it seemed likely they would meet the Scots, and Philippa would remain in Durham where she said she would pray for success.

William Douglas, in search of food and straying from the main Scottish army with a small band of followers, rode to the top of a hill and to his amazement he saw an army camped below.

He recognized the English pennants and was filled with dismay.

So near and what an army! Not merely a handful here—a considerable force.

He lost no time in going back to the Scottish camp and seeking Out the King.

David listened sardonically. ‘It is nonsense,’ he cried. ‘The English are in France. There are no men left in England but monks, swineherds, tailors and tanners. Do you think my soldiers will be halted by such?’

‘I tell you, my lord,’ insisted Douglas, ‘that I have seen an army encamped not two miles from here.’

‘You were dreaming, Douglas. Are you a coward man? Do you fear to match the English?’

To hint that a Douglas was a coward was an insult not to be taken lightly.

He bowed and retired without asking permission.

‘I never liked Douglas,’ commented David. ‘He fancies himself more royal than I am.’

One of Douglas’s companions came to him to repeat the story.

‘Swineherds tending their animals!’ cried the King. ‘We’ll have some succulent pork tomorrow.’

‘My lord,’ said the man, ‘these were no swineherds. They were strong men and looked as though they were ready for the fight.’

‘You know what is wrong with you, man,’ said David angrily, ‘you have been asleep and dreamed. Get you gone. I want none of your foolish imaginings. If you and Douglas are afraid, you may go back to Scotland. There, I give you leave. I want no cowards in my army.’

The man went back to Douglas. ‘He will not listen,’ he said. ‘What will become of us?’

‘We shall fight as good Scotsmen and who knows we may defeat the English. It cannot be the pick of the English we face for they are in France. But what are we fighting for? That is what Scotsmen ask themselves. For David the Bruce? Who would have thought he could be his father’s son?’

It was dawn next day when the English attacked and David, taken unawares, was rudely shown how foolish he had been not to listen to Sir William Douglas.

Seized with fury, determined to show the English and his own men that he was invincible, he shouted for his armour and his horse and brandishing his sword called to his men to follow him.

There was no question of his bravery, but he was foolhardy in his recklessness. His officers sought to restrain him. He had no plan of action. All he wanted was to kill the enemy and win glory for himself. He would lead his army, exposing it and himself to a hundred dangers in doing so.

In vain was he warned of the skill of the English archers to whose deadly aim the victory at Crécy was due. The bowmen of England were notorious. It was said they whittled magic into their bows and arrows. He would not listen. He was the King. He was tired of hearing of the fame of Robert the Bruce. Now men should begin to speak of David.

But it was not to be. Defeat closed in on the Scots, for lack of training and their King’s erratic leadership was their undoing. David was wounded twice by English arrows. He did not care. He grew more and more reckless now that he realized defeat was close at hand and Douglas had been right; he preferred to die rather than give in.

An Englishman was bearing down on him, intent on winning the glory of capturing the King. David’s horse fell and he was down.

This was the end. This was disgrace. All his enemies would be gleeful and not only the English. His own people would whisper together: ‘I told you so. He was never the man his father was.’

The man bending over him was grinning at him. David was almost helpless but in a rush of fury he shot his gauntleted hand into the grinning face. There was a crunch and a groan and he saw blood on the man’s mouth.

William Douglas had come to his rescue. Oh the degredation of that. Douglas fought valiantly but men had seized him. Douglas was a prisoner of the English.

And so was David to be. Death! he thought. Death is preferable.

But the man with the bleeding mouth had his sword. ‘You are my prisoner,’ he said.

And so on the field of Neville’s Cross the captivity of David of Scotland had begun.

There could be nothing more humiliating. David was overcome with wretchedness. Sir Malcolm Fleming and the earls of Fife and Monteith with William Douglas were all in the hands of the English.

And he himself had been captured by a mere squire. John Copeland was his name and the man was beside himself with glee. He would let no one come near the King of the Scots. David was his booty and he was going to cling to him.

So he was Edward’s prisoner. Even when he was away from home the King of England was invincible.

And now what? he asked himself.

Was God never going to smile on him? For years he had been in exile in France; then he had come home and after a few years he was the prisoner of the English.

Of one thing he was certain: they would not lightly let him go.

Philippa was overjoyed at the result of the battle of Neville’s Cross. She had been afraid that without Edward the troops would falter. Not so. They had gone into battle determined to fight and there had been a resounding victory.

She heard that the man who had captured David was a certain John Copeland a Northumbrian Squire and she sent for him to come to her and bring his prisoner with him. She had been amused to hear that Copeland had taken David to his house and had him well guarded there, so fearful was he that he might escape, although that was hardly likely considering how badly wounded David was. Moreover Copeland would let no one go near him but himself.

‘He is a good jailer,’ said Philippa with a smile.

She was told that they had wanted to bring David to her but Copeland would not let him go.

She nodded and sent for John Copeland.

He came—a plain simple man, she realized, unversed in court manners.

‘I congratulate you on your capture,’ she said. ‘The King will, I am sure, wish to reward you. I will take the King of Scots to London and would have you bring him to me here.’

John Copeland shook his head.

‘Oh no, my lady,’ he said. ‘Oh no.’

Philippa was amazed. ‘What mean you?’ she asked.

‘I took the King of Scots captive for my master, the King of England.’

‘I know that—and nobly done it was. Bring him to me and I will write immediately to the King and tell him that I have David of Scotland in my hands.’

‘No, my lady, when I say I deliver him to none but the King, that is what I mean. The King is my master. To him I swear fief for my lands. To none other. And not to Duke, Earl or woman will I deliver my prisoner.’

Philippa did not lose her temper though she thought the man a fool.

‘You must know that I am acting as Regent in the name of the King.’

‘I know naught of such matters, my lady. All I know is that I owe allegiance to my King and none other and only to him will I deliver up my prisoner.’

‘The King will be displeased that you flout me,’ Philippa warned him.

‘That must be as it will. I shall give up my prisoner to him and him alone.’

Philippa dismissed him.

The Earl of Kent came to her. He was angry. ‘But my lady, he insults you. Shall we arrest him? The man is a traitor. He refuses to obey you. The King will have him hanged. We shall arrest him and then bring the prisoner to you.’

The Queen shook her head.

‘There was something in him I admired. He is a true servant of the King. There is no doubt about that. Let it be. I will write to the King and tell him of this strange attitude of his. I have already written to tell him of the victory of Neville’s Cross, and he will know that David is our hands.’

‘I know the King’s nature,’ was the answer. ‘He will be furious with one who has insulted you.’

‘Perhaps not when I explain to him how this man spoke of his loyalty to the King. I think he will understand as I do. I shall try to put it clearly.’

The Earl was astonished. He wondered how many women would have taken Copeland’s insults so mildly.

Edward’s answer was prompt.

David was to remain well guarded in Copeland’s house and Copeland himself was to leave England immediately and present himself to him.

When Copeland received these orders his wife was thrown into a panic.

‘You fool, John,’ she cried. ‘See what you have done. You should have given up the King of Scots. It was the Queen who asked, wasn’t it? Oh my dear lord, I shall never see you more.’

Copeland was uneasy. He had heard of the temper of the King and his devotion to his wife. He liked people to do homage to her. The more he thought of it the more he realized how deeply he had insulted the Queen.

Edward was at this time outside Calais. He planned to take the town and knowing it would be a long task he had hastily erected dwellings to house himself and his army. As soon as Copeland arrived he was taken before the King. Edward, always vain about his appearance, looked magnificent at all times and the squire was overcome by awe and trepidation.

‘Welcome, my squire,’ said Edward. ‘I hear of your valour in capturing my enemy, the King of Scots.’

‘My lord, it was honour to serve you in this as I would at all times.’ The squire remained on his knees raising his wondering eyes to the King. ‘God has been good to me, a humble squire,’ he went on, ‘in allowing me to make such a capture. I felt, this being a king of our enemies, I should hand him to no one but yourself. I meant no discourtesy to the Queen but the Queen is not the King, my lord, and it is to the King that I have given my oath.’

Edward laughed. The simplicity of his own nature gave him an immediate knowledge of the way in which the minds of his humbler subjects worked. This man was a loyal servant. He had need of such. Everything he had done had been in his opinion in the service of his King. Poor Philippa, she had been humiliated, but she understood as well as he did.

‘Get to your feet, John Copeland. Perhaps we shall from henceforth call you Sir John Copeland. You will return to England where you shall have lands to the value of five hundred pounds.’

‘My lord ...’

The King held up his hand. ‘But we must placate the Queen. I doubt not that she was surprised when you would not give up the King of Scots to her. Take him to her. Give him into her hands and make your excuses as best you may. I believe she will accept them.’

‘My gracious lord, I would I had the chance to die for you.’

‘Ah,’ said the King, ‘who knows, some day I might even ask that. Now begone. I like well those who serve me with their hearts and if maybe there are times when they are mistaken in their acts then that is a small matter compared with good and honest loyalty.’

It was a very happy Sir John Copeland who returned to England and immediately delivered David of Scotland into the Queen’s hands with muttered excuses which she kindly deigned to accept.

Smarting with humiliation David lay in the small chamber in the Copeland house. From one aspect it was fortunate for him that he was so badly wounded, for it prevented his brooding too bitterly on his position. Copeland’s wife tended his wounds herself and he was too exhausted to protest.

Gradually they began to heal and by the time John Copeland arrived home flushed with the triumph of knighthood and new lands, it was decided that he should be taken to London. John Copeland himself made sure that the King of Scotland was securely guarded for, as he said to his wife, now that he was getting better who should say what tricks he would be up to.

The humiliation for David was bitter. Seated on a black horse, the son of Robert the Bruce was led through the city of London at the head of a procession of twenty thousand composed of the city companies in their state liveries and the people of London and those of the surrounding districts who rode with him.

He was the symbol of defeat. Now perhaps there would be peace on the Border, no more ravaging of English towns; no more threats from the unruly Scots. This was a day of rejoicing.

It was a pity the King was not there to see it. Nor was the Queen.

Edward had summoned her to join him in France and she had already gone.

Humiliation of humiliations he was taken before the council and there seated on the throne of state was the eight-yearold Prince Lionel, Duke of Clarence, to condemn him to his prison in the Tower.

His dream of riding triumphantly into London had been bitterly reversed.