Yet already there were signs that those who had thought to find in Henry’s nephew such another king as Henry himself[703] were doomed to disappointment. It was no good omen for the fulfilment of the pledges embodied in his charters when Stephen broke the one which appealed most strongly to popular feeling—the promise to mitigate the severe forest laws—by holding a forest assize at Brampton after his triumph over Baldwin of Redvers in 1136.[704] Neither was it satisfactory that the accession of a king specially bound by the circumstances of his election to rule as a national sovereign proved to be the signal for a great influx of foreigners—not as in Henry’s time, honest industrious settlers who fled from their own unquiet homes to share “the good peace that he made in this land” and to become an useful element in the growing prosperity of the nation; but as in the Red King’s time, a rapacious and violent race of mercenary adventurers, chiefly from Britanny and Flanders; men to whom nothing was sacred, and who flocked to Stephen as they had flocked to Rufus, attracted by the report of his prodigality and the hope, only too well founded, of growing rich upon the spoils of England.[705] However much Henry may have provoked his subjects by his preference for ministers of continental birth, he had at least never insulted them by taking for his chief counsellor and confidant a mere foreign soldier of fortune like that William of Ypres who acted as the leader of Stephen’s Flemish mercenaries and whose influence over him excited the wrath of both the English and the Norman barons.[706] The peace of the country was probably all the better kept during the year 1137 because its preservation was left wholly to Bishop Roger and his nephews, while Stephen, accompanied by his Flemish friend, was well out of the way in Normandy, where he spent the year in concerting an alliance with his brother,[707] obtaining the French king’s sanction to his tenure of the duchy, for which his eldest son did homage in his stead,[708] and vainly endeavouring to secure it from the combined dangers of internal treason and Angevin intermeddling. No disturbance occurred in England during his absence; a Scottish invasion, threatened soon after Easter, was averted by Archbishop Thurstan of York, who persuaded the Scot king to accept a truce till Advent,[709] when Stephen was expected to return. He was no sooner back than David sent to demand for his son the earldom of Northumberland,[710] which had been, it was said, half promised to him a year before;[711] on the refusal of his demand,[712] early in January he led an army into England. An unsuccessful siege of the border fortress of Carham or Wark was followed by such a harrying of the whole land from Tweed to Tyne as had not been heard of since the wild heathenish days of Malcolm Canmore’s youth.[713] David, indeed, was not personally concerned in this horrible work; he had left it to the conduct of his nephew William Fitz-Duncan, while he himself with a strong body of troops took up his quarters at Corbridge.[714] Stephen marched against him early in February, whereupon he returned to the siege of Carham; dislodged thence by the English king, he buried himself and his troops in an almost inaccessible swamp near Roxburgh, bidding the townsfolk decoy the Southrons by a false show of friendliness and thus enable him to surround and despatch them.[715] Stephen however discovered the trap—apparently through the double treachery of some of his own barons who were concerned in it;[716] he crossed the Tweed, but instead of marching upon Roxburgh he turned south-westward and ravaged David’s territories till the lack of provisions forced him to return to the south.[717]

He had not long turned his back when David re-entered Northumberland and marched ravaging along the eastern coast till a mutiny among his soldiers compelled him to retreat to the border. Thence he sent William Fitz-Duncan to ravage the district of Craven, while he himself remained busy with the siege of Carham till he was dislodged by Count Waleran of Meulan.[718] The Empress meanwhile plied him with entreaties for support, both by her own letters and through her friends in the north, chief among whom was her father’s old minister Eustace Fitz-John,[719] lord of the mighty castles of Bamborough, Knaresborough, Malton and Alnwick. Eustace had already forfeited his best stronghold, Bamborough, through his plottings against Stephen;[720] in May 1138 he openly placed himself, his remaining castles and his men at the disposal of the Scot king. David hesitated no longer. Gathering up all the forces of his kingdom,[721] he joined Eustace in an unsuccessful attempt to regain Bamborough; thence the united host marched burning and harrying through the already thrice-wasted Patrimony of S. Cuthbert, crossed the Tees, and in the middle of August made its appearance in Yorkshire.[722]

There was no help to be looked for from the king. All through that summer the whole south and west of England had been in a blaze of revolt which was still unsubdued, and Stephen had neither time, thought, nor troops to spare for the defence of the north. But in face of such a danger as this the men of the north needed no help from him. When their own hearths and altars were threatened by the hereditary Scottish foe, resistance was a matter not of loyalty but of patriotism. The barons and great men of the shire at once organized their plans under the guidance of Archbishop Thurstan, whose lightest word carried more weight in Yorkshire than anything that Stephen could have said or done. Inspired by him, the forces of the diocese met at York in the temper of crusaders. Three days of fasting, almsgiving and penance, concluding with a solemn absolution and benediction from their primate, prepared them for their task. Worn out as he was with years and labours—so feeble that he could neither walk nor ride—Thurstan would yet have gone forth in his litter at the head of his men to encourage the host with his presence and his eloquence; but the barons shrank from such a risk. To them he was the Moses on whose uplifted hands depended their success in the coming battle; so they sent him back to wrestle in prayer for them within his own cathedral church, while they went forth to their earthly warfare against the Scot.[723]

Early in the morning of Tuesday, August 22, the English forces drew up in battle array upon Cowton Moor, two miles from Northallerton. In their midst was the “Standard” from which the fight afterwards took its name:—a cart into which was fixed a pole surmounted by a silver pyx containing the Host, and hung round with the consecrated banners of the local churches, S. Peter of York, S. John of Beverley, S. Wilfrid of Ripon.[724] Thurstan’s place as chief spiritual adviser of the army was filled by Ralf, bishop of the Orkneys;[725] their chief military adviser was Walter Lespec, the pious and noble founder of Kirkham and Rievaux—the very type and model of a Christian knight of the time. Standing upon the cart, with the sacred banners waving round his head, in a voice like a trumpet he addressed his comrades.[726] He appealed to the barons to prove themselves worthy of their race; he appealed to the English shire-levies to prove themselves worthy of their country; he pictured in glowing colours the wrongs which they all had to avenge, and the worse they would have to suffer if they survived a defeat; then, grasping the hand of William of Aumale, the new-made earl of York,[727] he swore aloud to conquer or die.[728] The unanimous “Amen!” of the English host was answered by shrill cries of “Albin! Albin!” as the Scots came charging on.[729] The glory of the first onset was snatched, much against David’s will, by the men of Galloway, who claimed it as their hereditary right.[730] The second division of the Scottish host comprised the Cumbrians and the men of Teviotdale, and the followers of Eustace Fitz-John. A third body was formed by the men of Lothian and of the western islands, and a fourth by the king’s household troops, a picked band of English and Norman knights commanded by David in person.[731] The English array was simple enough; the whole host stood in one compact mass clustered around the Standard,—the barons and their followers occupying the centre, the archers intermingled with them in front, and the general mass of less well-armed troops of the shire in the rear, with a small detachment of horse posted at a little distance; the main body of both armies fought on foot in the old English fashion. The wild Celts of Galloway dashed headlong upon the English front, only to find their spears and javelins glance off from the helmets and shields of the knights as from an iron wall, while their own half-naked bodies were riddled with a shower of arrows; their leader fell, and they fled in confusion.[732] The second line under the king’s son, Henry, charged with better success; but an Englishman lifted up a gory head upon a pole crying out that it was David’s; and like the English long ago in a like case at Assandun, the Scottish centre at once fled almost without waiting to be attacked.[733] David himself fought on well-nigh alone, till the few who stood around him dragged him off the field, lifted him on horseback, and fairly compelled him to retreat.[734] His scattered troops caught sight of the dragon on his standard,[735] and discovering that he was still alive, rallied enough to enable him to retreat in good order. Henry gathered up the remnants of the royal body-guard—the only mounted division of the army—and with them made a gallant effort to retrieve the day; but the horsemen charged in vain against the English shield-wall, and falling back with shattered spears and wounded horses they were compelled to fling away their accoutrements and escape as best they could.[736] Three days elapsed before Henry himself could rejoin his father at Carlisle.[737] Eleven hundred Scots were said to have been slain in the battle or caught in their flight through the woods and marshes and there despatched.[738] Out of two hundred armed knights only nineteen carried their mail-coats home again;[739] such of the rest as escaped at all escaped only with their lives; and the field was so strewn with baggage, provisions and arms, left behind by the fugitives, that the victors gave it the nickname of Baggamore.[740] The enthusiasm which had carried the Yorkshiremen through the hour of danger carried them also through the temptation of the hour of triumph. They sullied their victory by no attempt at pursuit or retaliation, but simply returned as they had come, in solemn procession, and having restored the holy banners to their several places with joy and thanksgiving, went quietly back every man to his own home.[741] Some three months later the garrison of Carham, having salted their last horse save one, were driven to surrender; but their stubborn defence had won them the right to march out free with the honours of war, and all that David gained was the satisfaction of razing the empty fortress.[742]

The defeat of the Scots was shared by the English baron who had brought them into the land. But Eustace Fitz-John was far from standing alone in his breach of fealty to the English king. All the elements of danger and disruption which had been threatening Stephen ever since his accession suddenly burst forth in the spring of 1138.[743] Between the king and the barons there had been from the first a total lack of confidence. It could not be otherwise; for their mutual obligations were founded on the breach of an earlier obligation contracted by both towards Matilda and her son. There could not fail to be on both sides a feeling that as they had all alike broken their faith to the Empress, so they might at any moment break their faith to each other just as lightly. But on one side the insecurity lay still deeper. Not only was the king not sure of his subjects; he was not sure of himself. How far Stephen was morally justified in accepting the crown after he had sworn fealty to another candidate for it is a question whose solution depends upon that of a variety of other questions which we are not bound to discuss here. Politically, however, he could justify himself only in one way: by proving his fitness for the office which he had undertaken. What he proved was his unfitness for it. Stephen, in short, had done the most momentous deed of his life as he did all the lesser ones, without first counting the cost; and it was no sooner done than he found the cost beyond his power to meet. A thoroughly unselfish hero, a thoroughly unscrupulous tyrant, might have met it successfully, each in his own way. But Stephen was neither hero nor tyrant; he was “a mild man, soft and good—and did no justice.”[744] His weakness shewed itself in a policy of makeshift which only betrayed his uneasiness and increased his difficulties. His first expedient to strengthen his position had been the unlucky introduction of the Flemish mercenaries; his next was the creation of new earldoms in behalf of those whom he regarded as his especial friends, whereby he hoped to raise up an aristocracy wholly devoted to himself, but only succeeded in provoking the resentment and contempt of the older nobility; while to indemnify his new earls for their lack of territorial endowment and give them some means of supporting their titular dignity, he was obliged to provide them with revenues charged upon that of the Crown.[745] But his prodigality had already made the Crown revenues insufficient for his own needs;[746] and the next steps were the debasement of the coinage[747] and the arbitrary spoliation of those whom he mistrusted for the benefit of his insatiable favourites.[748] They grew greedier in asking, and he more lavish in giving; castles, lands, anything and everything, were demanded of him without scruple; and if their demands were not granted the petitioners at once prepared for defiance.[749] He flew hither and thither, but nothing came of his restless activity;[750] he did more harm to himself than to his enemies, giving away lands and honours almost at random, patching up a hollow peace,[751] and then, when he found every man’s hand against him and his hand against every man, bitterly complaining, “Why have they made me king, only to leave me thus destitute? By our Lord’s Nativity, I will not be a king thus disgraced!”[752]