A king’s fatal fall and the death of his young heir left Scotland facing a bitter struggle over the crown. Robert Turnbull traces how Edward I’s intervention in the Great Cause brought John Balliol to the throne and turned a succession dispute into a contest over Scotland’s independence.
By Robert Turnbull
A modern-day traveller crossing the Firth of Forth will probably be unaware of the momentous history beneath their feet as their train hurtles towards the ancient kingdom of Fife, but if ever one man’s carnal desires could be said to have changed the course of history, then the events of March 19 1286 are forever woven into the tapestry of England and Scotland. For it was in this place that the destiny of England and Scotland, the lion and the unicorn, was irrevocably changed with the death of King Alexander III of Scotland following a fall from his horse.
A fatal ride through the storm
Alexander III depicted in a fifteenth-century illustration from Walter Bower’s Scotichronicon.
The chroniclers tell us that it was a foul late winter’s night with heavy rain and strong winds lashing the Firth. In the Great Hall of Edinburgh Castle, King Alexander III of Scotland (1241–1286) was feasting and drinking with his cronies. Fueled by bonhomie and alcohol, Alexander suddenly announced to his startled guests that he wanted to visit his wife, Yolland de Dreux, who was then on the opposite side of the river at Kinghorn Manor in Fife. Despite his entourage’s pleas that the journey was too dangerous, Alexander refused to listen. Galloping through Edinburgh’s cobbled streets, he reached the Queensferry crossing. The Lanercost Chronicle takes up the story:
When he arrived at the village near the crossing, the ferry master warned him of the danger and advised him to go back, but when the king asked him in return whether he was afraid to die with him: “By no means,” quoth he, “it would be a great honour to share the fate of your father’s son.” Thus, he arrived at the burgh of Inverkeithing in profound darkness. The manager of his saltpans, a married man of that town, recognising him by his voice, called out, “My lord, what are you doing here in such a storm and such darkness? Often have I tried to persuade you that your nocturnal rambles will bring you no good. Stay with us, and we will provide you with decent fare and all that you want till morning light.” “No need for that,” said the other with a laugh, “but provide me with a couple of bondmen to go afoot as guides to the way…”
What happened next is shrouded in the mists of time, but it is easy to imagine Alexander, intoxicated by alcohol, the promise of a warm bed, and the thought of his wife, galloping along the shore towards Kinghorn Manor at breakneck speed along treacherous cliffs. At some point, his horse panicked, and Alexander was thrown 200 feet onto the cliffs below, the fall breaking his neck. A search party found him the next morning. Scotland was now without a king; the MacMalcolm dynasty had ended, and given the circumstances, the nation could easily have slid into civil war.
A Kingdom Without an Heir
The repercussions of Alexander’s death would reverberate down the centuries. Alexander had fathered two sons: David, who had died in 1281, and Alexander, who had died in 1284. The deceased king’s daughter, Margaret, had also died in 1283, having married King Eric II of Norway (1268–1299). The child of that marriage, also named Margaret, now heir to the Scottish crown, was betrothed to Edward of Caernarfon (1284–1327), son of Edward I, King of England, but as a three-year-old child she could not take the throne, and so a number of what were termed “guardians” took on the governance of Scotland in her absence. Despite later attempts by allies of the Bruce faction, such as Fordun and Bower, to discredit the efforts of the guardians during this period, the arrangement seems to have worked quite well, and in September of 1290, Margaret sailed from Norway for her marriage to Edward of Caernarfon. It was not to be. On her way to Scotland, she became sick, and she died in Orkney in September 1290, aged just seven.
Margaret’s death plunged Scotland into a constitutional crisis and left the guardians with only one option. This was to ask Edward I to adjudicate among the various claimants to the Scottish throne (of which there were many), or “the competitors,” as they were known, some of whom had stronger claims than others. Michael Prestwich, in his biography of Edward I, lists Nicholas de Soules, William de Ros, and William de Vescy, through the illegitimate line of Alexander II, as well as the claims of John Balliol (1249–1314), Robert Bruce (grandfather of the victor of Bannockburn), and John Hastings.
Who had the right to rule Scotland?
In feudal law, the principle of primogeniture did not apply to daughters, so all three men had a legitimate claim. There were also competing claims advanced by Florence, Count of Holland, Robert de Pinkeney (through the daughters of Henry, Earl of Northumberland), John Comyn, and even Eric of Norway. It was a constitutional and legal nightmare, but in reality, Robert Bruce and John Balliol had the strongest claims.
In theory, the decision to ask Edward I to adjudicate made perfect sense. He was Margaret’s great-uncle and, at the age of 50, was at the peak of his mental and physical powers. He was an imposing and ruthless ruler who later gained the nickname of “Longshanks” on account of his height; more tellingly, he was also called Malleus Scotorum, “The Hammer of the Scots.” The son of Henry III, he became king in 1272 and was said to have a fine legal mind, which led to his being called the “English Justinian” after the famed Eastern Roman Emperor.
Edward I’s Demand for Overlordship
Edward I of England depicted in an 1297–98. The image comes from a memoranda roll held by The National Archives (E368/69m 54d).
After lengthy discussions with his advisors, Edward concluded that the matter should be resolved by him in his capacity as feudal overlord of Scotland, and so various members of the clergy were dispatched to find information “Touching in any way our realm and the rule of Scotland.” Clergy were instructed to bring whatever material they had discovered to Norham on the banks of the River Tweed, where discussions would take place. According to Prestwich, “This was a remarkable procedure.” It was not uncommon at the time to invoke past history in order to settle constitutional disputes, but using the weight of ecclesiastical history to do so was a new departure, as was the use of highly trained lawyers to argue the case.
The hearings that would decide the future history of the two countries began at Norham on May 12, 1291. The discussions began with arguments over feudal overlordship when the Chief Justice of the King’s Bench asked the Scots to recognise Edward as the rightful ruler of Scotland. This led to Robert Wishart, Bishop of Glasgow, arguing forcibly that Scotland was not a vassal state of England, pre-empting the later Declaration of Arbroath, which stated:
For as long as a hundred of us remain alive, never will we be on any condition brought under English rule. It is in truth not for glory nor riches nor honours that we are fighting but for freedom, for that alone which no honest man gives up, but with life itself.
After Wishart’s reply, the meeting was adjourned until June 2 so that the Scots could discuss their next steps. When they returned, they told Edward that, without a king, they had no legitimacy to answer his claims. Only a king had the necessary authority to deal with such matters. Edward’s response seems to have been, according to Prestwich, “That if there was no king, then the best step would be to obtain the necessary recognition of his overlordship and jurisdiction from the candidates for kingship.”
Despite Geoffrey Barrow describing Edward’s reaction to the Scots’ demands as “The first thoroughly discreditable action in his dealing with the Scottish nation,” Edward’s reply made sense. If the country was to avoid civil war, he needed legal authority, not the role of an impartial advisor. It is clear that Edward saw the proceedings at Norham as a means of establishing his feudal authority over the kingdom of Scotland in much the same way he had done with Wales a decade earlier. Overlordship for Edward was not a matter of obscure legal terminology, but a means of consolidating his power.
John Balliol and the Price of a Crown
After the competitors had accepted Edward’s request, the next stage was to set up a court to examine the various competitors’ claims. This consisted of 104 men, 40 of whom had been nominated by Bruce, 40 by Balliol, and the remaining 24 by Edward himself. The discussions that followed were held at Berwick and became increasingly torturous as the various claimants debated which law should apply, English or Scottish – even though, by this time, it was clear that John Balliol had the better case. He was the closest living relative to both Margaret and Alexander, and after another lengthy adjournment, judgement was given in favour of Balliol by Edward I in the Great Hall of Berwick Castle on November 17, 1292.
Generations of historians take their line from the fifteenth-century chronicler Walter Bower, who depicts Balliol as a weak, ineffective puppet ruler, unwilling or unable to stand up to Edward I. Some even suggest that, in his old age, John remarked that he never wanted or sought the Scottish throne. Whatever the truth of these claims, recent history has been more kind to the Balliols. Amanda Beam’s study portrays the Balliols as loyal servants of the English crown and substantial landowners in England, Scotland, and France. So what drove Edward I to depose a sitting monarch?
This is a question that continues to puzzle historians. Geoffrey Barrow argues convincingly that what Edward sought was no more than dynastic power and the opportunity to consolidate his conquest of the British Isles, while others note Edward’s caustic remarks after the sack of Berwick in 1296: “A man does well when he rids himself of a turd.” If this is how Edward saw the Scots, why go to all the trouble of invading the country?
Whatever view one takes, it is clear that Edward’s anointing of Balliol had a catastrophic impact on the fortunes of the two nations as the fears of the guardians were realised and the country became a battleground, not only between warring families such as the Bruces and the Comyns, but between the ordinary people along the border who now faced the prospect of being in the middle of two warring nations. This became known as the “landscape of larceny,” where law and order were nonexistent and where it was remarked sardonically that on rising in the morning, it was necessary to first check that your throat had not been cut overnight. Alexander’s death created what became known as the Border Reivers, Anglo-Scottish raiders who terrorised the border until the seventeenth century. This is his legacy.
Robert Turnbull is a writer and historian. He has previously written for BBC History Magazine, the TLS, Medieval History Magazine, and Jacobin.
Further Reading:
Beam, Amanda. The Balliol Dynasty 1210–1364. John Donald Publishers, 2008.
Prestwich, Michael. Edward I. Yale University Press, 1997.
Morris, Marc. A Great and Terrible King: Edward I and the Forging of Britain. Windmill Books, 2009.
Fraser, George MacDonald. The Steel Bonnets: The Story of the Anglo-Scottish Border Reivers. Skyhorse Publishing, 2015.
Top Image: John Balliol acknowledging Edward I as overlord. British Library Royal MS 20 C VII, fol. 28
A king’s fatal fall and the death of his young heir left Scotland facing a bitter struggle over the crown. Robert Turnbull traces how Edward I’s intervention in the Great Cause brought John Balliol to the throne and turned a succession dispute into a contest over Scotland’s independence.
By Robert Turnbull
A modern-day traveller crossing the Firth of Forth will probably be unaware of the momentous history beneath their feet as their train hurtles towards the ancient kingdom of Fife, but if ever one man’s carnal desires could be said to have changed the course of history, then the events of March 19 1286 are forever woven into the tapestry of England and Scotland. For it was in this place that the destiny of England and Scotland, the lion and the unicorn, was irrevocably changed with the death of King Alexander III of Scotland following a fall from his horse.
A fatal ride through the storm
The chroniclers tell us that it was a foul late winter’s night with heavy rain and strong winds lashing the Firth. In the Great Hall of Edinburgh Castle, King Alexander III of Scotland (1241–1286) was feasting and drinking with his cronies. Fueled by bonhomie and alcohol, Alexander suddenly announced to his startled guests that he wanted to visit his wife, Yolland de Dreux, who was then on the opposite side of the river at Kinghorn Manor in Fife. Despite his entourage’s pleas that the journey was too dangerous, Alexander refused to listen. Galloping through Edinburgh’s cobbled streets, he reached the Queensferry crossing. The Lanercost Chronicle takes up the story:
When he arrived at the village near the crossing, the ferry master warned him of the danger and advised him to go back, but when the king asked him in return whether he was afraid to die with him: “By no means,” quoth he, “it would be a great honour to share the fate of your father’s son.” Thus, he arrived at the burgh of Inverkeithing in profound darkness. The manager of his saltpans, a married man of that town, recognising him by his voice, called out, “My lord, what are you doing here in such a storm and such darkness? Often have I tried to persuade you that your nocturnal rambles will bring you no good. Stay with us, and we will provide you with decent fare and all that you want till morning light.” “No need for that,” said the other with a laugh, “but provide me with a couple of bondmen to go afoot as guides to the way…”
What happened next is shrouded in the mists of time, but it is easy to imagine Alexander, intoxicated by alcohol, the promise of a warm bed, and the thought of his wife, galloping along the shore towards Kinghorn Manor at breakneck speed along treacherous cliffs. At some point, his horse panicked, and Alexander was thrown 200 feet onto the cliffs below, the fall breaking his neck. A search party found him the next morning. Scotland was now without a king; the MacMalcolm dynasty had ended, and given the circumstances, the nation could easily have slid into civil war.
A Kingdom Without an Heir
The repercussions of Alexander’s death would reverberate down the centuries. Alexander had fathered two sons: David, who had died in 1281, and Alexander, who had died in 1284. The deceased king’s daughter, Margaret, had also died in 1283, having married King Eric II of Norway (1268–1299). The child of that marriage, also named Margaret, now heir to the Scottish crown, was betrothed to Edward of Caernarfon (1284–1327), son of Edward I, King of England, but as a three-year-old child she could not take the throne, and so a number of what were termed “guardians” took on the governance of Scotland in her absence. Despite later attempts by allies of the Bruce faction, such as Fordun and Bower, to discredit the efforts of the guardians during this period, the arrangement seems to have worked quite well, and in September of 1290, Margaret sailed from Norway for her marriage to Edward of Caernarfon. It was not to be. On her way to Scotland, she became sick, and she died in Orkney in September 1290, aged just seven.
Margaret’s death plunged Scotland into a constitutional crisis and left the guardians with only one option. This was to ask Edward I to adjudicate among the various claimants to the Scottish throne (of which there were many), or “the competitors,” as they were known, some of whom had stronger claims than others. Michael Prestwich, in his biography of Edward I, lists Nicholas de Soules, William de Ros, and William de Vescy, through the illegitimate line of Alexander II, as well as the claims of John Balliol (1249–1314), Robert Bruce (grandfather of the victor of Bannockburn), and John Hastings.
Who had the right to rule Scotland?
In feudal law, the principle of primogeniture did not apply to daughters, so all three men had a legitimate claim. There were also competing claims advanced by Florence, Count of Holland, Robert de Pinkeney (through the daughters of Henry, Earl of Northumberland), John Comyn, and even Eric of Norway. It was a constitutional and legal nightmare, but in reality, Robert Bruce and John Balliol had the strongest claims.
In theory, the decision to ask Edward I to adjudicate made perfect sense. He was Margaret’s great-uncle and, at the age of 50, was at the peak of his mental and physical powers. He was an imposing and ruthless ruler who later gained the nickname of “Longshanks” on account of his height; more tellingly, he was also called Malleus Scotorum, “The Hammer of the Scots.” The son of Henry III, he became king in 1272 and was said to have a fine legal mind, which led to his being called the “English Justinian” after the famed Eastern Roman Emperor.
Edward I’s Demand for Overlordship
After lengthy discussions with his advisors, Edward concluded that the matter should be resolved by him in his capacity as feudal overlord of Scotland, and so various members of the clergy were dispatched to find information “Touching in any way our realm and the rule of Scotland.” Clergy were instructed to bring whatever material they had discovered to Norham on the banks of the River Tweed, where discussions would take place. According to Prestwich, “This was a remarkable procedure.” It was not uncommon at the time to invoke past history in order to settle constitutional disputes, but using the weight of ecclesiastical history to do so was a new departure, as was the use of highly trained lawyers to argue the case.
The hearings that would decide the future history of the two countries began at Norham on May 12, 1291. The discussions began with arguments over feudal overlordship when the Chief Justice of the King’s Bench asked the Scots to recognise Edward as the rightful ruler of Scotland. This led to Robert Wishart, Bishop of Glasgow, arguing forcibly that Scotland was not a vassal state of England, pre-empting the later Declaration of Arbroath, which stated:
For as long as a hundred of us remain alive, never will we be on any condition brought under English rule. It is in truth not for glory nor riches nor honours that we are fighting but for freedom, for that alone which no honest man gives up, but with life itself.
After Wishart’s reply, the meeting was adjourned until June 2 so that the Scots could discuss their next steps. When they returned, they told Edward that, without a king, they had no legitimacy to answer his claims. Only a king had the necessary authority to deal with such matters. Edward’s response seems to have been, according to Prestwich, “That if there was no king, then the best step would be to obtain the necessary recognition of his overlordship and jurisdiction from the candidates for kingship.”
Despite Geoffrey Barrow describing Edward’s reaction to the Scots’ demands as “The first thoroughly discreditable action in his dealing with the Scottish nation,” Edward’s reply made sense. If the country was to avoid civil war, he needed legal authority, not the role of an impartial advisor. It is clear that Edward saw the proceedings at Norham as a means of establishing his feudal authority over the kingdom of Scotland in much the same way he had done with Wales a decade earlier. Overlordship for Edward was not a matter of obscure legal terminology, but a means of consolidating his power.
John Balliol and the Price of a Crown
After the competitors had accepted Edward’s request, the next stage was to set up a court to examine the various competitors’ claims. This consisted of 104 men, 40 of whom had been nominated by Bruce, 40 by Balliol, and the remaining 24 by Edward himself. The discussions that followed were held at Berwick and became increasingly torturous as the various claimants debated which law should apply, English or Scottish – even though, by this time, it was clear that John Balliol had the better case. He was the closest living relative to both Margaret and Alexander, and after another lengthy adjournment, judgement was given in favour of Balliol by Edward I in the Great Hall of Berwick Castle on November 17, 1292.
Generations of historians take their line from the fifteenth-century chronicler Walter Bower, who depicts Balliol as a weak, ineffective puppet ruler, unwilling or unable to stand up to Edward I. Some even suggest that, in his old age, John remarked that he never wanted or sought the Scottish throne. Whatever the truth of these claims, recent history has been more kind to the Balliols. Amanda Beam’s study portrays the Balliols as loyal servants of the English crown and substantial landowners in England, Scotland, and France. So what drove Edward I to depose a sitting monarch?
This is a question that continues to puzzle historians. Geoffrey Barrow argues convincingly that what Edward sought was no more than dynastic power and the opportunity to consolidate his conquest of the British Isles, while others note Edward’s caustic remarks after the sack of Berwick in 1296: “A man does well when he rids himself of a turd.” If this is how Edward saw the Scots, why go to all the trouble of invading the country?
Whatever view one takes, it is clear that Edward’s anointing of Balliol had a catastrophic impact on the fortunes of the two nations as the fears of the guardians were realised and the country became a battleground, not only between warring families such as the Bruces and the Comyns, but between the ordinary people along the border who now faced the prospect of being in the middle of two warring nations. This became known as the “landscape of larceny,” where law and order were nonexistent and where it was remarked sardonically that on rising in the morning, it was necessary to first check that your throat had not been cut overnight. Alexander’s death created what became known as the Border Reivers, Anglo-Scottish raiders who terrorised the border until the seventeenth century. This is his legacy.
Robert Turnbull is a writer and historian. He has previously written for BBC History Magazine, the TLS, Medieval History Magazine, and Jacobin.
Further Reading:
Beam, Amanda. The Balliol Dynasty 1210–1364. John Donald Publishers, 2008.
Prestwich, Michael. Edward I. Yale University Press, 1997.
Morris, Marc. A Great and Terrible King: Edward I and the Forging of Britain. Windmill Books, 2009.
Fraser, George MacDonald. The Steel Bonnets: The Story of the Anglo-Scottish Border Reivers. Skyhorse Publishing, 2015.
Top Image: John Balliol acknowledging Edward I as overlord. British Library Royal MS 20 C VII, fol. 28
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