A.D. 1138.
The crown which the Conqueror won at Hastings was fated to pass from the direct male line of succession in the third generation.
Robert, the eldest of King William’s sons, was passed over by his father, who transmitted the crown to Rufus. When that violent, but not wholly ungenerous, prince was slain in the New Forest Prince Henry, the Conqueror’s youngest son, usurped the crown, and ultimately overcame his brother Robert, seized his Duchy of Normandy, and condemned him to a life-long imprisonment.
Each of the brothers had a son bearing the name of his grandsire, and it appeared certain that the feud of the fathers would be perpetuated by the children.
William, son of Robert, had many stout friends, and enjoyed, in a special degree, the protection of the King of France; hence wars and revolts arose in the King’s usurped Duchy of Normandy, and it seemed probable that when King Henry died the duchy would be re-conquered by Robert’s son. All the energies of King Henry were therefore turned to securing the duchy for his son. In the year 1120 he carried the prince to Normandy, and, by his valour and address in the field, seconded by his crafty policy, he succeeded in restoring peace and order in the duchy, and also in detaching his nephew’s chief supporters from his cause.
When about to sail from Barfleur, he was accosted by an ancient mariner, who claimed that his father had piloted the Conqueror to England in 1066, and besought the honour of now carrying King Henry across the Channel. The King had already made his arrangements, but he entrusted Prince William and his suite to the care of Fitz-Stephen. It was a serene, moonlight night when the Blanche Nef sailed, but the prince had provided too generously for the good cheer of the mariners, and a drunken and careless crew carried him to his fate. The Blanche Nef struck on the rocks of the Ras de Catte, and rapidly filled. Prince William was hastily thrust into the ship’s boat, but he insisted upon attempting the rescue of his half-sister, and vainly, but generously, sacrificed his life in the endeavour.
The position of Duke Robert’s son was apparently more hopeful now that he was the only lineal male heir to the throne. King Henry was not, however, the less earnest in his endeavours to transmit all his dignities to his own children. Thus reads the “Anglo-Saxon Chronicle,” for 1127:—“This year at Christmas, King Henry held his court at Windsor, and David, King of Scotland, was there, and all the headmen of England, both clergy and laity. And the King caused the archbishops, bishops, abbots, earls, and all the thanes who were present, to swear to place England and Normandy, after his death, in the hands of his daughter the princess, who had been the wife of the Emperor of Saxony. And then he sent her to Normandy, accompanied by her brother Robert, Earl of Gloucester, and by Brian, the son of the Earl Alan Fergan; and he caused her to be wedded to the son of the Earl of Anjou, named Geoffrey Martel.”
In the following year the brief, but brilliant, career of Prince William came to an end. After a most honourable campaign, whilst “he was besieging Eu against King Henry, and expected on the morrow to receive its surrender, for the enemy was almost worn-out, the young man died of a slight wound in the hand, leaving behind him an endless name.”
Robert of Normandy fulfilled the number of his days in the year 1134. No doubt the statement of Matthew Paris was quite correct:—“When the King heard of his death, he did not grieve much, but commanded the body to be reverently interred in the conventual church of Gloucester.”
King Henry had reigned many years, and committed many crimes to secure his crown, but, such is the irony of fate, he was not permitted to enjoy his triumph long, for, on the 1st of December, he died through over-indulgence in supping on lampreys, and, to use the expressive ambiguity of Carlyle, “went to his own place, wherever that might be.”
Prominent among the nobles of England was Stephen, Count of Blois, the son of the Conqueror’s daughter Adela, and the first peer of the realm—a position which he put to the proof when the oath of allegiance was taken to the ex-Empress Matilda, Robert, Duke of Gloucester, having vainly claimed precedence, although he could only claim as the natural son of the King.
Stephen was a brave, generous, and popular noble, and both the peers and commons of England would have preferred his rule to that of the King’s daughter; when, therefore, he made claim to the throne no opposition was raised. “For when the nobles of the kingdom were assembled at London, he promised that the laws should be reformed to the satisfaction of every one of them, and William, Archbishop of Canterbury, who was the first of all the nobles to take the oath of fidelity to the Empress as Queen of England, now consecrated Stephen to be King. In fine, all the bishops, earls, and barons who had sworn fealty to the King’s daughter and her heirs gave their adhesion to King Stephen, saying that it would be a shame for so many nobles to submit themselves to a woman.”
Having obtained the crown, Stephen assisted in burying the corpse of his uncle, being one of those who sustained the coffin on their shoulders. How suggestive such a scene must have appeared to many who were present. The dead King had broken the closest ties of relationship and blood in obtaining the crown; the retribution that took the shape of his son’s untimely death was to some extent compensated by the death of his nephew; but no sooner is the old King dead than his nephew usurps the crown, maugre his vows of allegiance to Matilda, and piously assists in conveying him to the grave.
For the moment no man seemed disposed to maintain the claims of the ex-Empress: the first to move on her behalf being her uncle David, King of Scotland, a humane and religious prince, who occupied the same relationship to Stephen’s wife that he did to the ex-Empress.
In his first invasion David succeeded in occupying Carlisle and Newcastle, but being confronted by Stephen at the head of a powerful army, a treaty was entered into at Durham, whereby King David engaged to abandon hostilities on certain territorial concessions being made to him. Thrice in one year Northumbria was inundated by the wild Scots, and Stephen, harassed by his treacherous barons, could only avenge his unhappy subjects by laying waste the frontiers of Scotland.
The wildest storm of war swept over Northumbria in the year 1138, the unfortunate inhabitants of that province being mercilessly slaughtered in requital for the sins of their princes and nobles—sins in which they had neither art nor part. David was deeply afflicted by the enormous cruelties which his troops perpetrated, but he was utterly unable to control their passions, and endeavoured to quieten his conscience by condemning the acts of his armies, and by his royal munificence to the church—James the First expressed his appreciation of the liberality of his predecessor by remarking that, “He kythed a sair saint to the crown.”
The tumultuary army which followed him “consisted of Normans, Germans, and English, of Cumbrian Britons, of Northumbrians, of men of Teviotdale and Lothian, of Picts commonly called men of Galloway, and of Scots.”
Barely threescore years and ten had elapsed since William the Norman had carried fire and sword through Northumbria. The charred and blackened ruins of grange and village were not yet entirely hidden by the dense growth of bramble and thorn; and the human bones, that had been gnawed by the wolves in their midnight banquets in the evil days that succeeded the Confessor’s death, had not yet mouldered into their kindred earth.
It was in the wild and stormy season of the opening spring of 1138 that King David commenced his operations.
Shaken to its centre, Northumbria lay at the mercy of the invader: again the sword reaped its bloody harvest, again the torch performed its evil office, and the midnight skies were illumined by the glare of burning homesteads and villages. The highways and byeways were strewn with the dead: with the gashed clay of strong men, of women, and of little children. Age and womanhood lay together in dishonoured death; the white hairs and the flowing tresses trodden in the same bloody mire, and, most cruel spectacle! the little babes, pierced and shattered by spears, lay where they had been cast in fiendish sport by the pitiless barbarians. The blood of the priests reeked upon the altars of the most High God, and the sacred fanes were heaped with the sweltering corruption of slain worshippers. Miserable fugitives turned their faces towards the Humber, striving to escape the hot-footed Scot, who pressed so keen and fast upon their track.
The remnant of the maddened people, desperate in their despair, only required a leader to organise and direct their strength.
Thurstan, the aged Archbishop of York, although bowed down to the verge of the grave by the weight of many years and infirmities, came forward to organise the strength of his afflicted people. Stephen being unable to disengage himself from the toils of his revolted barons, the civil war having already broken out in the south, despatched Bernard de Baliol to the north, at the head of a body of men-at-arms. The real strength of the movement was, however, the combination of those eminent northern barons, William, Earl of Albemarle, Robert de Ferrars, William Percy, Roger de Mowbray, Ilbert de Lacy, and the veteran Walter l’Espec, who, responding with prompt energy to the supplications of Archbishop Thurstan, gathered their vassals together, and prepared to take the field, as soon as all arrangements were completed, and the widely scattered strength of the North was concentrated.
To draw the people to one standard, and to animate them with an unconquerable fortitude, was the peculiar work of the Archbishop; but, being too infirm to take a public part in the exciting scenes which were being enacted, he deputed Ralph Nowel, the titular Bishop of Orkney, to carry out his plans. This prelate caught the spirit of his superior, and a signal success rewarded his efforts. Processions of the clergy were organised, and the exhibition of crosses, relics, and religious banners, tended to increase the devoted courage of the superstitious peasantry. The whole of the male population was called to arms, and a certain victory was promised, with a quick transition into paradise for those who perished on the field. Thirsk was the rendezvous, and, as the news was carried through the province, men-at-arms and knights came trooping in, attended by the desperate peasantry, whose rude arms, and lack of defensive armour, but ill befitted them for what promised to be so dubious and sanguinary an enterprise.
Three days were occupied in fasting and devotion: the troops then took a common vow of adherence to each other, victory being most emphatically promised them. Nerved by every art of the church, by their own desperate position, and by their thirst for vengeance, they encamped around the grand standard which Thurstan had raised at Elfer-tun, to command their piety and patriotism. It consisted of a lofty spar, or mast, mounted on a huge four-wheeled car, and terminating in a large crucifix, with a silver box attached, containing the sacramental elements of the Romish Church. Around the mast waved the holy banners of the sainted Peter of York, Wilfrid of Ripon, and John of Beverley. Hugo de Sotevagina, Archdeacon of York, inscribed this remarkable rhyme on the foot of the mast:—
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“Dicitur a stando standardum quod stitit illic Militæ probitas vincere sive mori. Standard, from stand, this fight we aptly call: Our men here stood to conquer or to fall.” |
From the turn of the lines we should infer that the inscription was affixed subsequent to the battle.
Norman baron and Saxon peasant had not long to wait the trial of strength. The summer was now far advanced, for David had been detained before the strong fortress of Norham; but that stronghold once in his hands, he marched onward, unopposed, until he approached the neighbourhood of York. His standard was simply a wreath of blooming heather, attached to a long lance. Eustace Fitz-John commanded the guard of completely accoutred knights and men-at-arms which attended Prince Henry, the commander of the first division, comprising Lowlanders, defended by cuirasses, and armed with long pikes; the archers of Teviotdale and Liddesdale; the troopers of Cumberland and Westmoreland, riding small but useful horses; and the fierce Galwegians, destitute of defensive armour, and bearing long and slender pikes. The Highlanders and Islemen followed the first division, and carried target, claymore, and the ancient Danish war-axe. King David followed with a gallant body of Anglo-Norman and English knights, and a mixed corps of warriors, gathered from various parts of the land, brought up the rear.
With King David marched his warlike nephew, William MacDonoquhy, flushed with the memory of his victory at Clitheroe, where, on the 4th of June, he had defeated a strong force of the English, and gained much spoil.
The position of the Anglo-Norman barons was extremely peculiar; not only did King David claim Northumberland, where they held lands, but they acknowledged him for their liege lord, holding from him estates which were situate on the Scottish side of the border. Under these circumstances they prudently despatched Robert Bruce, Earl of Annandale, and Bernard de Baliol, to the Scottish camp, to offer terms to the King. If his Scottish Majesty would withdraw his army, and conclude a permanent peace, they engaged “to procure from Stephen a full grant of the earldom of Northumberland in favour of Prince Henry.”
The King was, however, firm in his resolution to maintain the cause of the ex-Empress; and William MacDonoquhy declared that Bruce was a false traitor. The two noblemen had no alternative but to renounce their allegiance to the Scottish crown, and to beat a hasty retreat to the English army.
The disposition of the Scottish army was then discussed, and David proposed to place his Saxon archers and Norman knights in the van, to commence the attack. Deep was the indignation of Malise, Earl of Strathearn, and bitter his protest against the King’s confidence in Norman mail. Said he, “I wear no armour; but there is not one among them who will advance beyond me this day.”
The Norman, Allan de Piercy, angrily protested that the “rude earl” boasted of that which he had not the courage to perform; whereon David checked the growing quarrel, and pacified Malise by ordering the Galwegians to take the van.
It was the 22nd day of August, the wide moor, gay with blooming heather, was involved in a land-mist, and, as a further cover to their approach, the wild Scots fired some villages. The English were, however, already formed around the standard, expectant of the inevitable conflict, and no doubt experienced neither alarm nor disappointment when Bruce and Baliol came in on the spur, and declared that the enemy was on the march.
Old Walter l’Espec spake a few soldierly words of hopeful exhortation to his warriors, then placed his ungloved hand in that of the Earl of Albemarle, with the dauntless exclamation, “I pledge thee my troth to conquer or to die.” Kindled to enthusiasm by the spirit of the valiant old man, the soldiers gripped each other’s hands, and the vow became general. Archbishop Thurstan’s representative was not slow to seize so favourable a moment for increasing the enthusiastic ardour of the troops, and he uttered a brief, but thrilling, harangue, in which, according to the old chroniclers, he at once flattered and provoked the emulous courage of the Anglo-Norman chivalry, by referring to the achievements of their ancestors; kindled their resentment by pointing them to the desecrated altars of their churches; assured them of a swift and retributive vengeance; opened paradise to all who should fall sword in hand that day, and encouraged them by reminding them of their superiority over their enemies in respect of their arms and armour. The form of absolution was then read, and answered by the solemn “Amen” of the host. All was ready for the ordeal.
The knights and men-at-arms in both armies were similarly armed. “From the Conquest to the close of the twelfth century but little change had taken place in the armour and weapons of the English; but five distinct varieties of body-armour were worn by them about the time of the Standard—a scaly suit of steel, with a chapelle de fer, or iron cap; a hauberk of iron rings; a suit of mascled or quilted armour; another of rings set edgewise; and a fifth of tegulated mail, composed of small square plates of steel lapping over each other like tiles, with a long flowing tunic of cloth below. Gonfarons fluttered from the spear-heads; and knights wore nasal helmets and kite-shaped shields of iron, but their spears were simply pointed goads.”
According to some accounts, the English men-at-arms were drawn up in a dense column, surrounding their holy standard; and the archers, consisting of peasants and yeomen from the woods and wolds of Yorkshire, Lincolnshire, and Nottingham, were posted in the van. It is certain that the Norman barons and the men-at-arms dismounted, and sent their horses to the rear, and the probability is that the mailed troops occupied the front of battle, and protected the archers, who were destitute of defensive armour. All the accounts of the battle favour this inference, although it is distinctly stated that the archers were broken, but afterwards rallied—a statement that seems incredible, for the English army being outflanked, the broken archers would have been cut to pieces, it being impossible for the dense column that surrounded the standard to open its ranks to receive the fugitives, while the charging Scots were pressing hot and hard upon their rear, and the action of the spearmen was retarded by the presence of the archers upon their front, as these unfortunates were being massacred by the enemy.
The Galwegians made the first charge, with Ulgrick and Dovenald leading. Their dreadful cries of Albanigh, Albanigh! (“We are the men of Albyn!”) rolled like thunder over the field, as they rushed furiously upon the Norman men-at-arms, threatening to bear down all that withstood them with the forest of their long, thin pikes. The centre of the English army was pierced, but the formation was too dense to be shattered by a charge of pikemen, however furiously made, and the long pikes were broken upon shield and hauberk, or shivered by blow of sword and axe. The Galwegians bit deep, but fell in scores along the front, and as they recoiled from the meeting, the archers let fly a shower of shafts upon them. It was impossible to rally and re-form in the face of that storm of deadly shafts, beating as hard and fast as winter hail upon their naked bodies, and while numbers fell, weltering in their gore, the disordered masses began to retire, probably to the right and left, while the English taunted them with derisive cries of “Eyrych, Eyrych!” (“You are but Irish!”) which, Scott remarks, “must have been true of that part of the Galwegians called the wild Scots of Galloway, who are undoubtedly Scotch-Irish.”
As the men of Galloway staggered back from the storm of arrows, leaving Ulgrick and Dovenald dead upon the field, Prince Henry charged down upon the English with his knights and men-at-arms upon the spur. With spear, and sword, and axe, he won a bloody pathway sheer through the English centre, and put to flight the servants who were posted in the rear of the army in charge of their masters’ horses. The oft-quoted expression of Alred, that “they broke through the English ranks as if they had been spiders’ webs,” must be regarded as largely figurative, for two reasons. In the first place, the Galwegians were re-forming with the utmost alacrity, and the other lines were bearing down fast and stern, yet the English ranks closed in before they could take advantage of the confusion caused by the cavalry, and presented an impenetrable front to the advancing Scots. In the second place, the prince achieved nothing by his charge, beyond chasing a few grooms from the field. On his return, he found the battle over, and passing undiscovered through the pursuing forces, succeeded, after many perils, in reaching Carlisle on the 28th of August.
There is a curious, but not over-reliable story, that in the perilous moment when the English were re-forming their ranks, and the remains of Prince Henry’s men-at-arms were dashing after the fugitives in the rear, an English soldier, with singular presence of mind, averted the impending storm by hewing off a Scotchman’s head, and bearing it, at point of spear, to the front, loudly exclaiming, “Behold the head of the King of the Scots.” Before this ominous spectacle the Galwegians fell back in a sudden panic, arresting the advance of the second line, and causing the third line to beat a hasty retreat without lifting weapon on the field. Bare-headed, King David rode amid the breaking ranks in a gallant effort to rally his soldiers; but all his efforts proving fruitless, he assumed the command of his cavalry, and protected, as far as possible, the retreat of his disorganised army.
There can, however, maugre this oft-told story, be no question that a tremendous battle raged for upwards of two hours. The devoted savages of Galloway rallied, and, supported by the second and third lines of their army, closed in upon the English, “after giving three shouts in the manner of their nation.” Thus the holy standard, and its heroic defenders, was belted with a wide and deep hem of raging enemies, who sought, with sword and axe, to hew a passage through the phalanx of spears that held them back. They combated fiercely together in a mist of dust and heat; blood flowed like water, and the trampled earth was dreadful with the bodies of the slain; but no despoiling hand reached the standard; a hedge of glittering steel defended it, the Normans fenced it with flashing swords, the serried spears sustained the fierce attack, though indented here and there by the pressure of horse and men. The continuous shower of shafts from the archers sorely distressed and harassed the Scots, and abandoning all hope of breaking or hewing down the valiant enemy, around which they had drawn their triple line of warriors, they broke and fled. First the decimated remnant of the savage heroes of Galloway recoiled, and spread confusion through the second line, and then the outward hem of mixed troops, who had never struck blow, wavered and broke; and the battle of the Standard was lost and won.
David valiantly protected the retreat of his disordered army, leaving some 12,000 upon the field. He halted at Carlisle, in grave distress as to the fate of his son, who rejoined him three days later, as before mentioned. Quarrels took place in his army, and weapons were freely resorted to, and some blood shed.
The 200 mailed knights of King David lost nearly the whole of their horses, and only nineteen carried their harness from the field. The Norman barons were not particularly fortunate in making prisoners, but fifty knights fell to their spear and sword. Of these, William Cumin, the Scotch Chancellor, was detained in prison for a short time by the Bishop of Durham, and, on being liberated, “gave thanks to God,” desiring heartily that he never at any time should again meet with the like experience. His companions in affliction were ransomed about the time of the feast of All-Saints following.
The Scottish army having rallied at Carlisle, continued the war, besieged and reduced, by famine, Wark Castle; and carried away as prisoners a number of English women, who were ultimately restored to their friends through the good offices of Alberic, Bishop of Ostia, who, being seconded by King Stephen’s wife, succeeded in bringing about a peace, which was concluded on the 9th day of April, 1139.
Before the English army disbanded, Eustace Fitz-John, who had garrisoned Malton with Scotch troops, received their attention. In the conflict which ensued the town was stormed and given to the flames.
On this eventful day the English archers won their first laurels with the long bow and arrows, two cubits in length; and this sanguinary conflict derives an additional interest from the fact. As brave and experienced warriors, the captains would probably perceive and acknowledge the service performed by the Northumbrian infantry, but not one of them considered the possibility of a day dawning that would see the laurels of war bestowed upon the English archers, while the Anglo-Norman chivalry had to be contented with less honourable trophies of bravery and skill.
[V.—AFTER THE BATTLE OF THE STANDARD.]
The reign of Stephen was cursed by the worst evils of civil war. The King was captured at Lincoln, A.D. 1140, being deserted by many of his troops; but was afterwards exchanged for Robert, Earl of Gloucester, who had been taken prisoner by Stephen’s partisans. Ultimately Matilda’s son, Prince Henry, entered England, when it was arranged that he should succeed to the throne on the King’s death.
Under Henry’s rule happier days dawned upon the Kingdom. A.D. 1160, a great Council was held at York, said to be the first of such assemblages to which the title of Parliament was applied. The King of Scots attended, with his nobles and clergy, and rendered feudal homage for his province of Lothian. Scott asserts that “homage was done by the Scottish kings for Lothian, simply because it had been a part, or moiety, of Northumberland, ceded by Eadulf-Cudel, a Saxon Earl of Northumberland, to Malcolm II., on condition of amity and support in war, for which, as feudal institutions gained ground, feudal homage was the natural substitute and emblem.”
Malcolm, being greatly attached to the King of England, yielded to him all his possessions in Cumberland and Northumberland, possessions which Henry would probably have conquered had they not been ceded.
Malcolm was succeeded by his brother William, the declared enemy of England. Invading Northumberland, he was surprised near Alnwick Castle by Bernard de Baliol. Sixty cavaliers escorted him, and he made a desperate charge upon the English, exclaiming, “Now we shall see who are good knights.” He was unhorsed, and carried off to Newcastle on the spur. As the price of his liberty he performed feudal homage at York for the whole of Scotland, placing hostages and certain strongholds in King Henry’s hands.
Henry died, broken-hearted and conquered by the repeated revolts of his sons. On his accession Richard I. annuled the acts of his father, as regarded the independence of Scotland, but homage for Lothian was of course continued.
Early in 1190, a dreadful fire broke out in York, and rapidly spread, being fanned by a strong wind. During the confusion a number of thieves entered the house of a Jewish widow, slew her and her children, and plundered the house. Benedict, the husband of the murdered woman, had fallen in the massacre of Jews during King Richard’s coronation. Jocenus had attended Benedict to London, and had effected his escape with much difficulty. Being very wealthy he feared the fury of the mob, and took refuge in the castle, carrying with him his treasures. His example was largely followed by the Jews. The governor of the castle sallied out, leaving it in the hands of the refugees. On his return he was largely accompanied, and the Jews, in their fear, refused to admit him. He at once raised the country, and besieged the castle. Their offer of ransom being rejected, in their despair the Jews resolved to kill themselves, after destroying their property and setting fire to the fortress. Jocenus cut the throats of his wife and five children, and this dreadful example was largely followed. The less courageous of the Jews then appealed to the besiegers, told the story of the tragedy, and, as proof, threw at their feet several mangled corpses. Protection was promised to the survivors, when the gates were thrown open. The besiegers entered, and completed the extermination of the Jews. The cathedral was then visited, and the bonds and securities of the Jews, deposited there for safe keeping, were destroyed.
William Longchamp, Bishop of Ely, was deputed to punish the offenders. He appointed Osbert de Longchamp governor of the county; and the sheriff and governor of the castle were deprived of their offices, and cast into prison. Fines were inflicted on many citizens, and a hundred hostages taken.
On Richard’s release from his German captivity, he sold many offices to raise his ransom. For 3,000 marks Geoffrey Plantagenet, Archbishop of York, purchased the office of Sheriff. This rendered him all but an absolute prince of the province.
Early in his reign King John visited York, and held a convention, which was attended by the King of Scotland, and many of his nobles. The citizens abstained from any expression of welcome, and the disgusted King consoled himself by exacting a fine of £100. In the last year of the tyrant’s life, York was besieged by the northern barons, who were bought off with 1,000 marks.
Henry III. held a convocation at York in 1220, when his sister Joanna was engaged to King Alexander of Scotland. In the following year his majesty attended the espousals, celebrated in the cathedral church. On this occasion Alexander’s sister, Margaret, bestowed her hand upon Hubert de Burgh, the justiciary.
Henry celebrated his Christmas festivities in York, A.D. 1230 and 1252. On the last occasion he bestowed the hand of his daughter Margaret upon Alexander, King of Scotland. Matthew Paris gives a particular and most interesting account of the ceremonies:—
“The Earl-Marshal earnestly demanded that the palfrey of the King of Scotland, which he claimed as his right, should be given to him, with its caparisons—not for its value, or out of any avarice, but according to an ancient custom in such cases—that it might not die away in his time through any neglect of his.”
Alexander “would not submit to such an exaction, because, if he chose, he might obtain these equipments from any Catholic prince, or from some of his own nobles.”
The Archbishop of York nobly performed his part. “In making presents of gold, silver, and silken dresses, he sowed on a barren shore four thousand marks which he never afterwards reaped. But it was necessary for him to do these things for a time, that his good fame might be preserved in its integrity, and that the mouths of evil-speakers might be closed.”
Necessarily Edward I. was many times in Yorkshire during his Scottish wars. In 1291 he treated the citizens to the spectacle of one of his state-butcheries, when Rees-ap-Meredith, a descendant of the ancient royalty of South Wales, was dragged on a hurdle to the gallows, and hanged and quartered. In the year 1298, he obtained sole possession of the port and lands of Wyke, afterwards known as Kingston-upon-Hull. Under his royal patronage, the port speedily rose to a position of great maritime importance. In the same year he twice summoned Parliament to assemble at York, commanding the attendance of the Scotch nobility, and declared the pains and penalties of high treason against all absentees.
Six years later Edward concluded that the conquest of Scotland was achieved, and disbanded his army. In 1307, he died upon the red war-path, commenced in subtlety and falsehood. He drew his last breath at Burgh-on-Sands, in Cumberland, on the 7th of July.
In Yorkshire the Barons ran Piers Gaveston to earth in the days of Edward II. In 1311 they curtailed the royal power, and sentenced Gaveston to perpetual banishment, attaching the death-penalty should he re-enter the Kingdom. Edward commanded Gaveston to return, and restored his honours and possessions. The Barons flew to arms, and marched to York. The King fled to Newcastle, proceeded to Scarborough Castle, where he left Gaveston in command, and vainly endeavoured to raise an army.
Attacked by the Barons, Gaveston surrendered. Pembroke and Lord Henry Percy engaged that he should be imprisoned in Wallingford Castle, and that he should suffer no violence. Nevertheless he was carried to Dedington Castle, near Banbury, when Pembroke departed, and Warwick appeared upon the scene. Threatened with attack, the garrison declined to defend their prisoner, and surrendered him into the hands of Warwick. Gaveston was mounted upon a mule, surrounded by his enemies, and carried to Warwick Castle with extravagant parade, being welcomed with a loud flourish of trumpets. He read his fate in the fierce elation of the Barons, but made a vain appeal for mercy. It was rejected, and he was condemned to death.