Chapter 6

The Days Were Long and Fine

Edward’s campaign of 1298 had come close to disaster, but his victory at Falkirk restored the military reputation of the English and their king. In contrast, the Scots’ defeat was a damaging blow to the credibility of ‘William the Conqueror’, and shortly afterwards Wallace resigned as Guardian of Scotland. Perhaps he was compelled to do so; from this point onwards the acknowledged leaders of the patriot cause – including members of the Bruce and Comyn families – would be drawn from Scotland’s traditional elite. Yet Wallace remained a significant figure; he continued to play a role in more limited operations against the English, and subsequently took part in Scottish embassies overseas. What is more, Edward did not even come close to regaining full control of Scotland at this time, notwithstanding the horrific losses the Scots had suffered.

As we have seen, the English pay rolls suggest that Edward’s own army had suffered heavy casualties at Falkirk, although it is likely that desertion shortly afterwards had also thinned the English ranks. Falkirk must also have sapped the energies of the king himself, given the injuries he had suffered before the battle, and he needed time to recover. A two-week siege of Stirling was necessary to recapture the castle, but this also provided an opportunity for Edward to recuperate. When the king pressed on with the campaign, English forces traversed the country, as in 1296, presumably attempting to overawe the populace (and their leaders) through a further show of force. St Andrews was spared – apparently as a mark of respect to the local saint – but Perth was sacked.

Edward himself moved westwards, towards Ayr. It is generally assumed that he was in pursuit of Robert (VII) Bruce, giving the lie to the notion that the younger Bruce fought for the English at Falkirk. Edward met with little further resistance, although Bruce would prove to be an elusive quarry – as would many others. It had already become clear that the battle of Falkirk would not prove to be as decisive as Edward had hoped. The English king was now in command of a smaller, more mobile force, but the victualling of his army continued to pose problems. At Ayr Edward found the castle empty and in ruins (it was burned on Bruce’s orders), and the Irish supply ships he was expecting never arrived. By this time, too, the sense of unity that Edward had established with his barons was starting to fracture.

Most of Edward’s greatest subjects did not generally fight for pay, but they did expect to be rewarded for their service, and one way for him to do this was to grant them lands that had been forfeited by his enemies. It has been suggested that there was some lingering resentment over the way Edward had divided up the spoils of war in the wake of his Welsh conquest (particularly on the part of Norfolk and Hereford, who had received nothing at all), and the king had agreed that he would not grant lands in Scotland without the advice of his nobles.¹ With that being the case, there was understandable disquiet at Edward’s arbitrary decision to grant the Isle of Arran to Sir Thomas Bisset (an Irish nobleman who had recently captured the island from the Scots). Norfolk and Hereford also began to gripe about monies they believed were due to them in their capacities as marshal and constable.

With supplies and morale now running low, it was considered prudent to retire towards England. Nevertheless, Edward was able to capture a number of other Scottish castles which had been held by the patriots. He also took possession of the important Bruce fortress of Lochmaben. In part this might be seen as a swipe against the younger Robert Bruce, even though Lochmaben was still technically owned by Bruce’s father (who remained consistently loyal to Edward, and ultimately died in England). Lochmaben became the site of the first of Edward’s peles in Scotland; the word ‘pele’ is derived from the old French word pel, meaning a wooden stake, and the peles were essentially fortified encampments that covered a large area of ground.² Edward remained in arms as late as October, when he took Jedburgh Castle; this consolidated the English control of south-eastern Scotland.

By this time, though, Norfolk and Hereford had long since left the army, pleading that their men were now exhausted; many others had followed their lead. As the winter drew in, Edward based himself at Newcastle, where preparations were made for the defence of the English position in southern Scotland: it was obvious that further campaigns would surely be necessary, although Edward was determined to hold on to his most recent gains.³ Garrisons were placed in important castles, in addition to a more sizeable force, more than a thousand strong, which was based at Berwick. There was also concern for the defence of northern England, where a series of military appointments were made. The most significant landowners in the northern counties (those men whose lands were worth more than £30 per year) were persuaded to provide a mobile force of cavalry.

Given its crucial strategic position, there was a particular emphasis on the defence of Stirling. By early December the castle was already threatened by the Scots, and a force of several hundred men was organised to relieve the castle. Edward took a close personal interest in these activities; Sir Alexander Convers, an important royal clerk who was involved in the logistical aspects of the operation, was informed by the king that he expected the ‘expedition to be done as hastily as you can but in such a good way and surely’.⁴ The English relief force does appear to have successfully completed its mission – at least temporarily – and at the same time supplies were collected at Berwick to be conveyed to Stirling in due course. The stockpile included sixty quarters of wheat, sixty quarters of barley and sixty quarters of oats: enough to provision the garrison for around eight months.

In 1296 Edward had envisaged that castles would perform a dual role in Scotland – as administrative centres as well as military bases – but in the coming years their military function would be paramount. Many of the garrisons were relatively small: in 1298, for example, the garrison at Stirling numbered sixty-three. However, there were somewhat larger garrisons at a number of other Scottish castles, such as Roxburgh, where the soldiers were also expected to maintain order throughout a wider area; Lochmaben, now securely under royal control, was particularly important in this respect. Overall, it has been calculated that the garrisons equated to a small standing army, and naturally this made for an expensive commitment; the keepers of the castles were employed under contract, and their men were paid from the monies allocated to the commanders.

Victualling estimates for the garrisons were extremely generous, including large quantities of alcohol. A complex administrative and logistical network was put in place, and Edward’s officials (such as John Droxford and John de Weston, as well as the aforementioned Convers) deserve great credit for this. In some areas, moreover, there is evidence to suggest that the English were able to purchase provisions from local Scottish people. At Stirling, for example, a woman called Eva was later imprisoned by the patriots and exiled from Scotland because she had collaborated with the English garrison there.⁵ But English efforts were also dependent on a regular flow of money and supplies from the south, and this would prove more difficult to achieve.

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When Edward himself turned southwards, at the end of the year 1298, he was already making plans for a further expedition to Scotland. For most of the next year, however, he would find himself distracted by other issues. In part this was due to renewed discontent on the part of his English subjects. Whilst the unity that had made the Falkirk campaign possible had undoubtedly owed a great deal to a genuine sense of outrage at the defeat at Stirling, and a renewed sense of purpose against a common foe, it had also been important that Edward had granted concessions to his critics. Now there was a growing feeling that the king had failed to deliver on his promises.

The key issue concerned the Royal Forest, which at this time encompassed large swathes of the English countryside (including unwooded areas under cultivation). During his time in Flanders Edward had agreed to reissue the famous Forest Charter, which was originally enacted in 1217, but as yet there was little indication that he was willing to act on the implications of this. The first clause of the charter committed the king to a ‘perambulation’, or inspection, of the Forest boundaries. This had, indeed, been carried out in 1225, but Henry III, Edward’s father, had repudiated the agreed changes two years later; it was therefore anticipated that Edward would order a new perambulation. From Edward’s point of view this was unpalatable because it was certain that the assessors would recommend a reduction in the Forest bounds. This was desirable in many local communities because the Forest was governed by different (and often more arbitrary) laws.

The question of the Royal Forest, among other matters, was discussed at two parliaments in the first half of 1299. The earl of Hereford had died and been succeeded by his son and heir, who appears to have been a less rebarbative character (and later married one of Edward’s daughters), but the earl of Norfolk remained an outspoken critic of the king. Eventually, despite some uncharacteristically hamfisted attempts at prevarication, Edward was prevailed upon to confirm that a perambulation would once again take place. Whilst it may not seem immediately obvious how this issue is relevant to Scottish affairs, it has already become apparent that Edward’s domestic troubles could have a great impact on his ability to wage war effectively elsewhere.

As was so often the case, Edward was also preoccupied with relations with France. In the previous year the kings of England and France – accepting a point of stalemate – had submitted their dispute over Gascony to the arbitration of Pope Boniface. Curiously, however, it was agreed that Boniface would act in a private capacity, not as the head of the Church. The Pope decided that Edward should be restored to all of his French lands, but in the event Philip the Fair retained control of much of Gascony (at least for now). Nevertheless, the idea of an Anglo-French marriage was revived. Here, then, was a symbol of progress, and Edward was now keen to marry again. A future marriage was planned between Edward’s son, Edward of Caernarfon, and Philip’s daughter Isabella. At this time Isabella was still too young to marry, but in June 1299 it was concluded that Edward I would marry Philip’s sister Margaret as soon as was practically possible.

The Scottish patriots still maintained hopes of active French support, so these developments caused anxiety north of the border. However, the latest round of diplomacy did have one promising outcome for the Scots. By this time the Scots were also lobbying at the papal court (though French influence was also significant), and Edward subsequently agreed to surrender John Balliol into the neutral hands of the Pope: this was probably interpreted in Scotland as the first step towards a process of arbitration (although he did retain Balliol’s son in captivity). At first sight, then, this was a puzzling decision on Edward’s part, although the Lanercost Chronicle suggests that the king felt obliged to act ‘out of obedience to the Holy Curia’. Perhaps John Balliol’s release might also be viewed as a calculated gamble on Edward’s part, helping to prepare the ground for the achievement of larger objectives. In fact, this concession cost Edward little in the short term (although it did have implications later).

On 18 July 1299 John Balliol was escorted across the Channel and delivered into the custody of the Pope’s representative, the bishop of Vicenza. Thereafter he lived for some time in various places, including the abbot of Cluny’s residence at Gevrey-Chambertin. As Balliol was leaving England, however, his baggage was impounded and opened. It included money and plate, some of which was returned to him. In a small, though perhaps not insignificant, act of defiance, Balliol had also somehow managed to conceal the Scottish royal seal and a golden coronet. It will come as no surprise to learn that both of these items were confiscated.

By the end of August all the preparations had been made for Edward’s marriage. On 10 September he rode into Canterbury to meet his new bride, who was accompanied to England by the dukes of Burgundy and Brittany, as well as a large number of other French nobles. In view of the continued tensions between England and France, one might imagine the atmosphere was somewhat strained. However, the marriage itself, which was solemnised the following day, would prove to be more successful than might have been expected, despite the great age gap between the bride and groom: Edward was now sixty years old, whereas Margaret was probably twenty. Reading between the lines of the conventional reports of her accomplishments and beauty, it was surely important that Margaret appears to have been a sensitive and tactful woman; in particular, she established effective relationships with Edward’s children, notably Edward of Caernarfon.⁶

Edward spent the rest of the autumn surrounded by his family and friends, and it is tempting to imagine he found a measure of peace in the company of his young bride. But as the weeks progressed it became clear that the king was impatient to return to Scotland. His commanders there had maintained a regular dispatch of news over the course of the year, and much of it was alarming. The patriots were growing in strength and confidence, and Edward’s garrisons were increasingly beleaguered.

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The Scottish political community remained divided, although many Scottish noblemen were committed to the patriot cause at this time. Two new Guardians were chosen to replace Wallace: Robert (VII) Bruce, earl of Carrick, and John Comyn the younger, the heir to the lordship of Badenoch. (The last time we encountered Comyn he was with Edward in Flanders, but he absconded from Edward’s army and made his way back to Scotland.) At this time Bruce had laid aside any pretensions towards the kingship, at least outwardly, because both of the Guardians exercised authority of behalf of the exiled John Balliol. Even so, Bruce and Comyn found it difficult to work together; these two young men, as yet still relatively inexperienced, appear to have developed a mutual antagonism that went beyond their families’ longstanding rivalry.

At a meeting held at Peebles on 19 August 1299, the activities of William Wallace were a particular point of contention. By this time Wallace had left for the continent, where he subsequently spent time at the French court, but one of Comyn’s followers asserted that he had left Scotland without permission; presumably he had travelled to France with Bruce’s blessing, but not Comyn’s. There was a heated argument, and Bruce and Comyn came to blows. According to the report of an English spy who had infiltrated the gathering, ‘John Comyn leaped at the earl of Carrick and seized him by the throat’.⁷

The unseemly fracas at Peebles led to the appointment of a third Guardian, William Lamberton, bishop of St Andrews, who apparently assumed seniority and was expected to provide a calming influence. But Lamberton’s promotion was almost certainly not to the Comyns’ liking, because the other John Comyn, the earl of Buchan, had accused the bishop of indulging in treacherous schemes. Evidently Lamberton’s loyalty to John Balliol was being called into question here, although the precise implications are unclear.

One might imagine that the divisions between the patriots’ leaders would have severely damaged their cause, but they nevertheless appear to have established an effective administration in many parts of Scotland. This was particularly true north of the Forth, especially in the north-east, where the two branches of the Comyn family had reasserted their traditional dominance of the area. Here, control of the port of Aberdeen was vital, because it helped to facilitate continued trade and communication with the continent. South of the Forth, Selkirk Forest once again proved to be a troublesome area for the English, and of course Robert Bruce’s earldom of Carrick was also an important centre of resistance to Edward.

The rugged country of south-western Scotland emerged as a key battleground. There was a murderous rivalry here between the English garrison of Lochmaben and the patriot garrison at Caerlaverock. Moreover, even though they are better known as a northern family, it should also be noted that the Comyns exerted considerable influence in this area: the Comyns of Badenoch held Dalswinton Castle, for example, to the north of Dumfries, while the earl of Buchan owned the spectacular clifftop castle of Cruggleton, known as ‘the black rock of Cree’, near the Isle of Whithorn. Both sides were keen to gain support in Galloway, whose people had long been famous (notorious?) for their warlike qualities and independence of spirit.

As the summer of 1299 progressed, and no substantial English campaign was forthcoming, the patriots became keen to increase the pressure on the English. In the wake of the meeting at Peebles, for example, after a fragile peace had been restored, a substantial force was assembled under the command of Sir Ingram de Umfraville and Sir Robert Keith (who would later become famous for his exploits at the battle of Bannockburn). Their troops were apparently drawn from the retinues of the great Scottish lords who had been present at Peebles; this menacing development was a cause of particular concern to Sir John Hastangs, the English sheriff of Roxburgh. By this time, however, the English administration was already taking steps to respond to the patriot resurgence. On 19 August (the same day as the Peebles meeting) orders were sent north from York by the Treasurer of England, Walter Langton, commanding English officials on both sides of the border to bring in any crops that had not yet been harvested, because he had received intelligence that these would be targets for mobile Scottish forces.⁸

Stirling Castle was a more conventional target for the patriots. We have seen that an initial threat to the English garrison had been repulsed; now the patriots intensified their efforts. Their forces were successively commanded by Sir Herbert Morham and Sir Gilbert Malherbe. Neither appears to have attempted a direct assault on the castle: presumably they lacked the manpower and equipment that would have made such an attack possible. Their main aim was to cut the supply lines from the south, in an effort to starve the garrison into submission.

* * * *

In November 1299 Edward took leave of his wife and travelled north. Disregarding the advice of his council, he attempted to launch another expedition to Scotland, specifically intended to relieve Stirling. Regrettably for Edward, the campaign degenerated into a fiasco. For once the provision of supplies was not an issue, as stockpiles had been built up at Berwick and Carlisle over the course of the year. Indeed, the receiver at Carlisle, Richard Abingdon, found it difficult to find sufficient storage space, notwithstanding the construction of new stores in Carlisle Castle. In fact, Edward’s main problem was recruitment. Orders were sent out that 16,500 infantry should assemble at Berwick in mid-December, but only 2,500 men appeared – and most of these quickly deserted.⁹

On this occasion the response from the knightly classes was also disappointing. Along with war-weariness, there were other factors that might deter participation, perhaps above all the cost of campaigning; this was only rarely outweighed in Edward’s Scottish wars by the rewards gained through pay, land grants or plunder. Another issue may have been fear of crime. There is some evidence to suggest that criminal elements (especially poachers) exploited the absence of lords, as well as of less exalted figures, to raid the lands of those who had joined the king on campaign. The earl of Surrey appears to have been a notable victim, though it has been noted that he was probably better placed to bear any losses than some other members of the gentry.¹⁰ It was also significant that the promised perambulation of the Royal Forest (which had been scheduled to take place in the autumn) had still not occurred. For some, it has been argued, concern about the boundaries of the Royal Forest was hardening into a point of principle.¹¹

The greatest magnates did send substantial retinues to join Edward in the north (including Norfolk, though he was too ill to serve in person), but this should not necessarily be taken as an indication of enthusiasm. According to Rishanger, an English earl (unfortunately unnamed) pointed out the obvious difficulties of waging a major winter campaign in Scotland, arguing strongly that Edward should delay any further operations until the following summer.¹² Ultimately Edward had little option but to acquiesce, providing another reminder that even the most forceful of medieval kings could achieve little in war without the support of the wider community. This disappointment must have come as a bitter blow to Edward, because he had evidently begun to appreciate the limitations of his strategy thus far: spectacular summer campaigns would ultimately prove to be futile without effective consolidation.

The failure of Edward’s expedition sealed Stirling’s fate. The siege was a long and increasingly grim business – Edward’s commander at Stirling, John Sampson, had already held out for more than a year with barely sixty men – but the castle was now completely isolated and provisions were running low. In November there had been an attempt to replenish the castle’s supplies: John FitzWalter, the master of the Godale of Beverley, was hired to convey provisions from Newcastle and run the blockade. But the mission was unsuccessful. Towards the end of the siege Sampson and his men were compelled to eat their valuable horses; this is known because Sampson later claimed compensation for their loss.¹³ The garrison at Stirling was forced to surrender early in 1300; by this time the great castle of Bothwell had also fallen to the patriots. The victors at Stirling permitted their prisoners to return to England, escorting the men as far as Berwick, but this did nothing to alleviate Edward’s sense of anger and frustration.¹⁴

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In order to be successful in Scotland, it was obviously necessary to secure a consistent supply of money and men, leaving aside more detailed strategic considerations, and Edward grudgingly accepted that this would be extremely difficult without the willing cooperation of his subjects in England. In March 1300, therefore, a new parliament was held, although Edward became increasingly irascible as matters proceeded. Concessions were demanded from the king in return for a tax, and the atmosphere grew tense. There was more pressure concerning the Royal Forest: ‘When we have secure possession of our woods [my italics], we will willingly grant a twentieth, so that the folly of the Scots may be dealt with.’¹⁵

Ultimately Edward decided to do without the tax, and to press on regardless with a new Scottish campaign, although he must have realised that his financial position was precarious. The great Italian banking houses were an obvious source of funding that was often exploited by the medieval English kings; during the rest of his reign Edward was sometimes able to secure loans from various Italian families, especially the Frescobaldi. However, there was a limit to the support they were prepared to provide, and these loans did not completely offset the growing shortfall in Edward’s finances. Presumably the Italians were mindful of the fate of the Riccardi of Lucca, who were ultimately bankrupted as a result of their earlier relationship with Edward.¹⁶

There had also been protests in parliament over renewed attempts to link military obligation to landed wealth. Now Edward wisely decided to let this matter drop, although it would appear there was also some reluctance to offer more traditional feudal service. A famous case concerns Hugh fitz Heyr, a minor landowner from Shropshire, who was technically obliged to serve the king ‘with bow and arrow’.¹⁷ When Hugh first spied the enemy, as noted by one of Edward’s officials, he shot his single arrow and then went home.

Doubtless Hugh’s rather literal interpretation of the terms of his tenure was regarded with some amusement at the time – though Edward would probably have preferred him to pay a fine, supplementing the royal coffers, rather than appearing in person. Edward’s heavy cavalry would, of course, have received a much warmer welcome. Taking into account the various components of the cavalry, it has been calculated that at least 1,700 mustered in northern England: a good showing, then, but substantially smaller than the mounted force that rode with Edward in 1298.¹⁸

On this occasion, for the first time in Edward’s Scottish wars, royal officials were not instructed to recruit Welsh infantry. Edward explained that ‘we have given them leave to remain at home, because of the great work which they have done in our service in the past’.¹⁹ This is often interpreted as an example of the king’s sarcastic wit: a veiled reference to the Welsh mutiny before Falkirk.²⁰ It is more likely, though, that Edward’s decision here was motivated by financial considerations: he did not need the consent of parliament in order to levy taxes from the royal lands in Wales, so this time he demanded Welsh money instead of Welsh men. The subsidy that was raised (£2,400, according to one estimate) was intended to pay the wages of an infantry force recruited in northern England; this consisted of some nine thousand men (although Edward had originally hoped for sixteen thousand).²¹

Even though Edward’s expectations for the size of the host had been somewhat disappointed, the organisation of provisions remained a substantial operation. Orders for purveyance, in order to replenish the stockpiles in the north, had been set in train as early as 17 January 1300. As always, Edward demanded contributions from various parts of his realm. The sheriffs were given a deadline of 24 June to ensure the delivery of everything requested. By May, however, Edward and his officials had anticipated there was likely to be a shortfall (as witnessed by the pressure on the sheriff of Cambridge and Huntingdon, who was exhorted to make greater efforts). Nevertheless, vast quantities of foodstuffs were purveyed, though it would appear that the northern English counties were more willing to make contributions than their southern counterparts.

As we have seen, ships played a vital role in the conveyance of supplies and equipment, although by this time coastal communities were also chafing at Edward’s demands. Relations between Edward and the Cinque Ports, a wealthy confederation of southern seaports, were particularly problematic; the ports believed they were owed money for service given in Edward’s Gascon war.²² Like many of Edward’s other subjects, the men of the Cinque Ports were bound to provide the king with wartime service if he issued a feudal summons, but on this occasion Edward accepted that they could provide half of the specified number of ships. (In the event they provided thirty, as opposed to fifty-seven.) After fifteen days of unpaid service (which was clearly insufficient for Edward’s needs) their crews would receive wages.²³ However, ships from other places also took part in this campaign; these included eight ships from ports in Ireland, which played an important role in transporting supplies.

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Edward’s army was instructed to muster at Carlisle; obviously this marked a shift in strategy from his previous expeditions. This was a clear acknowledgement that south-western Scotland had become a major theatre of war in the two years since Edward’s last effective intervention, and the king was determined to bring this unruly part of the country firmly under English control.

An important source for the ensuing campaign is an anonymous poem entitled The Song of Caerlaverock, which describes the early part of Edward’s expedition. The poet, who was probably also a herald,²⁴ took pains to record the names of the leading members of Edward’s forces, along with their arms, and his work is therefore a useful source for the composition of the army. The poem also includes brief pen-portraits of some of Edward’s commanders, such as Nicholas Segrave, whom ‘nature had adorned in body and enriched in heart’.²⁵ Special praise is reserved for Robert Clifford: ‘If I were a young maiden, I would give him my heart and person [body], so great is his fame.’²⁶ The poem also refers to the love between Ralph de Monthermer and the king’s daughter Joan, which led to a secret marriage.²⁷ Edward’s followers are presented here as if they were the heroes of a chivalric romance. That is not to say, however, that the author could not also be a keen observer of military events.

Edward himself arrived at Carlisle on 25 June, and the army marched north in the first week of July. Here is a translation of the Caerlaverock poet’s description of the scene, as the campaign now began in earnest:

There were many rich caparisons embroidered on silks and satins; many a beautiful pennon fixed to a lance; and many a banner displayed. And afar off was the noise heard of the neighing of horses: mountains and valleys were everywhere covered with sumpter horses and wagons with provisions, and sacks of tents and pavilions. And the days were long and fine.²⁸

Edward and his army advanced into Scotland via Annandale, stopping off at the royal pele of Lochmaben. At length, on 9 July, the English forces bore down upon the patriot stronghold of Caerlaverock, to the south-east of Dumfries, where Edward laid siege.

Tents and huts were put up for the soldiers, enhanced by ‘leaves, herbs and flowers gathered in the woods, which were strewed within’.²⁹ As usual, the Caerlaverock poem conveys an impression of splendour: ‘and one saw gold and silver, and of all rich colours the noblest and the best, entirely illuminating the valley’.³⁰ One might well imagine there is more than a pinch of poetic licence here, although other sources do suggest that a military encampment could be an impressive sight – at least before the mud and perhaps rain had quenched some of its glamour. The tents of elite warriors could be spectacular, embellished with beautiful embroidery and distinctive features such as cloth towers. They could also be extremely expensive. In the preparations for his first campaign, in 1307, Edward’s grandson Gilbert de Clare spent £39 on five tents: these included a hall (which was forty feet long); a wardrobe chamber; a combined pantry and buttery; and two stables.³¹

Servants worked hard to ensure their masters were well catered for: we also know that Gilbert de Clare travelled with a wide range of cooking utensils, including bronze pots, a gridiron and two enormous cooking pans. Of course, though, despite the provision of certain comforts and welcome flashes of colour, life on campaign for the elite was still a long way removed from the lifestyle they enjoyed in times of peace. Only traces remain today, for example, of Edward I’s palace at Westminster, yet this spectacular complex – which was beautified by his father and further developed by Edward himself – was surely one of the wonders of the European medieval world. The centrepiece was the remarkable ‘Painted Chamber’ (which was sadly destroyed by fire in the nineteenth century, although some drawings of its wonderful frescoes are fortunately still available).

In 1300 Caerlaverock Castle was still a recent addition to the local landscape. It had been constructed in the 1270s, when the lords of Caerlaverock, the Maxwells, had abandoned a smaller site nearby that was prone to flooding. The new castle was unusually shaped – as our poet described Caerlaverock, it was a fortress in the shape of a shield – and it incorporated some of the latest facets of design. There were round towers at two points of the triangle, which enabled enfilade shooting along the length of the wall, but these were dwarfed by Caerlaverock’s most significant feature: its formidable twin-towered gatehouse (which also housed the lord’s apartments). A powerful gatehouse of this type was also a feature of Kildrummy Castle, which may later have been strengthened on Edward’s orders, as well as in Edward’s great castles in Wales.

Caerlaverock, it must be stressed, was not one of Scotland’s largest castles. The castle might even be seen primarily as a status symbol, bearing witness to the rise of the Maxwells: it still presents an elegant aspect today. The castle was also well sited for defence, however. The Caerlaverock poem explains that it could only be approached from the east, because on the other sides it was protected by the sea, woods and marshes. Drawing attention to the ‘good walls’ and deep moat, the poet tells us it was a ‘strong castle, which did not fear a siege’.³² The defences at Caerlaverock appear to have been further strengthened by a brattice, or hoarding; this was a wooden shed-like structure, providing additional protection and shooting opportunities for the defenders, which was attached to the top of the walls and projected outwards.

The beginning of a medieval siege often took on a formal, almost ritualised, tone, somewhat at odds with the misery and savagery that so often ensued. As was common, a parley took place. None of the men of the Maxwell family were present at the siege (the current lord was at that time in captivity in England), and the constable, Walter Benechafe, was willing to seek terms. The defenders offered to give up the castle if they were permitted to depart unharmed with their goods (including their arms and horses). But Rishanger, with his usual predilection for a colourful simile, tells us that Edward reacted to this suggestion ‘like a lioness whose cubs have been taken from her’.³³ The king was infuriated by what he saw as Benechafe’s effrontery in the face of overwhelming odds, and no agreement for surrender could be reached. Thereafter the English onslaught began.

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Edward did not risk his own person under the walls of Caerlaverock, but his men-at-arms were keen to prove their valour: whilst a frontal assault might seem foolhardy, a successful escalade could bring great honour to the men who effected an entrance to the castle. English exploits were diligently recorded by the Caerlaverock poet, as the garrison provided a stubborn defence. We learn, for example, of the fortitude of Ralph de Gorges, ‘a newly dubbed knight’, who was knocked to the ground several times by stones hurled from the walls, but ‘would not deign to retire’.³⁴

Gorges, of course, was not acting alone. Many others, we are told, braved arrows or bolts from crossbows. As the poem depicts the English attack, there seems to have been a strongly competitive element; the author took great pains, again, to record the arms or banners of the knights and nobles involved. From a more practical perspective, his work appears to suggest that Edward’s men focused most of their efforts on the gatehouse, although it is not clear what methods they employed. This is perhaps due to the poet’s emphasis on the deeds of great men: a common feature of narrative accounts from this period. (There is no mention, for instance, of Englishmen using crossbows or longbows, although these must surely have been in evidence.)

We do learn that the castle was also subjected to a bombardment from Edward’s siege machines. The engineering corps was under the direction of ‘Brother Robert’, who was perhaps a Dominican friar. (Taking holy orders did not always preclude military experience, as the activities of Hugh Cressingham and the bishop of Durham have shown.) Brother Robert is described in the records as ‘Frater Roberto de Ulmo’, and his name is sometimes given in modern accounts as ‘Robert of Ulm’, which might imply he was from the continent.³⁵ This is one possibility, although it might also be noted that the Latin word ulmo means ‘elm’, and the name ‘de Ulmo’ appears quite frequently in medieval English sources.³⁶ Whatever his origins, Brother Robert evidently knew his business, and he was employed by Edward for several months.

Brother Robert’s efforts began with a machine called ‘the Robinet’, which hurled stones against the castle, although at the same time he was also supervising the fabrication of three much larger weapons.³⁷ The parts for these engines were landed at Caerlaverock’s small harbour (the sea has now retreated almost a kilometre from the castle), along with a welcome replenishment of supplies. These weapons were almost certainly trebuchets: the most formidable machines that could be deployed by a besieging army before the introduction of cannon.

Essentially a trebuchet was a giant catapult. Its central component was a long timber beam, with a leather sling at one end and a counterweight at the other. (The counterweight was a large wooden box, filled with heavy material such as stones or sand.) The beam was attached to a pivot rod, which enabled it to rotate within a sturdy wooden frame. The ‘throwing arm’ of the trebuchet was winched downwards, thereby raising the counterweight, and the machine was ‘cocked’ by means of a trigger mechanism. When the trigger was released, the counterweight would fall rapidly, the beam would rotate, and a projectile (usually a large round stone) would be unleashed from the sling. It is thought that trebuchets had a range of up to 300 metres.³⁸ The value of trebuchets continued to be recognised into the early fifteenth century, at which time they were sometimes employed alongside gunpowder weapons.

Brother Robert’s siege engines wreaked havoc on the castle’s defences. The wear and tear on the mechanism ensured that it was not possible to maintain a continuous rate of shot – medieval sources suggest that trebuchets might launch between ten and twelve missiles over the course of a day – and few trebuchets possessed the capability to smash their way through strongly built walls. Nevertheless, a well-directed trebuchet missile could make short work of wooden hoardings or other additional structures, and the key role played by such machines was to undermine the effectiveness of the defences as ‘fighting platforms’, making the castle more vulnerable to escalade.³⁹ It is also very likely that the majority of missiles were sent over the walls, rather than against them directly; apparently Brother Robert’s most significant achievement was to bring down the roof of the gatehouse. According to the poet, the beleaguered garrison saw this as a decisive moment.

After a day and a half of gruelling punishment, the defenders considered their position untenable, and they could take no more. The sixty-strong garrison put themselves completely at Edward’s mercy, and their surrender was now accepted. The Caerlaverock poem implies the defenders had won Edward’s respect: not only were the garrison granted ‘life and limb’, they also each received a ‘new robe’.⁴⁰ For the author of the poem, with his clear emphasis on chivalric mores, Edward’s generosity provided a fitting end to the siege. Unfortunately, however, modern historians have been unable to find any evidence of Edward’s largesse in the administrative records.

Several sources, in contrast, imply that the men of the Caerlaverock garrison were harshly treated. The constable and twenty-one others were imprisoned in northern England; the Lanercost Chronicle tells us specifically that ‘many’ of the defenders were hanged – although its reliability in this instance has been questioned.⁴¹ Moreover, whilst the Caerlaverock poet presented the siege as a marvellous spectacle, Peter Langtoft was rather less impressed: his account provides a rather less heroic impression of the campaign and the siege. He tells us that heavy rain caused flooding, which caused Edward to go a different way from the one planned. It was thus he came to Caerlaverock, which Langtoft describes as a ‘poor little castle’. In Langtoft’s work the stalwart defenders of the Caerlaverock poem become ‘ribalds’, who were ‘vanquished at the entrance’.⁴²

In truth, Caerlaverock Castle was no match for the English royal army, yet Langtoft surely underestimated the importance of Edward’s victory: today Caerlaverock is something of a backwater, easily bypassed via the modern A75, but in the Middle Ages the sea-lanes were far more important and the castle’s coastal location was significant. We have also seen that the Scottish garrison at Caerlaverock had hindered the consolidation of English control of Annandale. It is therefore very likely that Caerlaverock was a key target, although of course Edward hoped to achieve much more.

* * * *

With Caerlaverock now securely under English control, Edward pressed on into Galloway. Upon reaching the Bridge of Dee on 18 July, he moved south to Kirkcudbright, where the patriot commanders suggested a truce; they offered a cessation of hostilities in exchange for the return of John Balliol as king, together with the restoration of their confiscated lands in England. Unsurprisingly these terms were not acceptable to Edward, and the campaign continued, although the Scots were wary of meeting the English army in battle. Nevertheless, Edward’s progress was slow and cautious; probably there were times when the king was kept waiting for seaborne supplies, although the bad weather alluded to by Langtoft might also have been a hindrance. Edward spent twelve days at Kirkcudbright, and then about a week at Twynholm. His next base was at Girthon, near the later settlement of Gatehouse-of-Fleet; a mysterious earthwork at Girthon, known as ‘Palace Yard’, may provide evidence that Edward had fortified his camp.⁴³

Edward’s aims do not always seem clear during this campaign. There were at least two occasions, however, when the two sides encountered each other in arms. The first of these took place when an English foraging party was ambushed by the patriots. Initially, quite understandably, the advantage lay with the Scots, but the English responded fiercely and their attackers were driven off. Sir Robert Keith⁴⁴ was captured, and was subsequently imprisoned in England for several years. The other episode, which took place at some point during the second week of August,⁴⁵ was more significant. Edward and his army reached the River Cree, where they found the patriots arrayed on the opposite bank. By this time Robert Bruce had resigned (or had been removed) as a Guardian, and he held himself aloof from this campaign. However, his replacement, the able Ingram de Umfraville, was present, alongside the Comyns; their presence seems to suggest that the patriots had gathered in considerable strength.

The precise location of this encounter is uncertain, but it can be assumed to have taken place somewhere between modern Creetown and Newton Stewart (then known as Lislas). Rishanger provides an account of the subsequent events.⁴⁶ Some of Edward’s archers took advantage of the low tide to cross the estuary and harass the Scots, prompting the Scottish leaders to form their army up for battle. Edward sent the earl of Hereford to order the archers to withdraw, but as they believed he was bringing reinforcements they redoubled their efforts.

There were disturbing parallels with Stirling Bridge, when the English army had been similarly divided, but Edward himself now rescued the situation, acting with speed and decisiveness. He spurred his own horse forward and ordered a general assault. At this, the Scots scattered ‘like hares before greyhounds’, melting away into the rough terrain to the north. It is said that Edward now cursed the fact that he had brought no Welsh troops on this campaign, because the Welsh would surely have relished the pursuit of the Scots in the woods and hills.

On 16 August Edward was at Wigtown, where he appears to have taken stock. By this time his forces were sorely depleted. Presumably he was also running short of cash, because men were leaving the infantry in droves; measures taken to prevent or punish desertion had little effect. Doubtless Edward’s nobles also had little appetite for what must have seemed increasingly like aimless wandering, and the king was advised to withdraw. There is documentary evidence to suggest that he had planned to strike northwards towards Ayr,⁴⁷ but the campaign now came to a desultory end.

* * * *

On his way back to England Edward spent some time at the beautiful Sweetheart Abbey, where John Balliol’s mother was laid to rest alongside his father’s heart. Here, Edward received a most unwelcome guest: Archbishop Winchelsey of Canterbury, with whom he had already clashed earlier in his reign. The problem now, though, concerned the message the archbishop conveyed from Rome. By this time, or so it would appear, Pope Boniface had been convinced of the merits of the Scottish case against Edward. Upon pain of suspension from his office, Winchelsey was compelled to travel north (suffering various hardships on the way), and obliged to present a broadside from Boniface. The document in question is known as Scimus, Fili: ‘We know, my son’.⁴⁸

The Pope’s words must have been galling for Edward; they rehearsed many of the arguments that the Scots would themselves have put forward, castigating Edward for his policies against the Scots and for exploiting their weakened state. Edward permitted Winchelsey to read to the end of the document (first in Latin, and then in French), but then followed the predictable outburst: ‘By God’s blood! For Zion’s sake I will not be silent, and for Jerusalem’s sake I will not rest, but with all my strength I will defend my right [in Scotland] that is known to all the world.’⁴⁹

In time, however, the Pope would receive a more measured response. This would follow in the next year, when the Pope was sent a detailed rebuttal of his claims, presenting arguments drawn both from recent precedent and antique myth.

In early September Edward returned to Cumbria. He spent some time at Rose Castle, a residence of the bishop of Carlisle, and also at Holm Cultram Priory. He was joined by his wife, who had recently given birth to their first son, Thomas of Brotherton (the eldest of three children). Nevertheless, Edward was also determined to maintain some impetus in Scotland. The true hero of the siege of Caerlaverock, Brother Robert the Engineer, was still employed in Edward’s service. In mid-September Robert and a team of carpenters were busy in the royal Forest of Inglewood, to the south of Carlisle, selecting and gathering wood for use in the construction of a new pele at Dumfries.⁵⁰ Presumably the timber was shipped across the Solway Firth. We next find Brother Robert at Dumfries itself, in October, where Edward also appeared (in order to encourage the workmen, who received a small bonus). Edward was still at Dumfries when he agreed to a new meeting with representatives of the patriot leaders.

Once again the Scots proposed a truce, but Edward was contemptuous of the terms they offered. Affecting astonishment at their presumption, the king laughed in their faces: ‘Every one of you has done homage to me as chief lord of Scotland. Now you set aside your allegiance and make a fool of me as though I were a weakling.’

Conscious of the dignity of his office, one of the envoys refused to be cowed: ‘You should not laugh: we offer peace in all seriousness. Exert your strength and see if might will triumph over right or right over might.’

At this, Edward’s mood darkened. He warned the Scottish envoy that he would punish any further insolence by wasting Scotland from sea to sea.⁵¹

In truth it is likely that both sides would have welcomed a period of respite, and the ongoing Anglo-French negotiations provided Edward with a useful pretext. On 31 October Edward announced that he had accepted a personal request from Philip the Fair to agree to a truce in Scotland, and this would last until Whit Sunday (21 May) 1301. Edward did stress, in the writ sent out to all his officers, that Philip had intervened as a friend, rather than as an ally of the Scots: this was an important distinction to Edward, of course, because any formal acknowledgement of the ‘Auld Alliance’ would have implied his acceptance of Scotland’s status as a sovereign power.

Work at Dumfries continued throughout the winter, but Edward himself turned south. His most recent Scottish campaign had started well, with the capture of Caerlaverock, but thereafter he had achieved very little. A few more Scottish prisoners would face years of captivity in England, but most of the patriot army had escaped unscathed. Once again Langtoft compared Edward to King Arthur, although this time unfavourably: Langtoft’s work implies that Edward had lost some of his former vigour, because he slept too long in the mornings.⁵² Perhaps Edward understood that he would need to conserve his energy for the further struggles to come? He had now invaded Scotland at the head of three great English armies, yet a final victory remained as elusive as ever.