Chapter 8

All This Scottish War

The renewal of the Anglo-French truce, in late 1302, provided a clear indication that Edward now wished to focus on the final defeat of the Scottish ‘rebels’. The gradual shift in Edward’s perspective is intriguing; it is difficult to believe that he had fully appreciated the challenges he might face in Scotland, and one might wonder if he privately regretted his decision to assert his claims there. And yet, having done so, he would undoubtedly have concluded that his honour was now at stake – making it impossible to withdraw without a catastrophic loss of face, in spite of the more tangible costs involved. Besides, the changes in the wider diplomatic situation had greatly simplified matters: with the prospect of outside interference receding, surely Edward’s superior resources must eventually bring him victory?

For much of the year, the truce agreed in Scotland had been largely preserved, although both sides had taken the opportunity to consolidate their positions. Most notably, Edward ordered substantial building work at Linlithgow and Selkirk, where two new peles were to be established. Edward himself took a close personal interest in the proceedings, occasionally stipulating the specific features that should be included, but of course the more technical aspects were delegated to others. Plans for both schemes were begun in February 1302, before the king left Scotland to travel south.

At Linlithgow the work was supervised by Master James of St George, a Savoyard who provided Edward with valuable service for many years. Master James is best known for his role in the construction of Edward’s spectacular castles in Wales, although it is now believed that he should be thought of as a skilled manager and organiser (as opposed to being regarded as a visionary architect, as was previously the case).¹ It was originally envisaged that the pele at Linlithgow should have a stone gatehouse and flanking towers. However, after Master James discussed the plans again with Edward in late April, it was decided that these should be replaced by timber structures. Even so, the pele covered an extensive area – the fortifications enclosed the whole of the promontory on which the later palace now stands – and a great deal of manpower was required. At one point in the summer there were also 140 women working alongside the male ditchers (although the women received a wage of 1½d, whereas the men received 2d).²

Some limited stonework was undertaken at Linlithgow, but there were greater opportunities for the masons at Selkirk, where the old motte-and-bailey castle was incorporated into the pele. By September both peles were close to completion. The work at Selkirk cost £1,400, while around £900 was spent at Linlithgow. Whilst both projects involved a considerable outlay of resources, these sums were dwarfed by the budget that had been made available for the castle programme in Wales; it is often suggested that his straitened financial circumstances prevented Edward from creating a similar legacy in Scotland.³ Yet it should also be remembered that the peles were constructed in an area that was still technically a war-zone: speed and efficiency were therefore vital. A certain sense of urgency is conveyed by the fact that members of the hundred-strong garrison at Linlithgow were dragooned into working as labourers, ‘because if they were not, the works could get seriously behind’.⁴

The truce was not perfectly maintained, since limited raiding appears to have continued. But there is also evidence to suggest that ‘normal’ life was sometimes able to resume, and that the English administration was gaining increasing acceptance south of the Forth. Legal records imply that English officials were not as dismissive of Scottish custom as they had been in 1296, and that Scots now felt able to make their petitions with some degree of confidence. It might also be significant that many of Edward’s officials in Scotland, such as Sheriff Robert Hastangs of Roxburgh, had now been in post for several years. Perhaps by this time some of these men had won the trust and respect of local Scottish people, even if they had never gained their love?⁵

For many people in Scotland, on both sides of the Forth, the pause in the conflict must have come as a welcome relief. But in the autumn and winter of 1302/3, as the truce between Edward and the patriots neared its end, both sides began to prepare for a renewal of serious hostilities. From Edward’s perspective, reorganisation was urgently necessary in south-west Scotland due to the recent death (from natural causes) of Sir John de St John, to whom the king still felt ‘much bound’.⁶ Military activities were also intensified in other parts of Scotland, where the garrisons were instructed to hold themselves in a state of high alert.

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The truce expired formally at the beginning of November 1302, although the next major English campaign would be delayed until the following year. Plans for the new campaign were immediately set in progress, but Edward had already ordered Sir John Segrave, a veteran soldier who was then based at Berwick, to organise a more limited expedition. The main purpose of Segrave’s mission was reconnaissance: ‘[…] and the foray being thus done, [to] send a special messenger to tell us the way in which it has been executed, together with the condition and news of [all] the parts of Scotland, with all possible haste’.⁷

Segrave was to be accompanied by Ralph Manton, who had played a key role in Edward’s administration for several years. As ‘Cofferer’ of the Wardrobe, Manton effectively acted as paymaster-general for Edward’s troops in Scotland, as well as serving in various other capacities.

By this time the patriots’ efforts in Scotland were directed by John Comyn the younger, now lord of Badenoch following the death of his father. Comyn took on the role of Guardian (or ‘Warden’) in the absence of Soules, and in the New Year of 1303 he took the initiative. Edward’s commanders appear to have expected another assault on Lochmaben, again suffering from faulty intelligence, but Comyn’s fast-moving forces instead launched attacks on the new peles at Selkirk and Linlithgow. Linlithgow held out, but Selkirk fell to Comyn’s men and the pele was virtually destroyed. Edward was furious. On 3 February he ordered the arrest of the keeper of Selkirk, Sir Alexander Balliol, who had emerged unscathed from the debacle. Eventually Balliol was able to convince Edward of his enduring loyalty (if not his competence), but his lands were confiscated and would not be restored until 1305.

Having abandoned the siege of Linlithgow, on 24 February Comyn fell upon Sir John Segrave at Roslin (to the south of Edinburgh). The Scots advanced under cover of darkness, and Segrave’s forces appear to have become divided; thus Comyn achieved another victory. The Guardian’s latest success was celebrated in Gesta Annalia II: ‘[…] there never was so desperate a struggle, or one in which the stoutness of knightly prowess shone forth so brightly’.⁸ Segrave himself was badly wounded and captured, although he was freed shortly afterwards through the efforts of other English knights.

Ralph Manton, who was also taken prisoner at Roslin, was much less fortunate. Manton made a desperate appeal to Sir Simon Fraser, whom he almost certainly knew personally, offering a great sum of money if his life were spared. But Fraser’s response was contemptuous: Manton was accused of corruption, and he was also upbraided because he had been captured, despite the fact he was a cleric, wearing a ‘hauberk of iron’. ‘You shall have judgement’, concluded Fraser, ‘according to your merit.’ At this, as Peter Langtoft told the story, a ‘ribald’ seized Manton and put him to death: he first cut off Manton’s hands, and then his head.⁹ Manton’s career has understandably been compared to that of Hugh Cressingham, who shared a similar fate.

The scale and significance of the battle of Roslin is often underestimated, although it is clear that Edward was deeply alarmed by the patriot resurgence. On 15 March he convened a council meeting in London, which eight of his commanders in Scotland were expected to attend, in order to determine the reasons behind recent failures.¹⁰ Nevertheless, from Edward’s point of view the setbacks in the north were offset by continuing developments on the continent. On 20 May 1303 a final peace was agreed between England and France, and the restoration of Gascony was finally achieved. In the following month a ceremony was held at St Emilion, formally confirming Edward’s possession of his ancestral lands in southern France – much as Philip had promised almost a decade before. Once again the terms agreed between Edward and Philip made no reference to Scotland, leaving Edward free to pursue his plans there.

By this time a powerful delegation of Scottish leaders – including James the Steward and Bishop Lamberton of St Andrews, as well as Sir John de Soules – had made their way to Paris, but they failed to divert Philip the Fair from his chosen course. It must have been clear to all that the Scottish patriots would receive no further support from France (in spite of Philip’s promises to the contrary). A few days after the Anglo-French treaty was concluded, the Scots in Paris wrote to John Comyn, in whom their greatest hopes now rested, exhorting him to continue the struggle: ‘For God’s sake do not despair. If ever you have done brave deeds, do braver ones now. The swiftest runner who fails before the winning post has run in vain [cf Galations 2:2]. And it would gladden your hearts if you could know how much your honour has increased in every part of the world as the result of your recent battle with the English [at Roslin].’¹¹

However, for the patriots in Scotland – now isolated in Europe and facing yet another onslaught from a determined enemy – the news from France must have been a bitter blow. What is more, the man in whose name they were fighting, John Balliol, had seemingly abandoned his own cause. Now burdened by extensive debts to the French crown, Balliol formally acknowledged that he was happy for Philip to pursue ‘our said affairs, especially those which we have against the King of England, in the way which shall seem good to you’.¹² Thereafter Balliol lived quietly on his French estates, where he eventually died in 1314.

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Since 1298 none of Edward’s campaigns had penetrated Scotland north of the Forth, where John Comyn of Badenoch and his allies had established effective control. But Comyn was not simply a warlord. Only limited evidence has survived, but there are indications that the writ of the Guardians – and technically, therefore, of King John Balliol – ran throughout much of northern Scotland. Comyn presided over courts, for instance, and arbitrated in disputes between Scottish noblemen. Historians have also caught a glimpse of the other John Comyn, the earl of Buchan, who was similarly engaged; Buchan could be found ‘holding pleas of his office near Aberdeen Castle’, as Justiciar of Scotia.¹³ Some of the men who might have found themselves on opposing sides in the squabbles of the 1280s and 1290s were now capable of working together. John, earl of Atholl, for example, whose family was associated with the Bruces, served under the Guardians as sheriff of Aberdeen.

In the forthcoming campaign Edward was particularly determined to take the fight to the patriots in their strongholds in north-eastern Scotland. In order to do this, of course, he and his army would need to cross the ‘Scottish Sea’ (i.e. the Forth): we have seen that the usual crossing point, at Stirling, provided an opportunity for the patriots to contest the passage. Moreover, while he was at Dunipace in 1301, Edward had referred specifically to his desire to complete a bridge across the Forth. This implies that the old bridge had not been adequately repaired after the patriots’ victory at Stirling in 1297. In 1305 Edward ordered that the tolls from the ferry should be diverted towards the construction of a new bridge at Stirling,¹⁴ but in the meantime he decided upon a more radical solution to the problem.

In January 1303 Edward ordered that three floating bridges should be fabricated in England, and then conveyed to Scotland by sea.¹⁵ Thus a new temporary crossing of the Forth would be established, presumably at some point downstream from the traditional crossing-point at Stirling. Direction of the project was delegated to Master Richard of Chester, who was summoned to Windsor to discuss the plans with the king. Now probably in his sixties, Master Richard had worked alongside James of St George in Wales, and had similarly served Edward for many years. Indeed, Master Richard had been responsible for an earlier pontoon bridge that had been employed in the decisive campaign against Llywelyn of Gwynedd. Now Master Richard faced another challenging task, and the work was correspondingly expensive: around £940 was spent in total.

The construction of the bridges took place at the port of Lynn in Norfolk, where Master Richard supervised a large team of carpenters and blacksmiths. However, materials were also brought from further afield. Supplies of wood, used for beams, boards and joists, arrived from Yorkshire and Lincolnshire, as well as from closer by in Norfolk. The bridges were of different sizes: the largest, maior pons, was presumably wide enough for horses and wagons, whereas the smallest was suitable only for foot traffic. Thirty anchors were purchased to secure the pontoons in position. Records also show that the bridges were defensible: each incorporated a brattice and a drawbridge, and two of the brattices were equipped with springalds (a smaller version of the ballista).

For around three months the quayside at Lynn harbour was a hive of activity; at one point more than a hundred craftsmen were employed. Moreover, by this time Master Richard would have been well acquainted with Edward’s exacting standards – he took great pains to keep the king informed of progress – although it is not clear whether the project was completed on schedule. Everything was certainly ready, however, by 24 May, when the various parts of the bridges were loaded on to a fleet of thirty ships (with the lead ship flying the flag of St George). Two pilot ships, the Scarlet of Grimsby and the Godyere of Grimsby, carried the thousands of iron bolts that would be necessary to assemble the bridges at their destination. A group of thirty carpenters accompanied the bridges on their journey to the Forth.

While Master Richard and his men were busy in Lynn, Edward and his advisers had been engaged in more conventional preparations for the forthcoming campaign. A feudal summons had been issued as early as the previous November, although the date of the muster had been brought forward after the defeat at Roslin. The nobles were encouraged ‘to attend so powerfully accompanied that the contumacious resistance of the enemy may be overcome’.¹⁶ As always, of course, Edward also needed supplies and money. On this occasion parliament was not expected to approve a grant of taxation, but a number of other sources were exploited to raise extra funds: debts to the Crown were called in (or commuted in exchange for service), and foreign merchants were given new rights in return for increased customs payments.

Fewer infantry appeared at the muster than in previous years – around 7,500 received pay in early June – but this was almost certainly a deliberate choice on the part of the king.¹⁷ The emphasis this year was on quality rather than quantity: the commissioners were instructed to find men who were ‘strong’ and ‘well-tried’, as Edward anticipated this campaign would be long and gruelling.¹⁸ But he also expected to gain reinforcements as he advanced into Scotland. Some 3,500 troops were raised in the lordship of Ireland (mainly due in this case to the efforts of the earl of Ulster, whose substantial debts to the Irish administration were written off in exchange), and an armada of 173 ships was gathered to transport them to Ayr.¹⁹ Scots in Edward’s allegiance were also expected to take on an increasingly prominent role: Robert (VII) Bruce was ordered to bring out the army of his earldom, together with as many cavalry as he was able to raise.²⁰

By 16 May Edward had arrived at Roxburgh, where his latest army was instructed to assemble. On 30 May the king rode north, following the road towards Edinburgh via Lauder. As he travelled through the border regions, however, his men were harassed by the Scottish patriots. Rather than waiting to contest the crossing of the Forth, John Comyn of Badenoch had led his forces deep into southern Scotland, where they snapped at Edward’s heels. At some point in early June a party of English knights, detached from the main army, sought billets at Melrose Abbey, where they were surprised and set upon by John Comyn himself. Sir Thomas Gray’s father was caught up in the ensuing events, so the Scalacronica provides a vivid account. Again Comyn emerged out of the darkness, and after his men broke down the gates of the abbey the English were overwhelmed. The elder Thomas Gray was able to take refuge in a house outside the entrance, but when the Scots set fire to his shelter he was taken captive.²¹

Doubtless there were other similar incidents, although eventually, at some point in the second week of June, Edward was able to cross the Forth. Exactly where and how he did so is still a matter of debate. This might seem puzzling, given all the money and effort that had been expended on the construction and transportation of the pontoon bridges, yet Peter Langtoft, surely one of the best informed of the English chroniclers, tells us specifically that ‘by chance there was no need of [them]’.²² Records do confirm that the bridges arrived in the Forth as planned (they were subsequently transported to Berwick, and parts were later put to other uses), and most historians have disregarded Langtoft’s testimony.²³ But it is also possible that Edward was able to use the ford at Stirling, following the more established road – especially if he had received certain intelligence that the crossing would not, after all, be contested.

Stirling Castle remained under the control of the patriots at this time, but the garrison would not have been large enough to hinder the progress of Edward’s army. If Edward decided not to use the bridges, then this does suggest a more flexible outlook than is sometimes allowed – although in that case it would be interesting to know Master Richard of Chester’s thoughts on the matter! At any rate, by 18 June Edward had reached the line of the River Tay at Perth, where he established a new base. He remained here for over a month, but later in the summer the king and his army would push further into northern Scotland, ‘where never English king carried banner before’.²⁴

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The halt at Perth was partly necessary to replenish Edward’s supply train. Perth owed its prosperity during the Middle Ages to its strategic position at the highest navigable point of the River Tay, thereby allowing cargo to be brought quickly and efficiently to the heart of central Scotland. The town maintained important trading connections throughout Europe. Edward certainly recognised its importance, as in the following year he gave orders that it should be fortified (although the defences were later destroyed during the reign of his son). At high tide Perth was able to accommodate even the largest medieval vessels, and on this occasion a fleet of twenty-one ships brought provisions for Edward’s army. This operation appears to have involved merchants from English ports in the north-east, but the king was also able to purchase supplies (including wine) more locally.²⁵ Business was always business, it would seem.

Another reason for the hiatus in the campaign was that Edward had received alarming news from south-western Scotland, and it was necessary to coordinate a response. Again, rather than confronting the English army directly, the patriots sought to undermine Edward’s position in the south. Dumfries and Lochmaben were threatened by the patriot forces, with Sir Simon Fraser particularly prominent; troops were also recruited in Galloway for a savage raid into northwest England. Again the situation was exacerbated because the English administration was under enormous pressure to divert every available source of money and supplies directly to the king. The receiver at Carlisle, James Delisle [Dalilegh], who was largely responsible for the support of the south-western garrisons, was placed in a desperately difficult position.

At one point there was a real possibility that both Dumfries and Lochmaben would fall, but the situation in the region was greatly improved after Edward detached a sizeable force from his own army to relieve the beleaguered garrisons. The prince of Wales was present on the campaign, and was involved in military operations in the north, but Edward chose to delegate this command to Aymer de Valence (who was appointed Edward’s lieutenant in southern Scotland). Valence was accompanied, among others, by Robert Bruce. The arrival of the Irish was even more significant, and this time the famous earl of Ulster served in person. However, the patriots, including a force under John Comyn, remained active south of the Forth, raiding ‘English’ positions.

Towards the end of July 1303 Edward and his army moved northeast, marching to Montrose via Arbroath. It was probably at this point in the campaign that Edward enacted the devastating policy of fire and sword that is referred to in several chronicles, thereby demonstrating to the Scots north of the Forth that their ‘Guardian’ was unable to protect them. In the words of Langtoft:

Hamlets and towns, granges and barns,

Both full and empty, he burns everywhere.²⁶

At Montrose Edward met with ships bringing siege engines from Edinburgh and other places. These were used at Brechin, around ten miles inland, where the patriots withstood a siege for five days.

The constable of Brechin, Sir Thomas Maule, was a flamboyant character. Each time a missile was launched against the castle, it was said, Maule emerged with a towel and mockingly wiped down the walls. But eventually Maule’s luck ran out, and after he was killed the garrison quickly surrendered. The siege of Brechin is also notable because it provided the earliest recorded instance of the use of ‘black powder’ – i.e. gunpowder – at a medieval siege in Britain. The man responsible was certainly a Frenchman, Jean de Lamouilly, although unfortunately it is not clear how the explosive mixture was used.²⁷

On 23 August Edward reached Aberdeen, where he expected the arrival of more ships, this time bringing coin so that he could pay his troops. Earlier in the campaign the infantry had received regular payments, but now their wages were badly in arrears. After five days of waiting Edward became impatient, and we can assume there was also much grumbling amongst the soldiers about the further delay. On 28 August Edward sent word to the long-suffering officials at the Exchequer. If he was not able to pay his men, he complained, ‘they will go back to their own parts, as they are already doing from day to day’.²⁸

Fortunately for Edward, the ships arrived later that day, although it must be stressed that desertion by the infantry was a lesser problem than it had been in the past. As late as November there were still 3,000 foot receiving wages, and the king was able to maintain a relatively large force of infantry and cavalry throughout the course of the winter.²⁹ As we have seen, there were hardened soldiers at every level, and perhaps on this occasion the quality of the infantry was genuinely of a higher standard. However, it was probably also significant that Edward was operating further north than in previous campaigns, as men who were considering leaving the army would not have relished the prospect of a long journey home through hostile territory. It would be interesting to know more about how the king maintained communications with the south (since messengers were clearly able to find their way through enemy lines). Walter of Guisborough believed that Edward deliberately left Stirling Castle in the hands of the patriots, in order to deter the less committed soldiers from deserting the host.³⁰

From Aberdeen Edward and his army pushed deeper into what might be termed Comyn country, terrorising the inhabitants and extracting submissions from local leaders. They followed a broadly circular route, taking in Kinloss and Boat of Garten (among other places). Detachments appear to have ranged somewhat further afield, perhaps under the command of the prince of Wales, reasserting English control of the castles at Urquhart and Cromarty.³¹ Lochindorb Castle, the favourite residence of John Comyn’s late father, was taken after a short siege.

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As winter approached, Edward retired southwards, making his way through the bleak hills of the Mounth, but if the patriots expected him to return to England they would be sadly disappointed. Once again the king set out ‘to annoy his enemies’ by wintering in Scotland, establishing a fortified encampment at Dunfermline Abbey, on the north side of the Forth. In November the prince of Wales left his father to set up a separate base at Perth, where, apparently, he celebrated Christmas in lavish style.³² In this fashion Edward and his son conveyed the clear message to the patriots that they were determined to see the matter through. Both of these locations also had symbolic resonance, as they had long been centres of Scottish royal power. While Scone (which is very close to Perth) was still bereft of its famous stone, Dunfermline was the mausoleum of the Scottish royal family (including Edward’s late sister Margaret).

The patriots blinked first. William Wallace had now returned to Scotland, and had established a new military partnership with Sir Simon Fraser. However, in the New Year of 1304 the two men were put to flight in a skirmish at Happrew, where Sir John Segrave avenged his defeat at Roslin; by this time Wallace and Fraser were acting without the endorsement of the Guardian. By the end of the year 1303 John Comyn was already involved in preliminary negotiations for a general surrender.

Comyn had campaigned tirelessly in southern Scotland throughout the course of Edward’s most recent campaign, though he had retired to the north of Scotland as the winter drew in. Thus it was from the region of Atholl, to the north of Perth, that Comyn made initial contact with the prince of Wales (as Edward perhaps had hoped). The subsequent discussions took some time. Whereas Robert Bruce (and others) had offered their submissions as individual magnates, Comyn believed he was speaking on behalf of the kingdom of Scotland. Most importantly, he asserted that the laws and customs of Scotland should be maintained as they were in the time of Alexander III.³³ No changes should be made unless the Scottish political community was consulted. This is a clear echo of the agreement at Birgham, from so many years before.³⁴

Edward refused to offer any guarantees about the future direction of government in Scotland. It is often said that his own terms were surprisingly generous, although in truth they were not dramatically forgiving. He did promise that the lives of Comyn and his closest allies would be spared, and crucially there was no threat of disinheritance or imprisonment. However, the patriot leaders were forced to accept a period of exile from Scotland (although this was later commuted to a range of fines), so an element of punishment was clearly implied. On the other hand, Comyn was given private assurances that Edward would adopt a more conciliatory attitude once the Scots had acknowledged his lordship.³⁵

It might conceivably be argued that John Comyn had earned Edward’s grudging respect, yet there was surely an element of pragmatism behind any magnanimity on the king’s part. Comyn was badly bruised, although by no means broken. While Edward’s capture of Lochindorb was a blow to Comyn pride, the Guardian retained control of other castles in northern Scotland that were of much greater strategic importance. Thus he still possessed the capacity to offer further resistance had he chosen to do so. But on 9 February John Comyn rode to Strathord, north of Perth, where he formally offered his submission to Edward’s representatives; on 16 February he knelt before Edward himself.

For reasons that will already be obvious to many readers, in the light of his fractious relationship with the most famous Robert Bruce, there has been a tendency to downplay Comyn’s role in the struggle for Scottish independence. In the most recent historiography, however, John Comyn has been restored to his rightful place as one of the most able and tenacious of the Scottish leaders who offered resistance to Edward I. Moreover, Comyn did not finally submit to Edward, as some later traditions might suggest, because he was a French-speaking quisling who cared nothing for the Scottish people. In the wake of yet another ruthless English campaign, with no friends to help them, doubtless there were many Scots who agreed with Comyn’s conclusion that a negotiated settlement was now the best outcome available.

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In March 1304 Edward held a parliament at St Andrews, which the greatest Scottish landholders were expected to attend. Of those who had opposed Edward in recent years, most now followed John Comyn’s lead. On 14 or 15 March more than a hundred Scottish nobles offered, or in most cases renewed, their homage and fealty to Edward. Sentence of outlawry was passed on the few beleaguered diehards – including the patriot garrison of Stirling – who still refused to submit. Intriguingly this was done ‘according to due process and the laws of Scotland’.³⁶ Edward was now keen to convey the impression that actions driven from above had the wider approval of the Scottish political community.

Now Edward’s focus turned to Stirling Castle. Militarily, he understood the strategic importance of Stirling, not least because it had been the site of two bitter defeats for the English in Scotland, but the reduction of the castle had also now become an issue of great personal significance. In a letter to Walter Langton, he referred to the forthcoming siege as a matter ‘which we have so much at heart that we cannot have it more so, being that which will bring about the conclusion of all our business in these parts’.³⁷ Edward remained as determined as ever, but the complacency of 1296 was long gone. There is perhaps even a hint of weariness in an earlier message to the prince of Wales, dated 5 March, which makes a reference to ‘all this Scottish war’.³⁸

Planning for the operation against Stirling was extensive and protracted. The rest of Edward’s letter to Langton was concerned with the effective provision of money and supplies, although the army also had more specific needs. Evidently Edward had been impressed by the efforts of Jean de Lamouilly: at the end of March he sent word to the Exchequer at York, requesting that his officials provide him with more of the materials necessary for Lamouilly’s explosive black powder.³⁹ The key ingredients were saltpetre and sulphur; presumably the third component needed, charcoal, could be found more locally. More conventional items were also in demand, of course, and Berwick, as was often the case, became the centre for the collection of provisions from the south. From Berwick some of the supplies were transported by sea to Blackness on the Forth (where a new supply depot had now been established), before they were moved on to Stirling.

The prince of Wales was instructed to find lead, which would be melted down and attached to the counterweights of trebuchets; this, of course, would allow for heavier counterweights, generating increased velocity within the mechanism and therefore greater power. It was suggested that, if necessary, the prince’s men should remove the lead from church roofs, albeit making sure that ‘the churches be not uncovered over the altars’.⁴⁰ That churches were indeed pillaged in some places is confirmed by later evidence: the following year the prior of St Andrews and the bishop of Brechin both received payments to compensate them for the loss of lead that had been seized in King Edward’s name.

The siege of Stirling provided an opportunity for Edward to test the loyalty of the Scots who had entered his allegiance, and fresh troops were recruited in Scotland. A blockade was established to isolate the castle, with patrols dispatched to guard the fords; several Scottish magnates were involved in this activity. The Scottish nobles were also expected to contribute siege weapons to the growing arsenal that was assembled, although Robert Bruce found it difficult to find appropriate transport for the beam of one large engine. Upon receiving Bruce’s letter to that effect, Edward sent men to help.⁴¹ In the light of Bruce’s later achievements, there is something almost comical about this episode: it is difficult to escape the conclusion that Bruce was somewhat lacking in enthusiasm for the task at hand.

An English clerk noted with satisfaction that Edward was greeted on the road to Stirling by seven Scottish women, who sang to the king, ‘just as they used to do during the time of the late King Alexander’.⁴² The patriots at the castle, though, had prepared a very different kind of welcome. Their commander, a young Scottish knight by the name of William Oliphant, was determined to defend his charge. As was the custom, before the siege began in earnest Oliphant was called upon to surrender. He requested leave to consult his lord, John de Soules (who was still in France), but Edward would brook no such delay.

Having failed to stall proceedings, Oliphant now scorned Edward’s siege. Avoiding specific reference to John Balliol, or even to John de Soules, he proudly asserted that he held Stirling from ‘the Lion’ (presumably a reference to the heraldic symbol of the Scottish kings), and he invited Edward to do his worst.⁴³ Oliphant was an attractive figure, and some English chroniclers were impressed by his brave demeanour, but Edward’s response was grim: ‘If he thinks it will be better for him to defend the castle than yield it, he will see.’⁴⁴

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Military operations intensified at Stirling on 22 April. The patriot garrison had no real hope of relief, and as each day passed their food supplies dwindled yet further. Several weeks earlier Edward had begun taking precautions to prevent local people from providing sustenance to the garrison; on 17 April, importantly, his forces had captured the garrison’s boats, thereby cutting off another vital lifeline. But the king was not content simply to starve the patriots into submission, because he had decided upon an awesome display of military might. That there was an element of spectacle about the siege is confirmed by the fact that much of the royal court, including the queen, was present at Stirling. Indeed, Edward paid for an oriel window to be inserted into Queen Margaret’s chambers in a house in the town so that the queen and her ladies could watch the proceedings in greater comfort.

By this time Edward’s engineers had gathered an impressive array of siege equipment. As we have seen, siege engines were given picturesque names, and on this occasion the Parson, Tout le Monde and the aforementioned Bothwell were all present, along with many others. A large team of around a hundred carpenters and sawyers were on hand to build new engines, and quarriers were employed throughout the siege to ensure the trebuchets were kept well supplied with ammunition.⁴⁵ The scale and complexity of the operation are revealed by the fact that the stone was shaped several miles away, at Linlithgow, by masons working under the direction of Master Walter of Hereford. The deployment of so much military hardware at Stirling must have offered a remarkable sight, especially if Lamouilly’s pyrotechnics were at all effective, although there were various setbacks. The attempt to use a battering ram, which was poorly constructed, was particularly unsuccessful.

The Scalacronica suggests that the garrison offered fierce resistance. Sir Thomas Gray’s work describes the alarming experience of his father, who had now been released from captivity and was present at Stirling: ‘At this siege, Thomas de Gray, knight, was hit by a bolt from a springald through the head beneath the eyes; he was thrown to the ground as though dead […] Thomas was carried away, and a troop was got ready to bury him – at which point he started to move and look about, and afterwards he recovered.’⁴⁶

The elder Thomas Gray, it would seem, had an ability to cheat death that rivalled Edward’s own, although the king himself was not to be outdone. In Flores Historiarum we are told that a missile from a springald pierced Edward’s saddle, passing between his legs, although the king was miraculously unhurt. One version of this chronicle goes on to provide an increasingly elaborate interpretation of this episode, filled with Biblical allusions – the author was evidently keen to reinforce his image of Edward as the Lord’s anointed.⁴⁷ Nevertheless, with the eyes of the court upon him, we might assume that the real Edward would not have flinched from danger. A variation of the Flores story appears in a somewhat later English chronicle, which was formerly attributed to William Rishanger.⁴⁸ It is said that Edward narrowly escaped death when a bolt from a crossbow lodged in his armour. But Edward, as presented here, was able to maintain his composure. He extracted the bolt, spat on it to show his contempt for the garrison, and threatened to hang the man who shot it.

Remarkably, the patriot garrison at Stirling held out for almost three months. They were assisted not only by the castle’s imperious setting and its stone walls, but also by the deep cellars carved into the rock: as well as providing a safe store for provisions, these also offered an important refuge. Eventually starvation did prove to be the key factor, in spite of all Edward’s efforts to take the castle by storm. With the situation now becoming desperate, Oliphant offered his surrender, but the king had not quite finished with Stirling Castle. By this time he had ordered the construction of a particularly fearsome new siege engine, and he was determined to see it in action. This machine became known as Ludgar or Loup de Guerre: Warwolf.

A letter written by an unknown correspondent, who was present at the siege, makes Edward’s intentions clear: ‘The king wills that none of his people enter [the castle] till it is struck with the Warwolf, and that those within defend themselves from the said wolf as best they can.’⁴⁹

The sources do not explain exactly what Warwolf did – it is usually assumed to have been a giant trebuchet – but Edward did eventually have the satisfaction of witnessing it in operation. Langtoft, probably somewhat exaggerating, claimed it brought down an entire wall.⁵⁰

Finally, on 20 July, Edward agreed to accept the garrison’s submission. The account in Flores tells us that the patriots embraced their allotted role in the spectacle, emerging with ashes on their heads and halters round their necks, placing themselves utterly at Edward’s mercy. This done, the king ultimately spared their lives – although Oliphant and his men were imprisoned.⁵¹ Only fifty had survived from the initial 120; the number of casualties in Edward’s army is unknown.⁵² The victory was celebrated by a tournament.

The surrender of John Comyn, followed by the capture of Stirling Castle, restored Edward to the kind of position in Scotland he had enjoyed in 1296. Many Scots who were still on the continent, including James the Steward and Bishop Lamberton, would also return to seek Edward’s grace. But not every Scotsman was willing to bend the knee to the king of England. John de Soules preferred a life in exile, and he later died in France.⁵³ William Wallace remained at large in Scotland itself, although by this time the former Guardian was sadly reduced in status; his energy and resourcefulness were still extremely evident, but he had returned to his earlier guise as a guerrilla chief, the leader of a band of desperate men. In order to bring Wallace to ‘justice’, Edward surmised, it was no longer necessary for him to raise vast armies: the king had determined this would become a matter for the Scots themselves. Edward’s Scottish wars were over. Or so it must have seemed.