Keith, summoned, admitted that he had a cousin of sorts a merchant in Berwick, by name Spalding, although he had not heard of him for many a year.
This was news indeed-although there were many who smelled a trap, and the treachery on the wrong foot. But Bruce, with the need to capture this fortress urgent, was prepared to take the chance that it was a genuine offer. He sent Douglas back to the towns outskirts forthwith, with orders to contact this Spalding somehow. He himself would wind up this siege-engine building, and come on with the main force next day.
The following night, in sleet-laced rain driven by a salt wind of the
North Sea, the King rode down the south-facing slope of the Lamberton
ridge. The town of Berwickon-Tweed lay unseen below and before him
for lamp-oil would be scarce in the beleaguered town and no lights showed, although it was not yet midnight.
The land ahead, indeed, seemed darker than the sea; an indefinable belt of wan glimmer stretched all along their left flank somewhere, the phosphorescence of breaking combers on an ironbound coast.
It was not an army that Bruce led down the long slow hillside;
merely a motley company of lords, knights and men-at-arms, with the carpenters, wrights and smiths who had been constructing the siege-engines. These unwieldy, lumbering machines, dragged by oxen, their axle-trees screaming, their timbers creaking, had greatly delayed the royal progress that day; but they were much more important, in this context, than any thousands of men, and the high-born warriors had just had to summon their patience.
Getting the things across the bog and innumerable streams of Coldinghame Moor, for instance, had been a desperate, mudslaister of a business. Proud lords would have left it to others more suitable for the task, and hurried on to Berwick; but that was not Robert Braces way. It had taken them fourteen hours to cover the dozen miles.
They were past Halidon Hill, the last prominence on the long green ridge, and were dropping to the farmstead of Camphill, only a mile from the north-western walls of the town, when suddenly lights began to appear ahead of them, lights that flared and blazed and sank, then blazed again, and at some distance. An indescribable noise also came to them on the southeast wind, rising and falling likewise, but different from the distant thunder of the tide.
Save us-have they started? Gilbert Hay cried, at the Kings side.
Jamie has not waited for us-for Your Grace?
Jamie is in command at Berwick, Bruce reminded.
Yet I would have thought that he would have delayed until I came.
It may not be the assault. Just some disturbance in the town, Sir Hugh Ross suggested.
I think not. Those are torches and fires. And at the far side of the town, where this Cow Port lies. Douglas has struck. Come-leave these engines. Irvine will bring them on. And he spurred his mount forward.
A courier met them as the hillside levelled off to the town meadows.
My lord King! he shouted.
Word from my lord of Douglas. The assault is on. We are into
Berwick. Over the walls…
I have eyes and ears, man! What are Douglass tidings?
These, Sire. That my lord of Dunbar would not wait. Would not abide your royal coming. He and his were stationed to the east of the Cow Port. He must have given the signal. To those within.
The three lights, two and one. Without word to my lords of Douglas and Moray, he advanced. Scaled the walls and over. With ease. And so on in.
Curse the arrogant fool! the King exclaimed. But it was himself he cursed, in fact; himself others would criticise. For in his efforts to hold together his warring, jealous nobles, he had allowed the Earl of Dunbar and March a command under Douglas. It was, after all, Dunbars country, his earldom, and he could raise thousands of men hereabouts, in the Merse -had raised them, in the past, for the English. Here was opportunity to redeem himself.
Instead-this! He was, of course, senior in rank and status to Douglas-although the latter was Warden of the Marches. Even senior to Moray, ranking only second to life in the hierarchy of Scotlands great earls, as descendant of Kenneth MacAlpin and the true Celtic line.
As others growled and muttered around him, Bruce rapped out, And Douglas? And Moray? What of them?
With Earl Patrick into the town, my lord needs must follow. Or lose
the surprise, lose all. He said to tell Your Grace. My lord of Moray
took the left flank, the west. The walls were not defended, not
there
Aye. This Spalding, then, was honest in his treachery! Enough, then.
Lead us down to this part…
The uproar from the town was much louder now, the flames ever growing, heightening, buildings evidently afire. The area of battle was spreading, at least.
They reached the walls in the vicinity of the Cow Port. That great gate was still closed; but scores of scaling ropes and ladders hung from the parapets-and, unlike most siege-scalings, no layer of bodies lay inert at the foot. In the flickering light of the fires, Bruce was one of the first to clamber up.
The scene that met their eyes was dramatic as it was chaotic. All this
part of the town was already ablaze, the sea-wind fanning the flames
and causing them to leap the narrow lanes and venn els
Against the red and ochre glare, and amidst the rolling smoke clouds, black figures were silhouetted, running, darting, wrestling, falling. Frequently steel flashed, reflecting the fires. Shouts and fierce laughter, screams and wails, penetrated the roar of the conflagration. Hell had come to Berwick that night!
Frowning, the King eyed it all. This was not as it should be. Berwick
was a Scots town, its greatest seaport, an important part of his realm however grievously it had been forced to cooperate with the enemy. Seventeen thousand had been massacred here by Edward Longshanks; in 1296, as an example to other Scots -hence perhaps the subsequent cooperation. It was no part of the King of Scots policy to emulate.
Find me Dunbar. Also Douglas, he ordered his companions.
And command this slaughter to cease. Our enemies are in Berwick Castle, not in this town. Quickly. I shall stand here.
Douglas was first found. He came running, eyes streaming, features blackened with soot.
Thank God you are come, Sire! he cried, panting.
I can do nothing with the man Dunbar. Earl Patrick. Nor can Thomas. He will have the whole town ablaze. His men are sparing none. They heed no word of mine …
I have sent for him. This slaughter of citizenry must be stopped.
But-the castle, Jamie? What of the castle?
Thomas watches it. He holds the Castlegate. That before all else.
They have not sought to break out. Into the town. Horsleys garrison.
As yet.
As well! And the other? This Witham? The town governor?
I have him. Captured. Drunken, and bedded with a whore.
The town is mainly in our hands. A few pockets of Englishry still hold out, but not many. Mainly by the harbour. But, see you, our men are much scattered. Or Dunbars men are. If there was a sally in force from the castle, and Moray could not hold it, all might yet be lost.
I know it. Get your men gathered together, Jamie. How many have you?
Near 600. Moray has half that.
And Dunbar?
Who knows? Perhaps 1,500.
Aye. Well, leave Dunbar to me. Gather your men, and reinforce Thomas at the Castlegate. At all cost we must contain Horsley. He has the name of a fighter. And keep the remnants of Withams force from reaching the castle likewise.
The King waited on the high wall, above the holocaust, where he could be found, while Douglas made off again, to dodge and double, threading his way to avoid the burning streets.