My Truth Lies in the Ruins

By Deborah Richmond Foulkes

My Truth Lies in the Ruins is a true story filled with adventure, romance and intrigue set among colorful landscapes of breath taking scenery: medieval castles, treacherous moats and wild lands of mist covered moors. These were the dangerous and unsettled times that followed the death of King Alexander in Scotland. Lord Douglas and his lady were in love, at peace raising their family in the Lowlands of their Douglasdale when King Edward invaded Scotland in 1296.

William le Hardi Douglas was a Crusader Knight, soldier of renown; a man of core values. Equally bold in love as well as war, he kidnapped his bride from Faside Castle and Edwards grasp. Le Hardi adhered to his truth, meeting death in the Tower of London for rebellion with William Wallace.

His stalwart wife Eleanora of Lovaine was a modern woman living in the 13thcentury. Lady Douglas bore the brunt of her husbands patriotism. Reduced to poverty by Edward for Williams martyred stand, she fought back; keeping her family together as they continued their fight for Scotlands National Independence. She raised three surviving sons: Hugh, Canonic Glasgow Cathedral, Archibald the Regent and Scotlands beloved knight the Good Sir James, the Black Douglas.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jun 21, 2004
• ISBN: 9781418412890

Deborah Richmond Foulkes

Deborah Richmond Foulkes, FSA Scot is a recognized historical researcher, spending nearly four years, taking over thirty-four trips to Scotland and England where she visited nearly every site mentioned her books on the medieval Douglas clan. She consulted hundreds of original sources at the National Archives in Scotland and England as well as compilations of original documents using a two year Readers Pass at the Library of Scotland, Edinburgh. As a Douglas descendant Dr. Foulkes is proud to share these exciting stories of her medieval ancestors as they fought for freedom during the Scottish Wars for National Independence. A North Carolina resident, she lives in North Raleigh with her husband Ed and her Scottish Deerhounds, Foxcliffe Celtic Arrow dlux and Foxcliffe Garnet Ace.

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© 2009 Deborah Richmond Foulkes. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 6/19/2009

ISBN: 978-1-4184-1289-0 (e)

ISBN: 978-1-4184-1288-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4184-1287-6 (hc)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2004090079

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

When I first decided to embark on a trip to Scotland in search of my family history, I could not possibly have imagined the outcome: a published book about the lives of these redoubtable, courageous, real life Scottish Patriots, the Douglases. Now that first book has become part one of a series known as The Douglas Trilogy.

Writing the story of these true heroes became my passion, a Spiritual journey as I felt led to discover the truth about these inspiring human beings. At every turn I was being helped; someone would enter my life that would assist me with the next step. During the times of doubt it was the encouragement of my husband Ed that came first to my aid. As the chapters filled the pages, the friendships I made in Scotland kept the fire kindled within me as well. I can not thank Jim and Jeanette Fleming of Douglas enough for the personal encouragement and true Scottish hospitality they shared with me; a friendship that will long endure. Jim also provided the foundation for my research through records kept at the Douglas Heritage Museum in Douglasdale. When I needed to see medieval sword fights, Hugh Robertson of Fire and Sword came to my assistance. He generously shared his knowledge of medieval Scotland through his own reenactments. His hero: James Douglas; I knew again, this was not by chance. Hugh went a step further; giving me honest commentary to my first drafts. Each of these wonderful people helped to instill a confidence that has carried me through the many challenging steps to final publication.

In subsequent trips to Scotland I met a Borders photographer named John Peters. Although I journeyed over thirty times to Scotland in the course of some three years of research, I was unable to obtain an acceptable photograph of each and every site to use in my books. John generously donated some images for My Truth and the sequels that followed to promote more interest in the beautiful Borders region of Scotland. John also acted as a Borders guide for me at times; leading me to such remote places as the Linhope Spout (Note: Forgive me; I still consider Northumbria part of Scotland though officially the lands were taken from the King of Scotland and given to the King of England in 1242). John’s exceptional photographs are available for purchase through his website: www.borderpics.co.uk

On an academic note I would like to acknowledge the following sources through a short list of some of the many books and references I used while I compiled the facts for My Truth. My research began at the libraries of Harvard University and the National Library of Scotland at Edinburgh where I was fortunate enough to obtain a three year Readers Pass. At these libraries I found 13th and 14th century records, the Rolls of the Pipe that included Fine Rolls, Calendars of Inquisitions Post Mortem and other translations of surviving documents and compilations that became the basis for validating the story. In addition to these translations, I located original documents at the National Archives at Kew, Surrey in England and at the National Archives of Scotland in Edinburgh; purchasing the rights to reproduce many records for my readers including the entire Ragman Roll of 1296; a copy of which I donated to the Douglas Heritage Museum, Douglas, Scotland.

I also built a personal library of many rare and antique books on medieval Scottish and English history in the process of my research. Here is a condensed version of some of the many fine references I consulted though it only scratches the surface of my full list of sources:

Chalmers’ Caledonia, three volumes

Exchequer Rolls of Scotland in four volumes

John Fordun’s Historians of Scotland

Peerage of Scotland, 1764 publication by Robert Douglas, with a

Douglas Cavers bookplate

John Froissart’s Chronicles of England France and Spain

Wyntoun’s Chronicles

The Douglas Book by William Fraser

Duncan’s Regesta Regum Scottorum V

The Brus by Archdeacon John Barbour

Historical Documents of Scotland and Illustrations of Scottish

History, Rev. Joseph Stevenson

Joseph Bain’s Calendar of Documents Relating to Scotland, in four volumes

Compilations of charters and documents of Ayrshire and Moray

Robertson’s Index of Charters

Histories of the County of Northumbria

Bower’s Scotichronicon

The Roll of Caerlaverock

Syllabus of Rymer’s Foedera

Ayloffe’s Calendar of Ancient Charters

History of the Family of Lindsay in three volumes

Maxwell’s translation of the Chronicle of Lanercost

Sir Thomas Gray’s Scalachronica

Many friends helped me along the way that I should like to acknowledge. Dennis and Evalie, Cinzia, Peggy Connolly, and Anne Sulli; you all have been invaluable for your words of support and encouragement.

And in Scotland, I want to give special thanks to the Rt. Honorable the Laird of Balgonie and Eddergoll, his wife Lady Margaret and son Stuart, Younger of Balgonie and of course the wee Scottish Deerhounds in residence at Balgonie Castle. I would be remiss if I did not include Sue Brash of Fa’side Castle for her many kindnesses. And for this updated 2009 edition I am pleased to add some images of Garleton Castle and Berwick on Tweed created by Andrew Spratt, the talented artist and Scottish historian who is presently the custodian of Dirleton Castle for Historic Scotland. Andrew is also known for his portrayal of the Douglas knight in medieval reenactments. His paintings are unique as he recreates these monuments from their ruins with his expert if not uncanny eye for every detail. Many websites host complete listings of Andrew’s castle reconstructions including the town of Maybole: http://www.maybole.org/history/castles/index.htm

There are two special friends in England that should be on this list. Sharon Hutton-Mayson of Woodham Ferrers and Brian A. Harrison FSA Scot, former Yeoman Warder and Honorary Archivist of the Tower of London, both provided encouragement as well as research assistance. I can not thank you all enough for your openness, generosity of information and kind sentiments that helped me steer the course.

From a Spiritual perspective there is one more group I would like to acknowledge. My special thanks to Robert Brown, John Edward, the late Marjory Kite, Suzane Northrop, Rita Berkowitz, John Holland, Muriel Tenant, Arja Helkio, Mia Johnson, Peggy Handy, Maureen Harrison Skinner, Valerie McColl along with Arthur C. Doyle, Elizabeth Cordis Foster, David Hopkins, and Guillelmo Duglas for the information they provided through their special talents.

Yours aye,

Dr. Deborah Richmond Foulkes, FSA Scot

Winthrop by the Sea, Massachusetts

13 April 2009, revised

Dedication

Willelmi, dominus de Duglas 1250 to 1298

Larry

1982 to 1999

Antiquities may be looked upon as the planks of a shipwreck which industrious and wise men gather and preserve from the deluge of time.

Sir Francis Bacon

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Drawing of the 1270 seal of Willelmi de Duglas; Selby Deeds

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Drawing of the 1296 seal of Willelmi, Dominus de Duglas from the Ragman Roll

This humble knight knows only to follow his truth; God’s own truth within him, held here in his heart.

William le Hardi, Lord Douglas

Contents

Acknowledgments

Part I 1286 to 1288

Douglas Castle, the ‘Good Sir James’ is born

Ayrshire, chance meeting at Girvan Paris

Travernent, Fawside Castle raid of the hear

Kelso, Wedding at the Abbey

Isle of Mann, Muriel is born

Douglas Castle, Willelmi dominus de Duglas

Part II 1289 to 1296

Fife, Murder and Baronial Court

Douglas Castle, Martha is born

Douglas Castle, John Douglas born

New Castle on Tyne, Fawdon Manor restored to Lord Douglas

Avoch, Visitng the Andrew de Morays in Highlands

Douglas Castle, Amy is born

Woodham Ferrers, Martha drowns in the moat

Ware, Hugh Douglas born in Hertfordshire England

Berwick on Tweed, King Edward Genocide of the Scots

Part III 1296 to1298

Hertford and Berwick, Hugh and Le Hardi released from prison

Douglas Castle, Archibald Douglas born

Douglas Castle, Lord Douglas plots rebellion with William Wallace

Douglas Castle, The Brus brings Fire and Sword to Douglasdale

Irvine Water, Capitulation; Ignoble Ruse of Sir Henry de Percy

London, Le Hardi held in ward at Beauchamp Tower

London, Crusader falsely accused and executed

Little Dunmow Priory, Burial for the martyred partriot

Part IV 1299 to 1203 and Epilogue

Woodham Ferrers, Dower restored to Eleanora de Ferrers Douglas

Stebbinge Park, Muriel Douglas betrothed

Scotland, Douglas and de Ferrers Manors visiting tenants

Stebbinge Park, Visions of Willelmi de Douglas

Glossary

Who’s Who, Historical Figures and Who They Were

Map of Scotland

Map of England

About the Author

Author’s Notes

Legend for Back Cover Photographs

Other books by

Dr. Deborah Richmond Foulkes, FSA Scot

THE DOUGLAS TRILOGY

In three volumes

In sequel to Book One

MY TRUTH LIES IN THE RUINS

IN THE SHADOW OF MY TRUTH

MY TRUTH A MIST IN TIME

AND

FOOTPRINTS OF WILLIAM

RESEARCHING NOW

MY TRUTH SOUL OF THE WARRIORS

Visit our website for further details on new releases

www.mytruthliesintheruins.com

My Truth

Lies in the Ruins

The House of Douglas

From the annals and peerages of the Great House of Douglas come the tales of one Sholto Du-glash, the swarthy skinned man who in 770 came to the aid of Solvathius, King of the Scots. This brave warrior soon claimed great victory over the fierce invader one Donald Bane. For this service he was royally rewarded by his King with lands given to him in Lanarkshire. This follows the story of one of his noble kin, the heir to the Douglas barony, William le Hardi, seventh Lord Douglas, fifth of his name, redoubtable in his courage and word, a man of core values; My Truth.

Part I

1286 to 1288

APRIL 1286, DOUGLAS, LANARKSHIRE, SCOTLAND-The year began with the good tidings of a son for Sir William le Hardi Douglas and his wife Elizabeth Steward. Le Hardi’s older brother Hugh was the Douglas Chief. Lord Hugh was alone in his lairdship, his wife Marjory de Abernathy had been interred at Saint Bride’s Kirk for nearly three decades; her effigy a sad reminder of the life they planned together when his brother William was but a knave. The birth of a male heir to Douglasdale was indeed good news to Hugh; a relief to know that the Douglas estates held in chief for centuries would remain in Douglas hands.

Sir Hugh served King Alexander during the Norwegian invasion into the Firth of Clyde in 1263 that ended on October 2nd of that year with the skirmish at Largs on the Ayrshire coast. The summer next brought Sir Hugh to Scotland’s western isles in the king’s service under the banners of Earl William of Mar; seeking the peace of Alexander, administering death to the traitors who encouraged the Norwegian invasion. Injuries from the old warrior’s service to his king weighed heavily on his physical health these days but Hugh hardly noticed the crippling pain as he joyously filled his hours preparing for the Douglas celebration honoring the birth of a male heir, James of Douglas.

The Chief was administering to his heralds in the great hall of Douglas Castle. One announcement would be delivered to his sister Willelma and her husband William de Galbrathe, grandson of the Comyn; the Godparents of young James. Another scroll would be dispatched by messenger on horseback to the Glasgow Cathedral to inform the prelate Robert Wishart who held the Douglas Kirk in his bishopric of the exciting news.

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Figure I-Part One; the House of Douglas

The wee lad was strong and thriving le Hardi noted as he found himself making plans with a purpose again. Sir William and Lady Elizabeth had been chosen for each other in their marriage; an arrangement to solidify the political alliance of two powerful families, the Douglases and the Stewards. However, since taking their obligatory vows in 1283, Elizabeth had grown to love William and though she was wary of his bold ways, mirroring his surname of le Hardi, she enjoyed his company. William was a kind and thoughtful husband. His love for his bride grew as did his respect for her courage. The couple had been married some three years but Elizabeth was a frail woman and had been unable to carry her previous babies to term. Refusing to accept failure, Elizabeth continued her quest to give birth to an heir for Douglasdale. And for her success she insisted on the privilege of naming the laddie James after her brother the High Steward. James was an unusual name even for the Steward Clan. It was derived from a patron saint of the family, James the Great. Elizabeth predicted that choosing a Steward moniker would change their luck. Little did she know that the name ‘James Douglas’ would one day take a prominent place in Scottish history.

But the happy delivery of a healthy baby boy to the proud parents was not the result of blind luck. Rather it was the culmination of extraordinary circumstances and unique training of the father that led to the child’s successful birth. After the couple lost two babies to mysterious ailments William le Hardi became obsessed with understanding the work of a physician. He documented the healing skills he learned in 1267 when he was a squire recovering from his near-mortal wounds at his father’s manor in Northumbria. He then reviewed his journals from 1271 when he was on Crusade in the Levant. In that strange land of the sun the squire was taught the ways of Alchemy healers.

Frustration drove the knight. The bitter disappointments of a still birth and a second child who failed to thrive brought him to new conclusions. He decided to combine the Alchemical approach learned in the Levant with the Celtic healing ways of his ancestors to form one single discipline. He was then told about an old Celtic woman name Margaret from the village of Douglas. Margaret was a reputed expert on the use of herbs in the traditions of the well respected 12th century abbess Hildegard. William firmly believed that if he learned those skills he could improve his wife’s chances for a successful birth.

Le Hardi devoted himself day and night to work with Margaret; studying herbs, collecting the plants to secure them in a small room within the vaulted cellars of the castle. The mysterious chamber remained the domain of the knight; a locked room built beneath one of the donjon towers that aligned the portcullis at the front gate of Douglas castle. Secluded near the old fireplace in the cellars used for smoking game, the chamber became the talk of servants as the door was bolted shut at all times. Everyone wondered why a knight of renown, a fierce warrior had become so fascinated by the art of healing.

More surprises awaited the Douglas household as Sir William announced his intention to not only look after his wife before the lay-in but also to be present during the birthing. Poor Elizabeth, the midwives moaned in sympathy, having a husband deliver the child was a most surprising event. And worse, many of the Douglas servants feared the warrior’s interference might cause God to anger, bringing harm to his wife and child. The maids gossiped, discussing the details of the lay-in in hushed whispers, expressing shock in the way le Hardi forced his bride to deliver the baby while lying down. The common practice in 13th century Scotland was for the mother to sit crouched on a birthing stool. Delivering a child from a prone position was considered dangerous.

William spoke to Elizabeth throughout the entire lay-in; telling her to remain calm; instructing her on how to take in air with rhythmic, deep breaths. When Lady Douglas asked questions he would explain the reasons behind each procedure. That our Margaret so had this knight to watch the animals delivering their young, William said. In a seemingly tranquilized position of comfort for the circumstances, they conserved their strength for the final push to release the wee one to the world. Le Hardi continued; sharing more of what he learned observing the stock animals. Child birthing is most dangerous enough for both mother and wean that hampering delivery with discomfort and fear only complicates things further.

Elizabeth patiently complied with William’s guidance, though she was still unsure of his knowledge. And her reward came quickly as he guided her through the birth of their beautiful son. As soon as the baby was born, William whisked the laddie away, but a minute old and still covered with the fluids of birth. The knight took James to the chapel next to the laird’s chamber to baptize the little boy himself. I christen thee in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, he said in Latin, then in Lallans, the language of lowland Scotland, just to be sure. He carefully held the laddie’s left hand, the ‘unblessed hand’ from the Holy water as was the ancient custom. Shield the hand that would hold the sword for Saint Michael’s army here on earth, the knight said out loud as he performed the ceremony. William chose the unblessed hand to be the same as his own, the left one, as his father had before him.

Then the knight carried his son down the turnpike stairs to his locked cellar room. Here he cleansed the child and rubbed his skin with oils and tonics just as Margaret directed him to do. The father stood back to admire the laddie; noticing for the first time the thick raven locks sitting up in tufts upon his wee head. What a miracle from God, William said with reverence for the moment. There now, young James, you are going to live a long and prosperous life. You will be a leader of men, a true Douglas; a tribute to your race, William said. A curious little boy you are James; so long and thin, with all that wild hair. What a little beast my son is most like a man grown, le Hardi said, adding a chuckle as he touched the jet black hair that nearly covered the boy’s entire back and most of his legs.

William returned to the lying-in chamber. Elizabeth was just about to fall off to sleep but seeing her husband and baby she eagerly leaned up to receive her son to her breast. Oh, William, I did not feel the pain as with those other births this time. You have worked wonders with your great magic. The new mother smiled as she spoke. Her words were barely audible but her happiness was unmistakable. Here, please drink this for me, the new father said as he handed her a tasine that he prepared in the cellar. You will need your strength to feed this hungry laddie, he added,

barely concealing his elation. He is doing his best to make us happy Elizabeth and he is a fighter.

William le Hardi took his leave quickly. The knight could barely contain his excitement as he made his way to the great hall. Hugh looked up as William burst into the chamber. A christening at our family kirk followed by a great feasting, aye those plans are ours to make now, he announced with bravado. It is fine news my little brother that you have brought this day. I will make the plans for this joyous occasion, Lord Hugh said, as he roared jubilantly. That our cousin Archibald will perform the Sacraments for the christening as priest of our Douglas Kirk, he said as he began to share the full of his plans. William at once felt humbled. He thanked his brother for making the extensive preparations. I must take some time to reflect on this day’s fine events. Please excuse me dear brother. He then quietly left the great hall to make his way to the parapet.

Image395.JPG

Figure II-Part One; Dundonald Castle, Ayrshire; birthplace of Elizabeth Steward

The new father climbed the turnpike stairs of the battlemented keep to reach his private place where he did his important thinking. As William sat down he began to pray in solemn tribute to Saint Bride; thanking her for sharing her knowledge of healing. He then praised his God for giving him the opportunity to travel to the Levant that fostered his study of Alchemy. As his eyes followed the winding path of the Douglas Water below, the knight reflected on his life’s journey. A true path, God’s own will for His most humble servant leading to this glorious day. So strange the fate of life and what it brings, he mused.

William reminisced of how he first learned of Celtic healing; skills he acquired as a youth during his convalescence at Fawdon. He was just a young squire in 1267, living at his father’s manor in Northumbria when on the evening of Saint Margaret, the 19th July Gilbert de Umfraville attacked their household with one-hundred men of Redesdale. His father, William 5th Lord Douglas was captured and taken to Harbottle castle and held for eleven days. The attackers set three fires, burning the smaller dwellings and breaking in windows and doors; stealing swords, money, gold jewelry and other goods, not only from Lord Douglas and his second wife Constancia but also from their servants and vassals. The booty was valued at over £100 and was finally recovered months later in a lawsuit before the King’s Bench.

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Figure III-Part One; Douglas Castle mid 19th century; note the partial digging out of the motte under the ruined tower known as Castle Dangerous

But the worst of the attack fell on young William. As the commotion of armed horse descended upon the manor women screamed in fear and men at arms shouted in defiance, waking the squire as he slept in his private chamber. William bolted to action, making haste towards the great hall of the tower as further shrieks of hostility emanated from the floors below. Unfortunately in his fearless, instinctive response to the invasion the younger Douglas neglected to put on his armor; the gambeson or quilted cote with his mail remained in the squire’s war-chest; leaving him vulnerable to attack. As he bolted down the turnpike stairs he suddenly stopped. Entering the laird’s empty chamber William decided to arm himself with his father’s old standard, a one-handed sword capable of thrusting and cutting. As he was leaving the room, he noticed Lord Douglas’ prized tournament shield hanging on the wall and propitiously added that to his defense as well.

William then cautiously entered the great hall, becoming aware of a strange quiet. Two small tallow torches burned evening low, creating shadows that danced about the chamber. On the far wall the large fireplace glowed in the amber hues of spent peat; flickering now and then with a soft golden light. Suddenly an armed marauder burst into the hall. The Redesdale man was carrying an axe. Holding his right arm in the ready the soldier moved in on William only to become his first victim. The Douglas squire fended off the blow with his father’s tournament shield. Then he lunged forward and made a cutting stroke vertically with his left hand. Blood shot past the cross of the sword as William made contact. Cutting the neck through, he nearly severed the intruder’s head from the cord. The man fell backwards, gurgling through a thick, clear fluid mixed with red blood. The Redesdale man became a lifeless heap as death filled his eyes in a grotesque swoon.

Barely catching his breath William turned towards the sound of the chamber door creaking open again as a second man entered the hall. The warrior was gripping a long knife in his right hand with a small shield in the left. A fierce exchange of cuts and thrusts followed when young William gained an advantage. He made a final diagonal, left to left upward cut, striking the attacker in the groin. The crippling blow allowed the younger Douglas to finish off his opponent quickly. It was then that William realized he had sustained a deep cut on his left shoulder and a ‘lang’ gash on his arm. Nothing life-threatening, he scoffed; looking around the great hall to survey his accomplishments.

But there was little time to bask in his glory as another attacker armed with a sword was racing through the open door of the chamber. William righted himself as this third man was quickly upon him. Both warriors approached the other in exaggerated, stealth-like moves as if carefully studying the other before their tourneying would commence. William feigned an attack from the high guard position. While watching the reaction of his opponent he then made a sudden, strong cut. The Redesdale man countered with his shield, only he did not return it to the middle guard position. A fatal flaw in his training William noted.

Warding off the opponent’s thrust, parrying with his shield, sparks flew as metal hit metal in the dim glow of the great hall. William made his counterattack, cutting deeply into the man’s right hand, crushing the small bones beneath the steel. The invader’s hand dangled strangely at the wrist; the blow rendering it useless for the fight. William stumbled over the body of the second man as this third attacker pulled out a knife held behind his shield. Summoning all his strength, using his remaining left hand he cut William, creating an open gash that ran from his cheekbone across the earlobe and down his neck. That was the warrior’s last living act. William righted himself; paused slightly and with a steady, slow attack initiated his strike; blending his body’s momentum with his weapon, he made a precise,

clean, killing cut.

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Figure IV-Part One; Fawdon on the River Breamish near Ingram, Northumbria; some of these buildings were once part of the mains of Fawdon Manor

William looked around for more of the Redesdale attackers. It was only then that he noticed the warmth of his own blood soaking through his silk cote. The squire knew the shoulder wound was deep and could have been prevented. William chastised himself for his impatience to get to the battle. Never again to rush to tourneying without time to put on my gambeson and mail, he vowed. The throbbing in his neck was becoming a dull headache. He began to surmise that the injury might have other ramifications than just a cut in the skin. Pulling himself forward the Douglas squire stumbled his way down the turnpike stairs leading to the kitchen. William was exhausted from the battles. And the injuries he sustained were draining the rest of his strength. Descending the turnpike stairs took all his resolve not to collapse.

The squire was a bloody sight and wobbly at best as he arrived in the kitchen. He found Hugh already there receiving treatment for his wounds. The older Douglas looked up to see his brother staggering towards him. It was hard not to notice the ugly gash on William’s cheekbone. The facial injury was covered with blood and dirt and required immediate attention Hugh decided so he suspended his own treatments to further inspect the squire’s wounds. The neck injury was soaking through William’s silk cote on the left side while the shoulder gash was dripping blood down the right sleeve. Hugh’s shocked expression nearly betrayed his fears. William, we must see to the wound on your face, Hugh said quietly; trying to cover up his concern with a controlled response.

The cook nodded in agreement and grabbed for a poker used in roasting game on the spit. He placed the iron directly into the flames of the cooking fire. The old kitchener’s plan was to use the heated metal like a cautery iron: to seal and cleanse the wound on the open cheekbone. From the kitchen stores the cook returned with a poultice of herbs to deaden the intense pain before applying the iron now aglow in red and white hues. The lad would have a nasty scar there, if he lived, the old man said to himself. Even with the special application of the pain-deadening herbs, the burning sensations from the iron were excruciating but William barely allowed himself to wince as the cook applied the cautery seal to the bared cheekbone. Hugh then completed the procedure by applying maggots; a treatment that would assist in preventing putrefaction.

The other injuries, the large gash on his shoulder and the cut on his arm were both painful and deep; requiring stitching to close the wounds. The more serious damage to the squire proved to be in hidden neck damage. Lingering pains that manifested into bouts of severe headaches stayed with the squire for the remainder of his life as his enduring memory of the Fawdon encounter. William sat in silence in the kitchen; gathering his thoughts. He felt weakened not only by his wounds but also by the cook’s surgical remedies. At least there would be no blood letting, there was none left, he mused. The seventeen year old squire faded into unconsciousness.

William’s wounds healed slowly and his successful convalescence required him to lay motionless for weeks. A Celtic speywife named Bridie was assigned his care. She treated the open cuts with an array of herbs and salves. Wearing a silk cote proved to be to the squire’s advantage as other garments made of linen would have left fibers in the flesh that caused infection. William’s often maligned vanity of attire aided him, he reflected during one of his longer days of required inactivity; the silk surcote had kept his wound clean.

The squire’s remarkable recovery continued, carefully directed by Bridie. The lady had been a member of the Douglas household since William’s mother died when he was six. Even as a trusted healer the lass had her hands full treating the injured warrior. William was an impatient young man before his convalescence and his stormy recuperation became an ordeal for nearly everyone at Fawdon manor. Only Bridie was reprieved from his fits of frustration.

William learned about the art of Celtic herb healing as his health improved. His fight for survival from the life threatening wounds also earned his sobriquet. Le Hardi is what this father shall know you by, Lord Douglas announced; praising his youngest offspring for his determination. A name that will warn all others of your strength and courage from this true challenge; to be most wary of the heart that beats within you; a father’s true hero and brave son, he said.

The healing skills learned from Bridie became the basis for further study when William sought adventure three years later. He left on Crusade with his cousin Andrew de Moray in 1270 at the age of twenty; in search of the mysteries of the Levant. Still a squire le Hardi served under the banners of Earl Adam of Carrick and his brother the Earl of Fife. These Crusaders pledged their lives in battle to defend the Holy Sepulcher and traveled as part of the Scottish contingency sent by King Alexander to assist Prince Edward. The Scots arrived in Acre and almost immediately William found himself working with exotic herbs and strange healing concepts. He immersed himself in the Arabic language; studying with the Templar Knights. He copied and then translated the treatises of the strange race who described healing techniques related to the land of Khem called Alchemy. It was here and later in the Levant, the strange land of the sun that le Hardi learned advanced techniques to treat the injured and heal the sick.

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Figure V-Part One; Ruins of one tower are all that remain of the once mighty fortress of Douglas Castle; flood waters from local mining linger in the foreground near the Douglas Water that runs unseen behind the tower

William le Hardi’s healing work did not go unnoticed while he was on Crusade. One summer evening in 1271 after Prince Edward arrived at the citadel of the Knights Hospitaller in Acre there was a brief skirmish with the Mamluks. A young knight was injured. The warrior’s wounds were in the abdomen and the English physicians felt the injury was fatal. But William worked well into the night and over the next several days on his patient. Surprisingly the knight recovered. Edward Plantagenet heard the story and inquired as to the identity of the healer. He is a Scot, his varlet replied. The squire is the younger son of one of your father’s subjects in Northumbria. The family also holds lands in chief in the Scottish Lowlands; Lanarkshire and Roxburghshire or so this humble vassal has been told.

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Figure V(a)-Part one; 1270 Image of William le Hardi’s seal from the Selby deeds; the squire sold some lands in Northumbria that he held with his father William Long Leg to pay for his Crusade in the train of Adam Kilconcath, Earl of Carrick; described as a head cut at the neck, exhibiting a little Douglas humor as le Hardi was depicted in 1268 court documents as mangled from the attack where the Redesdale men at arms nearly cut his head off during the 1267 raid on Fawdon Manor; the seal design distinguishes him from the father who used the three stars in chief

Lord Edward made mental note of the Scot and the oddities of his talents. William was a fierce combatant on the battlefield as he attended his knight yet a gentle giant of a man when healing his fellow warriors. Well over six feet four inches tall with a large menacing frame and huge hands, le Hardi made quite a stir among the other healers as he was the epitome of incongruity. That such a warrior can transform himself as if by magic, a physician said. A tourneyer by day wildly and boldly cutting his way through the barriers of human flesh in battle, to lay-waste anyone in his path but with the setting of the sun to become a calming, disciplined healer; treating the injured with a gentle touch.

It was only now, this day in April of 1286 that Le Hardi finally came to understand the meaning of the many challenges he had faced in his life. He peered through the old crenelles of the Douglas tower as he had done hundreds of times before. As he looked down towards the moorlands and the jutting shoreline of the moat that formed the defenses of the castle he marveled at the beauty of his family’s estates as if seeing the landscape for the first time. William watched the glow of the mist forming in the valley of the Clyde as it blanketed the soft grey brume of the countryside. He felt the emotions swell within him. The new father sighed at the majesty that was his homeland; watching contentedly from his favorite viewing place. There in the darkness as it drew shadows over the spring growth of the meadows Sir William le Hardi Douglas stood, allowing the peaceful approach of the gloaming to envelope him as the daylight retired.

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Figure VI-Part One; Elizabeth Steward as she might have appeared in 1286; first wife of William le Hardi and the mother of James

Suddenly the stillness was broken by the wee sounds of a mavis, a song thrush not often heard that late in the day William reflected. Perhaps a sign from God, heralding the birth of our James, he said chuckling to himself. The knight made a mental note to always think of the peace of that moment when he heard a moor bird sing her song. A brief look to the south revealed a light rain beginning to fall over the Douglas Water. Deciding to take his leave of the parapet walk while still dry, the Crusader turned father happily made his way to the turnpike stairs and down towards the great hall two floors below. My path, God’s own truth for me; what miracles have been provided that I might deliver my own son this day, William said, rejoicing in James’ birth. A son, I have a son, he proclaimed. What a wonderful day this; praise be to God and the good Saint Bride, the patron saint of healers, he said as he made his way down the turnpike stairs.

It was then that the knight recalled his father’s good counsel: "With a death, comes a birth, it is the Celtic way my son. William reflected for a moment. His words so true to me now, he said thoughtfully. Barely a few weeks had gone by since King Alexander had died. He was returning from the Castle of Maidens and was killed. Some Scots believed his death was an accident. The king had insisted on defying the storm; crossing the Firth of Forth to return to side of his young bride who was staying at Dumfermline. Alexander’s blood-soaked body was found at the bottom of a ravine the next day; his injured palfrey not far from his side. William suspected the accident was man-made. It takes a king to kill a king, he said to himself. This knight most fears our Golden Age of Scotland is about to mirror the fate of our late and most missed king. To bow to a new master, I do wonder some. As William approached the great hall he pondered another question. Is our James so crossed in birth with the death of our great Prince to be at the center of this new challenge to our freedom?"

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Figure VII-Part One; the old Blacksmith shop in Groby Village; further photos of the village are available at Mike Pratt’s Groby website: www.groby.org.uk

Eleanora set out for a ride that afternoon on her mare Winter Rose, a beautiful horse of commanding size and grace with the noble palfrey gait. She used a man’s saddle for comfort fashioned with a custom side foot rest to ride side saddle as ladies in the 1280’s were beginning to do more frequently. But Eleanora only traveled that way with Lord de Ferrers. An excellent horsewoman, Lady de Ferrers’ equestrian skills brought praise from her grandmother Muriel who would often remind the girl that such expertise was a necessity for a lady of station in the 13th century. As Eleanora rode now through Stebbinge Park she sighed to remember her grandmother’s strong spirit. With my Gran now with God that I only have my mother and dear Ana left to love, she said wistfully. Ana had joined Eleanora as her maid in wait when she was first married to Lord Ferrers and living at Stebbinge Park. A close relationship developed between the two women almost immediately and only deepened over the ensuing years.

Eleanora of Lovaine was a young girl of only thirteen when William de Ferrers’ first wife died in child-bed. Lord Lovaine saw an opportunity in 1281 and arranged for the marriage of his daughter Eleanora to Sir William de Ferrers or ‘sold her to de Ferrers’ as she would often say. The knight was a nobleman twenty-eight years her senior; a contemporary of her father, with a daughter the age of his new bride. Eleanora loathed her husband and found his demeanor harsh and condescending. She held nothing in common with him. In self-defense she filled her days riding her horse up the short distance from Stebbinge to her mother’s manor in Little Easton. Her father Lord Lovaine was King Edward’s Steward of Eye. A stern man, he spent most of his days in Eye or at his nearby manor in Bildeston. A typical English lord, Matthew Lovaine had little time for a daughter. In truth, Eleanora believed that it was better when her father stayed in Suffolk so she and her mother could spend some happy times together.

The ladies of Lovaine relished their private adventures. Taking their amblers from the stables they went on long rides together; finding some beautiful place to stop to enjoy their meat pies and wine while chattering away about the gossip at Court. On days when her mother was away visiting Lord Lovaine, Eleanora rode alone in Stebbinge. And she always felt safe. Her husband’s vassals were very protective of her; keeping a watchful eye out as the lord’s young wife rode her palfrey through the winding cart paths of the vast estate. Eleanora marveled at the many people that came out just to greet her. These were the tenants that resided in the twenty messuages and ten tofts with dwelling houses and outer buildings; making up the over 1200 acres of arable lands, pastures and woodlands of Stebbinge. What a glorious manor, she said, reflecting happily on her good providence to live there.

The early years of marriage had been terrifying to Eleanora. The young woman was so unlike her older cousin, Lord de Ferrers’ first wife, that he all but despised her. William de Ferrers married Anne Despenser around the time his second wife Eleanora was born. Lady Anne was then a widow closer to his age. She bore him a male heir and a daughter. Anne was also Eleanora’s older cousin and the granddaughter of Hawise Lovaine, Lord Matthew Lovaine’s sister. When Anne passed to spirit Lord de Ferrers sought to find a younger bride to provide him more heirs. At the suggestion of Matthew Lovaine, the great uncle of Anne Despenser, William de Ferrers married Eleanora of Lovaine, the thirteen year old cousin of his late wife. The old knight quickly found the marriage to the younger girl very unsettling. She was strong willed and independent beyond her years. Well educated, Eleanora could speak and write in several languages including Norman French, Latin and Inglis. She also understood the monetary affairs of the manor.

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Figure VIII-Part One; Map of Woodham Ferrers courtesy of Landmark Information Group; main manor house near Thrift Wood was Woodham Ferrers Hall now Woodham Hall; Woodham Ferrers Priory called Bicknacre Priory today is shown at the top of the map

Certainly Eleanora was not the little girl Lord de Ferrers could dominate and control, as he had hoped when he wed her in 1281. His failing health and tendencies to over imbibe made his attempts to consummate the marriage less than successful. And his anger at his inability to perfect the union made him lash out at Eleanora in rages and fits of pique that erupted during the middle of the night and frightened the household servants for her very life.

One terrorizing night Ana found Eleanora crouching in a corner of her room as she sobbed uncontrollably. A pool of blood was forming at her feet from a cut under her right eye. Oh my lamb, don’t worry yourself, that beast of a husband of yours has gone back to Groby, Ana said as she comforted the girl; rocking her slowly back and forth while she cradled the young woman in her broad arms. Why does he hate me so Ana? Eleanora asked between deep sobs that shook her body. I would try to like him, but he only beats me. He is so unkind. What did I do to make him so quarrelsome? Oh, dear sweet God, please save me from this life. Finally as the years passed, Lord de Ferrers stopped coming to Stebbinge. He would send for his wife to join him at Woodham Ferrers and she would reluctantly go. On some occasions there would be a huge party planned to entertain some of his friends and kin from London, Groby, Derbyshire or even as far north as Staffordshire. Eleanora was always a wonderful hostess and Sir William seemed to accept that as her role. Then within a few days of the lord’s arrival he would abruptly depart. Ana would come to her lady’s chamber and gleefully announce that Lord de Ferrers had left for Groby, giving them permission to pack up for their return to Stebbinge.

Woodham Ferrers never had the ambiance that Stebbinge provided for the lady. She didn’t like the moat that more than half surrounded the manor house and felt uneasy with the strange hidden staircase and secret passage that reportedly led from the house to the Woodham Ferrers Priory. The passageway dated to early Norman times. Eleanora surmised that is was used an escape to safety; much the same as the one leading from the church in Little Easton to her father’s manor house. In the early days after the conquest bands of marauders frequently blanketed the countryside laying siege to manors outside of London. Through Ana the de Ferrers’ servants eventually shared the truth of the mysterious underground pathway. They confirmed that the old lord, Sir William’s father had a consort living in the priory confines. He would visit the young woman in secret; slipping past his men at arms discreetly through the passageway.

For these strange circumstances Eleanora seldom ventured far from the main dwelling of the manor; feeling uneasy if not unsafe in parts of the estate. Only the church in the village offered her solace. Father John, the priest at Saint Mary’s was young and he always made it a point to call on her when she arrived back at Woodham Ferrers Hall. She was faithful to the church and found the priest’s presence a real comfort in her life; like Ana, Father John was someone she could trust and rely upon for support.

Weeks had passed since Eleanora’s eighteenth birthday. Ana had given her a little party. Several of the household servants and her friend Alice from Hertford were there to surprise her. Alice was a cousin of the de Ferrers but her demeanor was completely opposite Sir William’s persona.

She was sweet and kind and gentle and the best friend Eleanora had in the world now that her mother was spending more time in Bildeston. These two young noble ladies would travel the cart paths of Woodham Ferrers sharing their fantasies; dreams of adventures with bold knights rescuing them from their dreary lives. Riding with Alice made the days pleasant for Eleanora. She was glad for her friends; few as they were, they helped her forget the cold chill of her marriage bed.

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Figure IX-Part One; Cherubs on 13th century pillars are still visible in Saint Mary’s Church Woodham Ferrers

Another year passed into the next and nothing much had changed from Eleanora’s perspective. The year was 1287 and Eleanora had recently enjoyed another birthday much as the last. She was feeling her age she told Ana. Nineteen years and nothing to show for it; I feel so ancient. The older woman chuckled to herself. Oh child, you are barely a girl so don’t go fretting your life away. Where would you like to be for Christmas? Ana asked, trying to change the subject. I would like to stay in Stebbinge Park. Do you know where Lord de Ferrers will be? Ana shook her head and then looked away. It pained her so to see the child so neglected by her husband; a woman with so much love in her heart; surely she would make some younger lord a loving wife Ana thought to herself.

Eleanora and Alice were engaged in their happy chatter as they returned to Woodham Ferrers Hall from yet another brisk tour around the wood farm. The lady from Hertford had become a constant figure at the Essex manor since the early summer. The girls had filled their days much the same; sharing the gossip of Court and tales of daring young knights in tournament. The daylight hours were growing shorter now as the fall rolled into winter. The sun was fading earlier in the day so the girls rode more quickly to finish their ride before the darkness swallowed up the landscape. Returning up the cart path from the old priory the ladies entered the gates of the manor and were surprised to see a group of men on horseback dismounting their amblers near the drawbridge of the moat. Eleanora recognized one of the riders immediately. He was her priest from Saint Mary’s church in the village.

Ana ran out as she saw her girls approach the manor house to tell Eleanora the news. Lord de Ferrers is gravely ill. Escorts had been dispatched to bring Lady de Ferrers to the Priory of Ware. Sir William was staying in the old Alien or French Benedictine priory situated within his Hertfordshire manor that was left to him by his mother. Lady Eleanora accepted the request to attend her husband as a matter of course; it was her duty. She bid Ana to prepare for their journey immediately. Alice lived close by in Hertford just over the Ware Bridge and decided to journey with the de Ferrers’ party when they departed the next morning.

It was more than a day’s journey in good weather, but the skies had opened up and the rains poured down upon the travelers as the winds howled eerily in concert to the grime procession. Eleanora insisted on stopping near Chelmsford, just north of Writtle, for the night. They stayed at her mother’s manor in Little Easton at the end of the second day. When the party finally reached Hertfordshire the third afternoon, Lord de Ferrers was already dead. Eleanora and Ana sat in her chamber and just looked at each other. I can’t cry for him Ana, the young widow said. I only feel relief and for the first time since my wedding day I can sleep in my bed without fear of his coming in during the middle of the night to hurt me.

Ana hugged Eleanora. There will be new adventures for us now my lamb, she said with confidence. Where they would go did not matter to Ana. She too felt relieved by de Ferrers’ death. There would be changes for her girl and opportunities to find love. Lady de Ferrers smiled as she began to reflect on her future. If only those silly, girlish fantasies shared with Alice not so long ago could come true: to be rescued by some handsome, chivalric knight on a beautiful destrier. Ah, what joys might yet be mine, she said hopefully.

DOUGLASDALE, SCOTLAND-It was more than a year since William’s wife Elizabeth had died. William had barely left her side for the months following the birth of James. With their walks and rides through Douglasdale, the couple enjoyed the spring and summer days together, as their young son thrived. Then in mid July a pressing estate matter in Northumbria took William away from Lanarkshire. Richard de Brus, oldest son of the Lord of Annandale was disputing water rights and boundaries with the Lord of Fawdon. The estate had been held by William’s father since 1226. In his will William Long Leg left that Northumbrian manor in 1274 to his youngest son Sir William le Hardi. Now in the summer of 1287 Richard Brus who held the adjoining messuage stopped the flow of water to the Douglas manor. An assize was called to settle the disagreement. William won the case before the King’s Bench but it took several months to settle and kept him separated from Lady Elizabeth during a critical time.

When William finally returned to Douglasdale he found his bride in late term, again with child. Taking to my bed as a precaution, she told him. But in just a few short weeks the chilling winter of 1286 had begun, bringing howling winds and an early snow to the Scottish Lowlands. Elizabeth felt her lungs fill with fluids more each day; then she began to sink into fits brought on by fevers. She fought for her life and that of her baby, just five months growing within her. But Elizabeth carried her child with her to the Heavens of her God and William became a widower, a father alone with his infant son. Even Margaret and this knight’s good healing could not save my dear bride and wee son, the grieving husband said out loud. Why has God most sought to take my wife and child?

The next twelve months were a blur of activity for William. Elizabeth’s passing left le Hardi devastated. A gentle lady with an intriguing mind she challenged William in ways a woman never had before, except perhaps his mother Martha. Elizabeth Steward was also a great beauty with sensuous green eyes and striking red hair reminiscent of her Celtic lineage. And her kind ways filled their days with a tenderness that William had never known before.

Now the widower was feeling lonely for the first time since his mother had died in 1256. Would God provide him with another wife? The ugly facial scars from his battles at Fawdon made him shy with women. And he realized that unless he could find a wife who would love James as her own son he knew he should not marry. William looked in on the little boy sleeping in the nursery. Oh James, we can not stay alone now; we need the sound of a woman’s sweet voice and the gentleness of her touch to welcome in the new day. I have my work to do my son, to find us a wife and mother to brighten our lives again.

With the expected thaw of January approaching William decided that a special hunting trip with some of the knights from the Douglas parish was in order. He invited his brother-in-law, James’ Godfather to join them. The knight accepted, adding twenty to their number with his men at arms from Dalserf. This adventure will put an end to my winter moodiness, le Hardi vowed. While hunting for game was a daily part of the activities of the castle, this trip would have more flourish and hopefully more variety of sport. William informed Hugh that morning that he would ride to some of his lands in Ayrshire near the parish of Girvan with some of their men at arms and set up temporary lodgings for his hunting party.

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Figure X-Part One; Map of Douglas courtesy of Landmark Information Group; the Doom Tree is noted below left of the ruins, a tree the good citizens of Douglas boast to have easily accommodated ‘seven Englishmen for hanging’ and all at once

Fresh game and maybe a wild boar would brighten our nightly feasts, the younger Douglas boasted as he shared his plans for adventure. Nothing else at present that would cheer me more than a full belly of meat and good wine, Hugh agreed. The old warrior was glad his brother was going away for a few weeks. The strain of his moods was taking its toll on the household but the Douglas laird could sympathize. When his Marjory passed he would go for days without leaving his chamber. A good woman brings laughter and love to a castle, Hugh reminded himself. If only William could find a bride for his bed, the old laird speculated in thought. Hugh knew that he was too old now to remarry as the scars of battle tugged at his every breath. Some days he could barely rise to make it down the lang stairs to the great hall. Lord Hugh didn’t share his most recent bout of fatigue and ill health with his brother. William would come to know soon enough, he mused. "This is a wonderful idea William, take what you need. We will be happy to see you back in a few weeks.

DECEMBER 1287, ESSEX-Eleanora de Ferrers and John le Parker were meeting in Hertford with her late husband’s solicitors. She was given some coinage, mostly silver, for expenses of travel and an inventory of the Scottish estates Margaret de Quincy had left her youngest son, Sir William de Ferrers. De Quincy also settled the manors of Stebbinge and Woodham Ferrers in Essex upon her son. These two major estates would become part of Eleanora’s dower lands. The king of England was in Gascony so he made temporary provisions for Eleanora’s sustenance. He ordered the two English manors to be held by Lady de Ferrers in tenancy until he assigned dower to her; an official procedure that was legally required and quite awkward to complete with the king out of the country. The official order for temporary tenancy was issued on 20 January 1288 to Henry de Bray, escheator ‘this side of the Trent’ to complete the action. Eleanora was also required to sign an oath to her liege lord Edward to not remarry without his consent and license; a promise recorded in documents witnessed by two knights of the shire in the presence of her solicitors.

The Countess de Ferrers, Eleanora’s mother-in-law had left many other properties to her late son. In addition to the Essex manors, Margaret de Quincy had held the vast estates of Groby and Ware, lands in Frating and Fairstead with many other messuages and tofts in other English shires. These lands would be held in ward for the lady’s grandchildren by Eleanora’s kin, Nicholas de Segrave. Eleanora questioned the odd situation of the manor of Ware. The manor was held by her husband though Lord de Ferrers gave the manor to his uncle Robert de Quincy while he remained the overlord. Now the manor would be held in ward by Queen Eleanor for John Wake, grandson of Robert yet a minor. Thusly, this manor will not be part of your dower, the solicitors informed the widow.

The remaining lands of the de Quincy estate were extensive and resided in Scotland, being the same holdings that caused so many lawsuits tying up the English courts for years following the death of Roger de Quincy, Constable of Scotland and father of Margaret and her two sisters. Eleanora would have to go before Scotland’s Guardians to request an assignment of dower before these lands could be delivered to her. She was confident about that task as two of the Guardians were her kin: Earl Duncan of Fife and the Comyn. I am going to Scotland, she kept saying. I am leaving Essex behind, this is my new life. And I will take God’s true gifts of joy and freedom to venture forth into the wilds of the kingdome of the north

Ana was waiting in the anteroom of the solicitors’ offices while the others in their party were still back at the Ware manor waiting her return. Eleanora handed le Parker the coinage to add to her coffer and the estate documents they would need. The seneschal had managed the finances of the Essex manors for Sir William de Ferrers over the last five years. And since le Parker’s family