Dacre's War
Authors: Rosemary Goring
DACRE'S WAR
For Marie
This edition first published in hardback in Great Britain in 2015 by
Polygon, an imprint of Birlinn Ltd
West Newington House
10 Newington Road
Edinburgh
EH9 1QS
ISBN: 978 1 84967 311 6
eISBN: 978 0 85790 851 3
Copyright © Rosemary Goring, 2015
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form, or by any means electronic, mechanical or photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the express written permission of the publisher.
The moral right of Rosemary Goring to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available on request from the British Library
The publisher acknowledge investment from Creative Scotland
towards the publication of this volume
Printed and bound by Clays Ltd, St Ives plc
CONTENTS
Characters
T
HE
S
COTTISH
C
OURT
John Stewart, Duke of Albany, cousin of James IV and Regent of Scotland
Margaret Tudor, the dowager queen, widow of James IV
James V, only surviving son of James IV and Margaret Tudor
Archibald Douglas, Earl of Angus, Margaret Tudor's second husband
James Hamilton, Earl of Arran, one of Margaret Tudor's strongest allies, enemy of her husband
Alexander Montgomerie, Earl of Eglinton, privy councillor and guardian of the infant king James
John Stewart, Earl of Lennox, a staunch defender of James
William Herries, Lord Herries of Terregles, son of Andrew who died at Flodden
David Forsyth, cousin of Archibald Douglas
T
HE
E
NGLISH
C
OURT
Henry VIII, King of England and brother of Margaret, Dowager Queen of Scotland
Thomas Wolsey, Cardinal, Archbishop of York and Lord Chancellor, one of Henry's closest advisers
Thomas Howard, Earl of Surrey, soldier; son of Thomas Howard, veteran of the battle of Flodden, second earl of Surrey, and now Duke of Norfolk (Surrey takes his father's title on Norfolk's death In may 1524)
Sir William Eure, Vice Warden of the English marches
T
HE
C
ROZIERS
Adam Crozier, head of the clan
Louise Brenier, his wife
Tom Crozier, his younger brother
Old Crozier, Adam and Tom's grandfather
Hob, head stableboy and groom
Benoit Brenier, Louise's carpenter brother
Ella Aylewood, Benoit's wife
Wat the Wanderer, Adam's cousin and henchman
Murdo Montgomery, Adam's cousin and henchman
Samuel Jardine, clan chief, and ally of the Croziers
Mitchell Bell, head of local clan, and ally
Father Walsh, the village priest
Oliver Barton, sailor, and cousin of Louise
The wolf, the family dog, born of the late vixen
T
HE
D
ACRES AND THEIR HOUSEHOLD AND ASSOCIATES
Thomas, Baron Dacre, Warden General of the English marches
Bess, his late wife Elizabeth Greystoke
Blackbird, Dacre's butler and personal attendant
Sir Christopher Dacre, his brother
Sir Philip Dacre, his brother
Joan Dacre, his youngest daughter
Mabel, his married eldest daughter
Anne, his married middle daughter
Mary, Joan's maid and companion
Ethan Elliot, thief and reiver
Edward Elliot, his son
Sly Armstrong, outlaw leader of the Liddesdale Armstrongs
Black Ned, Sly's cousin, leader of the Tynedale Armstrongs
Epigraph
For me, the ransom of my bold attempt
Shall be this cold corpse on the earth's cold face
Richard III,
Act V, Scene 3
PROLOGUE
10 September 1513, the day after the battle of Flodden
He picked his way over the hillside beneath a fog of heavy rain. The turf was strewn with sodden flags and toppled guns, abandoned swords and quivers. His boots slipped on mud made oily with blood, but the soldier who had brought him the news moved swiftly, as if untroubled by the scene. Dacre, after little sleep, and even less to eat, felt his stomach slop. He gripped his staff, and trudged on. Overnight the battlefield had been partially cleared, hundreds of corpses carried off on drays to await the lime pit and dead horses dragged to the valley top, where their stookie limbs prodded the sky, pyres of flesh awaiting the flame. Only at the foot of the slopes, where bodies were half buried in glaur, was the carnage untouched. The river washed on around them, turning a hand or shuddering a leg, as if the owner had been merely asleep and now was roused at last.
âHe's over here,' said the soldier, calling the baron's attention to a hollow near the top of the hill, where they were heading. Some distance behind him, cloaked in rain, Dacre moved at the speed of one reluctant to reach his destination. When he did, gulls were mewling high overhead, a sound he would ever after think of as a lament for the sorry figure they circled.
The king's body had been turned upwards, though beneath the black crust of a face savaged by sword and arrow and axe few would have recognised him. His chain mail coat was torn, and around his shoulders the mantle bearing his coat of arms lay in shreds, its lion slain. His helmet was trodden into the earth by his side, where his standard bearer lay, the boy fallen upon the Scottish flag, now stained with his dying.
The baron barely noticed him, looking only at James. Crouching by the side of his old enemy he wrenched an arrow out of his neck and hurled it aside. For a moment, mist clouded his vision. He rubbed his face, and the king came back into sight. Dacre lifted an ungloved hand, almost severed from its wrist, and saw the marks where night-time scavengers had removed the rings. He laid it down, as one would a sleeping child's.
Raising the metal tunic, he found the proof he needed. The Warden General of the English marches, whose soldiers had helped bring about the Scots' defeat, lowered his head in sorrow. There could be no doubt. The king's iron belt was locked around his waist, chafing purple on clay-coloured skin. Dacre counted the links, and found one for every year since the death of James's father, in whose memory he wore it.
With a long sigh, he got to his feet. âThis is him, James IV, King of Scotland no longer. You've done well to find him. Had he gone missing, rumours would have kept him alive for years.'
He straightened, and put a hand to the small of his back as he stared into the downpour. Beyond the rain lay the sea. He could smell it. So could the gulls, and as if reminded of where they belonged they gave a last call and flew off.
Later, Dacre marched back to the village, ahead of the pall-bearers. âGet back!' he shouted, as a crowd gathered, jostling for a glimpse of the stricken king. âIt's only another body, like the thousands ye have already seen. Are ye no sick of the sight by now?' He raised his staff to clear the way, but he understood why they peered. How often would they see a king brought lower than they?
Dacre shouldered past them. James had been his enemy, but also a friend, a man who could be trusted. The same could not be said of his own king. Brushing rain out of his eyes, the Warden General thanked the saints that Henry never ventured this far north. Should he ever show any interest in the borderlands, it would bode as ill for Dacre as for the Scots.
