Fever and dysentery

 

Summer 1296, Robert of Artois leads a French army to conquer what remains of English-held Gascony (I'll write in the present tense for a bit of immediacy).

Artois has been granted viceregal authority by his sovereign, Philip the Fair, throughout most of southern France. He has lost no time in preparing for the campaign; no expense or detail has been spared, down to ordering special cloths and saddles from Saloman Boinebroke, a merchant of Douai, to be sent with all speed to Gascony.

The French advance quickly through the south. The march takes them through Auvergne into Poitou, Limousin and Angoumois, reaching Angouleme on 28 April. En route Artois collects more troops and summons the local nobility to serve for at least two months in the host. He crosses the frontier into Gascony in mid-May.

Artois must capture the main English strongholds of Bourg and Blaye in the north, and Bayonne in the south. If these fall, the lesser towns and strongholds still in English hands will soon follow. Artois chooses to concentrate on Bourg. The town, on the upper Gironde river, is held by a mix of English and Gascon men-at-arms. Taking it will be no easy task. The French commander hires stone-cutters to make stones for the bombardment, and workmen to construct a siege engine.

Meanwhile the French navy attempts to blockade the Gironde. Despite the large sum of 23, 141 livres tournois spent on this operation, it fails to repel a supply fleet rushed over from England by Edward I. This delivers much-needed supplies of corn, hay, beans, bacon and other victuals to the garrison.

Artois and his men suffer in the extreme heat. On 28 April his physician is ordered to treat members of the count's household, stricken with disease. Camp fever and dysentery run riot in the French army. Throughout May-July, at least a dozen epidemics are reported. Finally, on 2 July, Artois himself falls sick.

What you say is true...

 

In summer 1296 a French army led by Robert, Count of Artois, marched into the duchy of Gascony in south-west France.

The King of France, Philip the Fair, had appointed Robert lieutenant in Gascony and the duchy of Aquitaine in April. He was given extensive powers to act 'as if the king was personally present', and given a list of instructions. These included issuing pardons, negotiating alliances and truces, inspecting garrisons and fortresses, conferring knighthood, inquiring into the crimes of royal officials, and so on.

His real task was to destroy the last English garrisons in the duchy. Philip's armies had initially invaded and conquered Gascony in 1294, only to lose some key towns and castles to an English counter-attack the following year. While Philip was busy conquering Flanders, far to the north, Robert was tasked with finishing off Edward I's supporters in the south-west.

Although war was offically declared in 1294, the French had been planning it for at least a year before that. Between August and November 1293, Robert of Artois put his castle and garrison of Calais in a state of defence. Apart from the normal wages of the garrison, additional payments were made for provisions, shields, pavais for archers, lances and other weapons, helmets, crossbow strings and bolts, as well as operations to clear the castle ditches. The nobility of Artois were placed on a war footing against Edward I in June 1294, and many would serve in Robert's expedition of 1296.

Philip was also busy. In 1292 he started to purchase galleys from Genoa and Provence, assembled in Normandy, to build a fleet to launch a full-scale invasion of England. This was two years before the declaration of war.

While it is undeniable that Edward I's diplomats bungled the negotiations in 1294, it is difficult to see what they could have done to avoid conflict. When the Pope, Boniface VIII, later challenged Philip's chief minister that the French had deliberately provoked war, the Frenchman blithely answered:

“Certainly, sir, what you say is true.”

There were suspicions of French intentions in Aragon, beyond the Pyrenees. In 1296 a band of Catalan nobles wrote to Edward I, offering their service against the French and expressing disappointment that war had not broken out already.

The English king received at least thirteen such offers from Aragonese nobles between March to April 1294. One declared he would fight the French 'to the death', while others offered to do simultaneous service against France and in the Holy Land.

Steady on, boys. One thing at a time.

Plunder like Pirates

 

On 30 May 1266 a peace was concluded at Winchelsea, one of the Cinque Ports on the southern coast of England. 

After the battle of Evesham, the rebel forces in the southeast were concentrated at Winchelsea and Sandwich. The barons of the Ports were motivated by support of Simon de Montfort's widow, Countess Eleanor, and the fruits of piracy. Over the winter months of 1265/66 they sailed out to attack commercial shipping in the Channel, seizing vessels and even plundering the coast of Brittany. 

Henry III sent his son, Lord Edward, and Roger Leyburn to reduce the Ports. A string of military operations followed, combined with Edward's campaign against Simon de Montfort junior in Lincolnshire. 

Finally, in March 1266, the royalists were able to launch a combined land-sea assault on Winchelsea. On 24 March the town was stormed with great loss of life; many of the defenders were killed as Edward's shock troops forced the gates, others drowned as they attempted to escape by sea. Edward pardoned the surviving townsfolk and forbade his men from plundering the town, 'as if they were pirates'. A town that refused quarter was usually sacked without mercy, but it made little sense to destroy one of England's richest ports. 

Via the final agreement, the barons of the Ports were permitted to have their lands, houses and chattels, as well as their traditional rights and liberties. This marked a dramatic change in royalist policy: in the immediate aftermath of Evesham, Henry had ordered the disinheritance of all surviving rebels. 

This, inevitably, triggered a backlash and another round of civil war. After months of bitter fighting, the royalists were forced to change their tune. The alternative was endless conflict.

Amaury de Montfort, Caliph of Baghdad

 

Amaury de Montfort was released from custody on 21 April 1282, after six years in prison. In that time he was moved about from Corfe castle, to Sherborne, and finally to Taunton.

The timing of his release is odd. His gaoler, Edward I, was not usually inclined to let his enemies slip away. The king had previously refused to listen to any plea to let Amaury go. Everyone from the Pope to the Queen of France to the Archbishop of Canterbury had begged and pleaded on Amaury's behalf, to no avail.

Furthermore, Amaury was released barely a month after the Palm Sunday revolt in Wales. Edward had always regarded the alliance between the Montforts and Prince Llywelyn of Wales as a clear and present danger. To let Amaury walk, at such a time, was a potential risk. Yet walk he did.

There were conditions attached, of course. Amaury was only liberated after swearing an oath to leave the realm and never return. He immediately went to France and on 22 May wrote to Edward from Arras, sarcastically 'thanking' the king for his grace, promising fidelity, and asking permission to recover his rights and titles in England.

The king refused. Unabashed, in 1284 Amaury tried to sue in the court of Rome against Edward's brother, Edmund, for the restoration of his inheritance. The lawsuit got nowhere, but even in 1289, when he made his will, Amaury was still calling himself 'earl of Leicester by hereditary right, and palatine of Chester, and steward of England'.

Amaury's use of these titles recalls an old Tsar of Bulgaria, Symeon, when he called himself Emperor of Rome. As the actual emperor remarked, Symeon could call himself Caliph of Baghdad if he wished. It made no odds. Power was the only fact.

The trials of Angharad (1)

 

Angharad ferch Owain ap Maredudd of Cydewain was an important Welsh noblewoman of the late 13th century. Along with Margaret of Bromfield, Llywelyn the Last's unjustly neglected sister, her actions had a significant influence on Welsh politics, and the fate of the principality. 

Her dynastic connections were important: Angharad was a great-granddaughter of Llywelyn Fawr, and married Owain ap Maredudd (died 1275), a powerful lord of Ceredigion and descendent of the Lord Rhys of Dinefwr. Thus, Angharad linked the rival houses of north and south Wales. She and her first husband, Owain, had one son, Llywelyn. This was an unusual name for the royal house of Deheubarth, and probably in honour of Anghard's kinship with Llywelyn Fawr and Llywelyn the Last.

Her son (died 1309) was the only ruler of Ceredigion to survive the upheavals of the conquest of Wales: he became a minor Marcher lord, holding lands that eventually passed to Owain Glyn Dwr.

Llywelyn owed his survival to his mother, who spent her adult life fighting bitterly for her rights in court, just as the men fought on the battlefield. Her legal career was very similar to that of Margaret of Bromfield. Neither woman had any qualms about challenging powerful Marcher lords, or the Prince of Wales, or even the King of England.

Banners of the King (2)

 

Northampton was defended by Simon de Montfort junior and about a hundred knights. Many were men of the second rank, of no great power or reputation: William de Wheltoun, William de Warre, Robert Maloree, Eustach de Watteford, etc. Who they, you may ask? You may well. 

Simon did have a few important knights with him. These were Peter de Montfort (no relation), a tough veteran of the Welsh March; Baldwin Wake, a baron of Lincolnshire and (alleged) descendent of Hereward, the famous English folk hero; William Ferrers, younger brother of Robert, the notorious sixth earl of Derby. Otherwise the garrison was reinforced by a group of Montfortian students from Oxford, driven from the town and university by the king. These young men fought against Henry 'with the utmost zeal, armed with bows, slings and crossbows', and even brought their own home-made banner to drape over the town gates. 

To boost numbers, the Montfortians tried to conscript local men of the shire. These were summoned to assemble at Cow Meadow, outside the town. One of Simon's followers, Walter Hyldeburn, subjected them to a fierce speech on the justice of the rebel cause and the bad faith of the king. After this call to arms, every man was forced to join the army and prepare for battle. No excuses. 

One of the reluctant conscripts, Stephen de la Haye, had only come to Northampton to collect rent money. He had absolutely no desire to fight anyone, and escaped by swimming his horse over the river. 

Attached is a pic of medieval students, which I suspect some wag may have doctored.

Banners of the king (1)

 

In early April 1264 Henry III declared war on Simon de Montfort. He raised the dragon standard, a specially made war banner with jewelled eyes and a tongue 'seeming to flicker in and out as the breeze caught the banner, and its eyes of sapphire and other gems flashing in the light'. 

The king targeted Northampton, held against him by Simon junior. Along with London and the Cinque Ports (the coastal towns in Kent and Sussex that commanded access to the Channel), Northampton was one of three main rebel strongholds. From his base at Oxford, Henry could not march on London or the ports without risking a flank attack from Northampton. The town also cut off his communications to the north and west. 

Henry's army was formidable. He had many of the chief magnates of England, including Lord Edward, Richard of Cornwall, William de Valence, Philip Basset and Hugh Bigod, as well as other great men. The king also enlisted the loyal barons of the Welsh March; Roger Mortimer, James Audley, William de la Zouche, John Vaux and John Grey, among others. 

One notable exception was Gilbert de Clare, Earl of Gloucester, who had thrown in his lot with the rebels. His defection was a major blow to the king, since the great Honour of Clare comprised vast estates in the southern Marches and lordship of Tonbridge in Kent. This deprived Henry of territory, wealth and manpower.

King vs Church

 

April 1297 witnessed the culmination of a remarkable dispute between the king and the church. On 2 April Edward I ordered the Exchequer to sell the goods that had been seized from the clergy; this would not only raise money, but put pressure on those churchmen who had not yet come to terms.

The king needed money quickly: on 11 April he declared it did not matter if the goods were sold for less than market value, so long as they were sold. Those clergy who had not paid their fines 'had failed their liege lord, and their own nation, and the realm'.

The source of this dispute was the war with France. Edward was in dire need of cash to send troops and supplies to his hard-pressed garrisons in Gascony, and raise an army to join his allies in Flanders. A military summons at the Northampton parliament in February ended in disaster, when his magnates simply refused to fight overseas. Edward was forced to take the risk of recruiting men in Wales, which had been in revolt only two years earlier. Fortunately for him, the gamble paid off.

It proved much more difficult to squeeze money out of the church. Robert Winchelsey, Archbishop of Canterbury, led the opposition. He argued that the Pope had forbidden the clergy from paying tax to the lay power; only if the danger to the kingdom was very great, would the church agree to pay up.

Edward's argument was straightforward. The realm was in danger, and everyone must contribute to defence. Anyone who refused was no longer entitled to the king's protection. Why should he protect those who failed in their duty?

Winchelsey's stance was undermined by the northern clergy, who paid up without complaint. When their southern brethren held out, Edward simply outlawed them, en masse, and ordered the seizure of all lay fees belonging to the clergy of southern England. The king then made it known that his protection could be bought for a sum equal to the proposed tax. Predictably, individual clergymen came flocking to buy their pardons.

Winchelsey was placed under extreme pressure. Royal officials moved in to lock and seal many of the buildings of Canterbury cathedral priory. By 6 March the grain stored in them was rotting and overheated for lack of care. The archbishop decided to confront the king in person and went to meet Edward at Salisbury.

Their talk was futile. Edward argued that even if the Pope himself held lands in England, he would be entitled to take them into hands for the defence of the realm. Winchelsey suggested they ask the Pope to advise if England was in sufficient danger to justify taxing the clergy. Unsurprisingly, Edward stonewalled that idea. No chance, Your Grace. The only concession he made was to allow those clergy who had bought protection to sow their lands with seed.

This was all very reminiscent of the Henry II-Becket dispute; what it boiled down to was the rights of the crown versus the rights of the church. The rights and wrongs of the dispute are a moot point. Typically, Edward took extreme action in the face of a crisis. In his defence, England was at war and under genuine threat of French invasion.

In the end, Winchelsey failed for lack of support. He summoned a church council, where his own clergy argued that the grant of taxation was necessary. Whether they really believed this, or didn't fancy being outlawed and stripped of cash and assets, is another moot point.

In the end, Winchelsey gave up and proposed that every man should follow his conscience. He and his clergy departed from the council, as a chronicler noted, "like wandering sheep without a shepherd". They continued to buy their peace with the king. By September 1297 the sum of £23, 174 had been paid into the exchequer, almost exactly the same amount as the original tax demand.

Winchelsey did not go the same way as Becket. Shortly before the king left for Flanders, he appeared on a raised wooden platform with Edward, before a packed crowd outside Westminster. There, to cheers from the plebs, they embraced and wept and exchanged the kiss of peace. And whispered a few choice words to each other, no doubt.

Attached, for lack of suitable images of Edward and Winchelsey yelling at each other, is a pic of the fate of Saint Tom.

Sharing beds

 

The financial accounts of Robert Burnell, de facto regent of England from 1270-1274, survive almost in their entirety. These are revealing, and show the problems and difficulties experienced by a land without a king. 

For instance, the turbulent state of the Welsh March is shown by a payment of £100 to the constable of Montgomery Castle, at a time when the borderlands were sliding into outright chaos (again). Burnell also paid out £270 for a large quantity of grain sent to Gascony when there were fears of a French invasion - 'quando timebatur de adventu Regis Francie ad partas illas cum exercitu'. 

Another 200 marks went to Thomas de Clare, younger brother of Gilbert de Clare and Edward I's bedmate, sent to Gascony when rumours of French invasion were still circulating. Burnell then paid 250 marks for the expenses of John de le Lynde, sent to the French court in Paris and then Rome, presumably to try and calm things down. 

Thomas de Clare had the same relationship with Edward as Richard I and Philip Augustus. In this era, to share a bed with another man was a sign of royal trust and favour, nothing more. That said, if anyone wishes to redefine Longshanks as a gay icon, please, have at it. Just let me get the popcorn.

Between 1270-74 England was engulfed by a rising tide of lawlessness. This was triggered by Lord Edward's absence on crusade, the lingering resentments of the Montfortian wars, and the incapacity of central government. 

One of those entrusted with guarding the kingdom was Edward's uncle Richard, Earl of Cornwall. Richard was competent and immensely rich, able to bring the authority of his royal status, wealth and prestige. In October 1270, for instance, he appointed a new sheriff of Lincolnshire and granted the castle and county of Carlisle to the bishop of that diocese. A few months later, March 1271, Richard took charge of suppressing a mysterious rebellion in Yorkshire; he gave orders for the arrest of 'all persons making congregations, conventicles and conspiracies against the peace' in that county. This was just one of the 'wars and rumours of wars' that were erupting all over England. 

Then, a piece of appalling news reached London. Richard's son, Henry of Almaine, had been murdered at the church of Viterbo in Italy. While attending Mass at the Chiesa di San Silvestro, he was attacked by Simon de Montfort junior and his brother Guy. When Henry clung to the altar, begging for mercy, they cut his fingers off and dragged him outside. There, in full public view, they cut out his eyes and testicles and finally hacked off his head. 

This, Simon declared, was in revenge for the bloody death of his father at Evesham in 1265. Since Henry was not even present at Evesham, let alone culpable, Simon's defence was preposterous. In any case, blasphemy and homicide were just that, regardless of motive. 

The murder had a destabilising effect on England, as it was supposed to. Richard never recovered from his son's death: in December 1271 he suffered a near-fatal stroke that left him paralysed down one side and unable to speak. After lingering for a few months, he died at Berkhampstead on 2 April 1272. Meanwhile England slid further into chaos.

A Shropshire Lad (1)

 

Robert Burnell, lord chancellor and Bishop of Bath and Wells, was born at Acton Burnell in Shropshire, six miles SE of Shrewsbury, in about 1240. Otherwise we know little about his early life, except that he was one of four brothers. It is not known who his parents were or his precise date of birth. 

Nothing is known of Burnell's upbringing or education, before his sudden appearance as a royal clerk in the 1250s. The monks of Buildwas Abbey, sometime in the fourteenth century, concocted a pedigree for Burnell tracing his family all the way back to a Robert Burnell who (allegedly) came to England with the Conqueror. 

The pedigree was an invention: "...a tribute devised by obsequious monks to gratify the pride of the Burnells in the days of their prosperity" (Eyton, Antiquities of Shropshire). 

This sort of fabricated genealogy was quite common. For instance the powerful Clanvoe family, descended of the lineage of Hywel ap Meurig, forged a descent from the old lords of Deheubarth. The family was in fact descended from an obscure Welsh tenant of the Mortimers in the Middle March. 

(The pic is of Acton Burnell castle near Shrewsbury)

The battle of Roslin

 

February 1303 witnessed the battle of Roslin, in which the Scots under John Comyn of Badenoch and Simon Fraser defeated an English force led by John Segrave.

In the pantheon of Scottish victories, Roslin seems to rank well below the likes of Stirling Bridge and Bannockburn. This is, perhaps, due to Comyn being generally perceived as a traitor who richly deserved a dagger in the guts, delivered by Robert de Bruce at Dumfries church in 1306. I have argued before that Comyn is much maligned, a victim of Bruce propaganda, but to little avail. Some impressions just stick and there is little point wasting energy on such things. Not my problem, squire. 

Edward I had placed Segrave in command of an expeditionary force, ordered to reconnoitre Scotland before the main English invasion in the autumn. The size of his force reached a peak of 119 men-at-arms and 2067 footsoldiers by January 1303, probably reduced by the time of the battle in February. Segrave was dispatched, specifically, to repel the Scots threatening the English garrison at Roxburgh. 

According to Walter of Guisborough, Segrave divided his men into three divisions or troops, distanced from each by about two leagues. He was then led into an ambush by a certain 'boy', who was really on Comyn's side. A notable feature of these Scottish wars is the frequent use of women and boys as spies. I like to think it was the same boy throughout, cheerfully playing off both sides and making a hatful of cash into the bargain. 

On 24 February the first English troop, about three hundred men under Segrave's personal command, was attacked and scattered. The recorded casualties are light (just five horses), but Segrave himself was captured. Guisborough claims the second troop came up and rescued him, but this cannot be correct: a couple of weeks later, Edward I paid a ransom for Segrave, implying he was in Scottish custody. 

One of the English casualties was Ralph Manton, the king's treasurer, also called Ralf the Cofferer. He was taken prisoner by Simon Fraser, who accused him of embezzling funds when Fraser had been in Edward I's service. After this angry speech - slightly embarrassing, in context - Fraser ordered one of his servants to cut off Ralf's hands and leave him to bleed to death in the forest. 

Roslin was later blown out of proportion by the 15th century Scottish chronicler, Walter Bower, who claimed the English lost upward of 80,000 men. This sort of wild boasting and exaggeration was common: for instance, the English claimed that Wallace lost a hundred thousand men at Falkirk. Such losses would have wiped out the entire adult male population of the British Isles, never mind Scotland.

Nevertheless, Roslin was a significant morale-boosting victory for the Scots at a bleak time. It made no real difference to Edward's plans (although one imagines the royal eyes rolling a little at the news). The battle may, however, have persuaded him that Comyn and his allies were still capable of serious resistance. The terms of the negotiated settlement of Strathord, almost a year later, would imply as much.

Walking free

 

In February 1272 Roger Godberd, the notorious bandit chief, was hunted down and captured by Reynold Grey, High Sheriff of Nottingham. He was held in various prisons for four years and finally stood trial at Newgate in April 1276. 

At his trial, Godberd produced charters of Henry III, which pardoned him of all offences. However, these documents only applied to his first period of outlawry before October 1266, and the Dictum of Kenilworth. They did not cover his second term as an outlaw between 1269-72. Hence, he should have been executed. His lieutenant, Walter Devyas, was beheaded in 1272, and by rights Godberd should have gone the same way. 

Instead, astonishingly, he walked free. Godberd was still alive and kicking in 1287, when he was briefly imprisoned again for poaching in Sherwood Forest. Ironically, one of his fellow poachers was Reynold Grey, the former sheriff. They and several others were bailed by one Henry le Lou. 

There is no reason to suppose that Godberd died anywhere except in his bed, probably in the 1290s. His son, Roger junior, was allowed to inherit the tenancy of Swannington manor, now in the possession of Edmund of Lancaster. The king, Edward I, had an interesting relationship with these outlaws. Back in 1269, before going on crusade, he had arranged a pardon for Godberd's ill-fated lieutenant, Walter Devyas. This proved most unwise, as Devyas immediately resumed a life of violent crime. When he was recaptured, in 1272, there was no mercy. 

Godberd can only have owed his unlikely salvation to the king. At the start of his reign, Edward I wished to settle England as soon as possible, and knew that could not be achieved with a round of bloody executions. One of his first parliaments issued a general pardon to all of Simon de Montfort's surviving followers, which probably explains Godberd's survival.

Taking heads

The other interesting case at Rhuddlan, heard before the king on 14 February 1283, concerned the death of a man in Ireland. This was a certain O'Donald, whose head had been brought to the Exchequer at Dublin by one Thomas Mandeville. 

The custom of head-taking was a commonplace way of dealing with outlaws - 'wolfsheads' - in Ireland and Wales. In Ireland it was a part of the legal system, and often led to squabbles over money. For instance, in 1282 the Earl Marshal complained that the Justice of Ireland had fined him 100 marks for the beheading of Art Mac Murrough. This was against the local custom, since the head had not yet been 'proclaimed' with the consent of the earl or his freemen. 

In the case of 14 February, Edward I ordered that Mandeville should be paid his fee. This was the standard bounty for bringing the heads of outlaws and felons before the local justices. O'Donald's offence is not recorded, sadly. It should be noted that outlaws had no legal rights or protection whatsoever. Anyone could kill them, in any way, without fear of censure. This explains the fate of Prince Llywelyn ap Gruffudd of Wales, lured to his death in a way that would have otherwise been seen as dishonourable. 

It also explains why Sir William Wallace got no formal trial at Westminster, after his capture in August 1305. Wallace had been outlawed by the Scottish parliament at St Andrews in February, and outlaws were not entitled to a trial. It might be argued that Edward I forced the Scots to condemn Wallace. However, when he threatened to do the same to James the Steward, an important nobleman, the Scottish lords closed ranks and persuaded Edward to change his mind. They did so because the Steward was one of 'them', a member of the elite club. Wallace was not.

Moved by piety

 

On 14 February 1283 Edward I was at Rhuddlan. The war in Wales was still raging, but the king and his advisers made time for other business. 

On this day they dealt with six cases. Edward took a personal interest in the case of Madog de Brompton, a Welshman accused of murdering one Roger Dodesune. The king was shown the verdict of a jury in Shropshire, which found that Madog had killed Roger in self-defence. Edward, 'moved by piety', agreed with the verdict and ordered Madog to be pardoned and restored to his lands, goods and chattels. 

It would be nice to know more about this Madog. Brompton (Brontyn in Welsh) is a hamlet in Shropshire, right on the border: it lies between Church Stoke and Newtown, both in Powys. Perhaps Madog was related to one of the local mixed-'race' families. The Antiquities of Shropshire record that Great Weston/Weston Madoc was held by Robert fitz Madoc in 1224, as a tenant of Thomas Corbet of Caus. After his death Henry III seized the manor, even though Robert had left an heir, Owain. By 1242 the manor was held by one Hywel de Brompton as a serjeant of the king, but after his death it was seized by John Lestrange. Thomas Corbet then managed to reclaim it at law. 

The Chirbury Hundred-Roll records that Hywel de Brompton's heir was later in the custody of Lord Edward (later Edward I) and held his land of the prince worth 100 shillings. This was Roger Fitz Hywel, who held the land of Weston. Unfortunately the editor of the Antiquities could find no further trace of Roger Fitz Hywel or the Brompton line.

English Bob

 

In March 1302 Robert de Bruce was at Linlithgow, in the company of Sir Robert Clifford and Sir John de St John. These were two of Edward I's knights: Clifford had been in possession of Caerlaverock castle since 1300, while St John was the English seneschal of Galloway. 

As described previously, Bruce had recently abandoned the Balliol Scots and joined Edward. St John had taken Bruce's surrender in the king's name, but the three men soon went their separate ways. Shortly afterwards Bruce was at Maybole grange, where he acknowledged that he would no longer ask the tenants of Roxburgh abbey to serve with him in a Scottish army going 'abroad'. This could mean south of the border or overseas. Instead they would only be asked to serve in the defence of the realm. 

In context, that meant Edward's realm of Scotland. Bruce was now a part of the English establishment, drawing upon English money and supplies to maintain himself. While Edward may not have trusted Bruce entirely, this was no great surprise. Bruce was no more or less trustworthy than any other nobleman, in either kingdom. After almost fifty years in politics, it is doubtful that Edward trusted anyone besides the men he raised to power. These were the likes of Robert Burnell and Walter Langton, of relatively low birth, who owed everything to royal favour. 

Even so, Bruce had to be kept sweet. He was granted a very useful marriage to Elizabeth de Burgh, daughter of Edward's chief ally in Ireland, the earl of Ulster. Liz was played by Florence Pugh (pictured) in Outlaw King.

A kerfuffle in Galloway

Sometime between November 1299-May 1300, Robert de Bruce resigned his position as Guardian of Scotland. This was due to the potential return of John Balliol as King of Scots, which ran counter to Bruce's own desire to be king. 

Not that Bruce had abandoned the Scottish cause (or at least, not yet). He was still prepared to summon his men to defend Scotland against Edward I: for instance, he frequently called up his tenants of Melrose abbey, inside the lordship of Carrick, to do this service. 

Even so, Bruce's decision must have dismayed his friends. While he held the post of Guardian, there was a counter-balance to the Comyn faction. Now Bruce had stepped down, the Comyns reigned supreme. 

This was the situation when Edward came north again in the summer of 1300. On this occasion his intention was not to 'conquer Scotland', as such, but to reinforce the fragile English hold on Galloway in the south-west. The constable of the English garrison at Lochmaben (a former Bruce castle) had appealed desperately to the king for aid, especially against the threat of the rival Scottish garrison at Caerlaverock (pictured). 

The conflict in Galloway is a fascinating sub-plot of the Scottish wars. Edward had previously tried to exploit political divisions by restoring Thomas of Galloway, a bastard son of the last Celtic lord of Galloway, to power. Thomas had lain in a Scottish prison for over sixty years, and we can imagine the state of the poor befuddled old chap, tottering off home with a charter of liberties thrust into his hands. Once he had served his purpose, Thomas was yanked back into custody and probably died in prison. 

Edward's policy worked to an extent, and he enjoyed the consistent support of two important local kindreds, the MacCans and the Macdoualls: it should be remembered that Galloway was not an integral part of Scotland at this time, and many of the local dynasties never accepted the Bruce kings. 

Just to complicate matters further, Galloway was also important to the Comyn faction: many of Balliol's demesne lands had been held there, so control of the region was as vital to them as it was to the English.

A Bruce on a limb

 

August 1299. After Robert de Bruce and John Comyn had stopped trying to throttle each other, the Scottish assembly at Peebles split up. This was due to an urgent letter, informing them that certain Scots loyal to Edward I were ravaging northern Scotland. 

The 'certain Scots' were Sir Alexander Comyn, brother of the Earl of Buchan, and Lachlan MacRuarie. Comyn remained in English allegiance all through 1296-1304, while Lachlan was a west Highland captain of gallowglass infantry. Ironically, in 1297 he and his kinsmen had attacked the lands of Edward's ally, Alexander MacDonald of Islay. Now it was all change.

Apart from the unseemly Bruce-Comyn brawl, the Scottish position was otherwise reasonably secure. The Comyns were able to appoint a Scottish sheriff of Roxburgh, to harass English garrisons in the south-east and even carry war into northern England. The English, meanwhile, had no-one in overall charge of those parts of Scotland under their control. Edward had gone south after the battle of Falkirk, leaving two royal lieutenants whose position was only temporary.

From Bruce's perspective, however, this was no good at all. His rivals, the Comyn faction, were now dominating affairs in Scotland. John Comyn in particular was the effective head of Scottish resistance to Edward I, and it was he who decided military strategy. Bruce, in contrast, was stuck out on a limb.

The awkwardness of his situation was emphasised in a letter sent by the Guardians to Edward in November 1299, agreeing to his truce. This was sent in the names of the 'guardians of the kingdom of Scotland in the name of the renowned prince, the lord John, illustrious king of Scotland, chosen by the community of the said kingdom...'

In other words, the Comyns were now in charge, and they wanted the restoration of the exiled King of Scots, John Balliol. Once he returned - and this was a very real possibility - Bruce's driving ambition to become king would be ruined forever. 

Quibbling lawyers

In January 1303 the citizens of Bordeaux rose up and drove out the French after a nine-year occupation. Bordeaux, the chief city of Gascony and centre of the lucrative wine trade, had been seized by the French after the outbreak of war between France and England in 1294. 

The king of France, Philip the Fair, had attempted to redirect the trade from London to Paris. This failed when the local merchants refused to give up their lucrative trade with England. So, despite being under occupation, the city continued to trade with the English and Edward I.

Philip's conquest of Gascony failed due to a number of reasons. He was overstretched, forced to recall his field army from the duchy (tucked away in south-west France) to fight Edward's allies in Flanders and the Low Countries. The French were not popular in Gascony, where most of the nobility considered themselves independent from Paris. To keep the troublesome citizens in line, Philip took hostages from the wealthier families and imprisoned them in filthy conditions, where many died. Unsurprisingly, this did nothing to improve his popularity. 

In early 1303, after several failed revolts, the citizens finally succeeded in driving out the French. They were encouraged by the battle of Courtrai, fought in Flanders in July 1302, where the French field army crashed to a shock defeat at the hands of Flemish militia. This disaster obliged Philip to throw all his resources at the Flemings, which loosened his already fragile grip on Gascony.

Edward I had already tried to exploit the situation. In August 1302, a few weeks after Courtrai, he sent a new English seneschal to Gascony in anticipation of a revolt. His agents probably made contact with the dissidents in Bordeaux. They were led by a charismatic, violent character named Arnaud Caillau, head of an important local family. 

The French were swept out of Bordeaux with surprising ease. The only serious resistance was offered by a French lawyer, who argued that Gascony rightfully belonged to King Philip. Arnaud tore out the luckless man's tongue and threw him out of an upper-storey window. So much for quibbling lawyers.

By 15 January Caillau was installed as mayor, but the English were not welcomed back immediately. Instead the citizens briefly flirted with the idea of converting Bordeaux into a city-republic, independent of both England and and France. This was not so far-fetched as it might sound: similar autonomous states were being set up in Flanders and northern Italy.

This idea was quashed by the arrival of an army from England, comprising over two thousand Gascon exiles loyal to Edward I. These men had spent the past nine years living on the king's wages, and now he expected them to return the favour.

The Bordelais bowed to pressure. Shortly afterwards one Raymond de Leun, citizen of Bordeaux, arrived at the English court to inform Edward the city had returned to Plantagenet allegiance. It would remain an English possession until the final French conquest of Gascony in 1453. 

A fistfight at Peebles

In August 1299 the Scottish army was camped in Selkirk Forest, poised to swoop down on the English garrison at Roxburgh. Then news arrived that the castle's defences were too strong to attack, despite the bishop of Glasgow's best efforts to undermine the walls from within. 

Nonplussed by this information, the Scots remained at Selkirk until 19 August. Then they moved onto Peebles, where they fell to arguing. The bone of contention was Sir William Wallace, even though the big man himself was sixty miles away, harassing the English garrison at Stirling. 

The row started when Sir David Graham, an ally of John Comyn, demanded the seizure of Wallace's lands and goods. This, he said, was because Wallace proposed to leave the kingdom without the permission or approval of the Guardians. Wallace's brother, Sir Malcolm, retorted that nothing should be taken because Wallace was leaving to work for the good of the kingdom. Both men called each other a liar and whipped out their daggers. 

Someone rushed off to inform the earl of Buchan and John Comyn that a fight had started. Comyn ran to the scene and took a flying leap at Robert de Bruce, seizing him by the throat. Buchan turned to the bishop of St Andrews and declared that treason and lesémajestie (a crime against the state or sovereign ruler) was being plotted. 

The root cause of this unseemly brawl was probably John Balliol's recent transfer into papal custody. Wallace's proposed trip abroad must have looked suspicious to the Comyns: they suspected he meant to gather support among the courts of Europe for placing Bruce on the vacant Scottish throne. 

In fact they were wrong. Despite his early alignment with Bruce, Wallace spent his time abroad in the company of Balliol supporters, and even visited Balliol himself. It seems Wallace had little time for aristocratic infighting, he just wanted to secure Scotland's independence. Whether that meant a Bruce or a Balliol on the throne (but maybe not a Comyn) didn't really matter. 

The man who would be king

The year 1299, while good for the Scots in general, was not good for Robert de Bruce. Even though he was co-Guardian of Scotland, Bruce was now faced with the threat of the return of John Balliol, the exiled King of Scots, with French military support. The restoration of Balliol would spell the end of his hopes of being king - and, dear God, did that man want to be king. 

It would also pose severe difficulties for his enemy, Edward I. Yet it was a case of guessing which way the King of France, Philip the Fair, would choose to jump. That was no mean feat: Philip was famously inscrutable and virtually impossible to second-guess. Hence his nickname (among others) of The Owl, after his unnerving habit of sitting in absolute silence on his throne, stern and unblinking.

After lengthy negotiations, Philip had just agreed to a permanent peace with Edward. To seal the deal, Edward agreed to marry Philip's sister Margaret (about forty years his junior) while his heir, Prince Edward, would marry the French king's daughter Isabella. 

In context, it seems difficult to believe that Philip would shatter the hard-won peace of two kingdoms, all for the sake of aiding the Balliol Scots. To send a French army to Scotland would mean reopening the war with England, almost immediately after both kings had agreed to bury the hatchet. While Philip held the advantage in Flanders and Gascony, his resources were severely overstretched, and only a fool would take such risks. Whatever else might be said about the Iron King, he was no fool. To reopen the war would also place Margaret and Isabella, held at the English court, in grave danger.

No doubt all these calculations passed through Bruce's able mind. Not that he was content to simply wait on events. While King Edward got to know his young French wife, Bruce harried the English garrison occupying his castle at Lochmaben.  

Then, in August 1299, Bruce went north to Glasgow to meet his fellow Guardian, Sir John Comyn, and an impressive array of Scottish nobles. Bruce was accompanied by Sir Malcolm Wallace, one of William's relatively obscure brothers. 

The aim of this meeting was to plan a campaign against the English garrisons in south-east Scotland. Comyn had already sent an advance party into Selkirk Forest, soon followed by the main Scottish force led by Bruce, Comyn, and the great earls and prelates. 

All was set for a major combined assault on Roxburgh. Bruce and Comyn, however, decided to fight each other instead. 

Eadric and the Welsh

Eadric 'the Wild' (otherwise called Wild Edric, Eadric Cild and Eadric the Forester) was an Anglo-Saxon thegn of Shropshire and Herefordshire who led a revolt against William the Conqueror. He allied with two Welsh princes, Bleddyn ap Cynfyn and his brother Rhiwallon, as well as English rebels from Cheshire. This post will look at Eadric and his Welsh allies.

Bleddyn and Rhiwallon were half-brothers of Gruffudd ap Llywelyn, the only High King of Wales (reigned 1055-1063). After the downfall of Gruffudd at the hands of Harold Godwinsson, the brothers were installed as co-rulers of Gwynedd by the English. Bleddyn also became king of Powys, and his descendents continued to rule as the House of Mathrafal. In exchange, Bleddyn and Rhiwallon submitted to Harold and swore homage and fealty to the king of England, Edward the Confessor. 

This relationship probably explains why they joined successive English revolts against the Normans, after Harold's death at the battle of Hastings. In 1067 they allied with Eadric and helped him to ravage Herefordshire as far as the River Lugg. The following year they joined Earls Edwin and Morcar of Northumbria in their attacks upon the Normans. 

The Welsh kings appear to have linked up with Eadric again, and it was probably this combination of forces that was defeated at Stafford in 1069. Although the chronicle accounts are vague, this appears to have been a replay of Hastings, albeit on a smaller scale, in which the Anglo-Welsh were defeated by William in person. Say what you like about the Conqueror, but he lived up to his nickname.

Sadly, within a few years the brothers were dead, both slain in battle. Rhiwallon was killed at the battle of Mechain in 1070, slaughtered by his own nephews, Idwal and Maredudd, sons of the late High King. His nephews were also killed in the fighting, so it ended in a bloody draw. Bleddyn survived another five years, but was snared and killed by King Rhys ab Owain of Deheubarth, after being betrayed by the princes of Ystrad Tywi. 

It seems their old ally, Eadric, met with a somewhat happier fate. He submitted to William in 1070, possibly after being captured by Ranulph Mortimer, and was taken into the king's peace. Eadric later campaigned for William in Scotland and Maine, as well as (oh the irony!) defending Wigmore castle for the king against Ranulph, after the latter revolted against William. Such was the merry-go-round of medieval politics. 

Rebels and diehards

On 1 October 1299, shortly after the Anglo-French peace treaty, Philip the Fair turned his attention to the ongoing conflict in Burgundy. He ordered one of his knights, Geoffrey d'Aucelles, to guard the city of Gray from Jean de Arlay and his confederates. Any ransoms were to be handed over to Philip, though Geoffrey was allowed to keep the profits of captured armour and horses.

The rebels in Burgundy had been at war with Philip for over a decade. He wanted to make the county part of a greater France, but Jean de Arlay and his followers wished to remain part of the Holy Roman Empire. To that end they allied with Adolf of Nassau, the titular Holy Roman Emperor, and Edward I of England. 

In March 1298, after the initial truces with France, Edward renewed his military contract with the Burgundian rebels. In exchange for further English subsidies, they would continue to make war on Philip and harass his flank, distracting him from Edward's affairs in Scotland. 

Now, when final peace talks took place at Rome in the summer, Philip refused to allow the Burgundians to be included in the treaty. This was for the same reason as Edward's insistence that John Balliol and the Scots be excluded: the French king wished to impose his own settlement on Burgundy, without papal interference.

As a result, the war in Burgundy continued. Whether the rebels were still taking Edward's money is uncertain, though he might have considered it worthwhile to keep the subsidies going. As Philip's instruction of October 1299 shows, the rebels were still giving him trouble over a year later. Gray, on the banks of the Saone, was an important river port and trading centre.

Jean de Arlay, the leader of the anti-French confederation, was not dissimilar to William Wallace. Both men fought for years against an aggressive foreign power; both continued to fight even after their allies had fallen away or submitted; both were outnumbered and out-resourced.

The difference lay in Jean's status. He was the head of a powerful family, with political and blood ties to most of the other noble families in Burgundy. As such he was too important to kill, so Philip sought to co-opt him. In 1301, Jean and his followers finally agreed to surrender. After agreeing to pay war damages, they were all pardoned, while Jean was made Philip's seneschal of Burgundy. 

This was the equivalent of Wallace agreeing to become Edward I's lieutenant of Scotland. Wallace, of course, was a hard-liner, and absolutely refused to submit on any terms. Or was he? At least one English chronicler, Pierre Langtoft, claims that Wallace offered to surrender to Edward in 1304, in exchange for a pardon and a plot of land. However, the king angrily refused. 

Several recent historians refuse to accept this tale because it reflects 'neither the Wallace of history or legend'. One cannot help but detect a whiff of hero-worship here: Wallace is perceived as the ultimate diehard hero, and diehards don't surrender. Yet he was only human, after all, and no sane person wants to die on a gibbet. None of us will (hopefully) ever have to make such choices.

Roads to war

When looking at the history of medieval conflict, it is vital to take a broader perspective. The modern tendency is to focus on one's own country - because 'your' country is the best and most interesting, obviously - to the exclusion of everyone else. When one considers the nature of medieval states, the multiple shifting alliances and confederations and so on, this is a hopelessly one-eyed view.

That is certainly true of the Anglo-French wars. The famous Hundred Years War was rooted in a private dispute over sovereignty between two Francophone dynasties, the Plantagenets and the Capets (although strictly speaking I should refer to the former as 'Angevins', since they didn't call themselves Plantagenet until the fifteenth century). By the time of Edward I, my particular interest, Angevin dominions in France had shrunk to the duchy of Gascony and the county of Ponthieu. Both were held as fiefdoms of the Capets, which meant that one crowned head was subordinate to another. 

The tension of this impossible relationship led to war. If one is looking for a culprit, then the finger must be pointed at Philip the Fair, King of France from 1285-1314. It was Philip, probably egged on by his ambitious brother Charles of Valois, who chose to light the touchpaper and renew war with England after decades of peace. 

Without going into the fine detail - I have described it elsewhere - Philip seized upon a convenient pretext to invade Gascony and provoke war with his cousin, Edward I. His devious and ruthless policy was mirrored by Edward's own conduct in Scotland: as Sir Maurice Powicke remarked, the one situation almost reads like a sick parody of the other. Both kings were much alike, fixated on expanding their territory by any means. 

This was very much in the spirit of the time. Remove the patriotic goggles for a moment, and the likes of Prince Llywelyn of Wales and King Robert I of Scotland were no different. Llywelyn's aggressive expansionism inside Wales alienated the majority of his Welsh subjects, while the Bruces invaded Ireland and seriously contemplated making a grab for Wales. 

The war in Gascony, which cost Edward more than his Welsh and Scottish wars combined and beggared France, ended in an unsatisfactory stalemate. Philip had to return the duchy to his cousin, but at the cost of restoring Capetien sovereignty. Thanks to the Treaty of Paris, the Angevins were snared, tied up in a legal bind partially of their own making. The frantic efforts of English lawyers to slide out of the treaty came to nothing. 

Thanks to Philip's aggression (for which many French historians have condemned him, in case this sounds like an Anglocentric view), the old trust between the courts of Paris and London would never be restored. As for the marriage alliance, between the future Edward II and Philip's daughter Isabella, this simply handed the Angevins a (distinctly dubious) claim to the throne of France. All roads led to war. 

The process of Ponthieu

In August 1299, at Montreuil in northern France, the English and French envoys hammered out a final peace. This was a sequel to the talks in July, whereby John Balliol, the ex-King of Scots, was handed over to papal custody. Montreuil was the largest town inside the county of Ponthieu, a lordship on the banks of the Somme. 

As part of the agreement, Ponthieu was handed back to Edward I. Along with the much larger duchy of Gascony, it had been confiscated by Philip the Fair upon the outbreak of the Anglo-French war in 1294. Although Philip did not seize the county outright, he certainly milked its resources: while the status of Ponthieu was debated at the Court of Appeals in Paris, his officers stripped it of revenue and summoned the men of Ponthieu to military service. Ironically, this meant Edward's former subjects were now required to fight against him.

The return of Ponthieu was a significant concession on Philip's part, and a belated admission that he had made a mistake in provoking a war with England. Although the county was small (about half the size of Kent) the very fact Edward's dynasty held any land at all in France was a reversal of Capetian policy. Previously, when one of Philip's advisors was asked by the pope if the French meant to drive the English from their last holdings in France, the man replied:

"Certainly, sir, what you say is true."

Thus, the political importance of Ponthieu far outweighed its geographical size. Further, Edward's renewed status as Count of Ponthieu enabled him to retain a team of lawyers in Paris. Ostensibly they were there to deal with appeals from the county to the parlement, but in practice they gave the English king some influence over French affairs.

Montreuil was the scene of further Anglo-French peace talks in 1306. These meetings were concerned with vital issues of sovereignty and homage, and not particularly successful from an English perspective. The problem, as ever, lay in the one-sided nature of the Treaty of Paris, which gave the French a permanent advantage in law. After weeks of futile talks Edward's attorney, Philip Martel, threw up his hands and declared:

"Of what use is it for Englishmen to go to law against the king of France in his kingdom, against his whole council, and against you who are our co-judges? Certainly none!"

Neverthless, the mere fact Philip allowed the talks to be held at Montreuil was a concession to English interests. In contrast to his earlier belligerence, the French king was now prepared to compromise with England. At the same time he made occasional noises about helping the Scots, Edward's enemies, without actually doing very much. 

Ponthieu remained a treasured Plantagenet possession: Edward I re-granted it to his son, the future Edward II, when the young man was also made Prince of Wales and Lord of Chester. Edward III jealously guarded the county, and the famous battle of Crécy (pictured) was fought within its borders in 1346. As the third Edward's health and fortunes declined however, the French moved in and once again retook possession of Ponthieu, this time forever.