The Legend of War Hill.
It was early autumn of the year 1138, and the Valley of Longdendale
was a vast tract of desolation. True, the trees were still decked with
verdure, and the mellow tint of autumn clothed nature with a lovely
garb. The streams still murmured with silvery splashes as they
wandered through the woodland, and the birds warbled among the
branches. In all this the valley was as of old--lovely, radiant, fair.
But the song of the reaper was never heard; the fields were tangled
and untilled, the instruments of husbandry were destroyed or
abandoned, and a grievous famine reigned. For the demon of war was
abroad, and the blight of his shadow had fallen on the fair Cheshire
vale.
King Stephen was seated on the throne which he had won by violence. As
he had usurped the sovereign power without the pretence of a title, he
was necessitated to tolerate in others, the same violence to which he
himself had been beholden for his crown. Even in time of peace the
nobles made sad havoc with the property of the people, but now that
war was in the land, and the forces of the Lady Matilda, King Henry's
child, sought to drive the usurper from the throne,--now, indeed, the
castles poured forth bands of licensed robbers, and the homesteads of
Longdendale were burned, the people driven to the woods, and the
flocks and herds of the yeomen were confiscated.
Had the reader been privileged to wander through the woodland glades
near Mottram, he would, maybe, have seen a group of fugitives
bargaining with a sturdy forester for leave to shelter themselves in
the depths of the forest, without fear of molestation.
"Thou hast known me all my life," said the leader of the party, "for a
patient, God-fearing, and faithful husbandman. I have ever kept the
forest laws, and seek not to work harm therein even now. But Mottram
town is no place for me, for all my poor belongings have been seized
by the King's men, and my hut has been burned to the ground. And but
yesterday there came a party of the other side, and their leader had
me up, and soundly thrashed me, because he said I helped the King, and
was disloyal to the Princess. Helped the King, forsooth, when the King
helped himself to all I had, and turned me out o' doors to shift for
myself."
"And I," quoth another, "come from Tingetvisie (Tintwistle), and there
the townsfolk are so scared they dare not seek their beds at night.
Nothing have I left to call my own, not even arms with which to
protect myself. Truly the forest is a heaven to all such poor people
as we."
"Well, well," grumbled the bluff forester, "get into the woods and
hide yourselves, but play not with the deer at your peril. A pest on
these troubles. I would the great folk would settle their differences
themselves, and allow the poor to live in peace. Get off, I say, and
hide yourselves. Steer clear of both King's men and Queen's men, and
be damned to both sides."
So saying he went on his way whistling, and the fugitives hastily left
the path, and were soon lost from view in the undergrowth. There, like
beasts of the forest, they lay by day, and emerged when the night
fell, to pick up such scraps of food as were to be had by the way.
Little wonder there were robbers on the roads in those times.
Days passed on, and the wanderers in the woods beheld parties of
rovers, riding with lance and sword, now north, now south, as the tide
of war ebbed and flowed. Rumours had reached them of an invasion of
the Scots under King David, and following the rumours came bands of
wild Highland men, who laid waste with fire and sword what little the
robber-bands of the English knighthood had spared. The King of
Scotland came south to aid his niece, the Princess Matilda, and with
the appearance of his army on this side the border, the nobles who
favoured the Princess arose. There was a mustering of all the
able-bodied men of the Vale of Longdendale, and, glad to strike a blow
to bring the state of tumult to an end, the men took sides.
"Hast thou heard the news?" asked one fugitive of another.
"To what news dost thou refer, good man?" was the reply. "Is it more
of evil?"
"Nay, that is as thou listest," was the answer. "'Tis said the King of
Scots rides hither with a great following of men at arms, and that
King Stephen's forces muster for the combat. In that case there may be
a great struggle toward, and now, maybe, we shall see the ending of
all this strife and misery."
"In that case, good man, methinks I will strike a blow for one side,
so that the matter may indeed be ended."
"On what side art thou?"
"I am for the Princess."
"And I for King Stephen."
"Then we are enemies, but I bear thee no ill-will. Mayhap we shall
meet again in the battle."
"Maybe. At least it will be better than starving in the woods. I wish
thee a good-morrow."
"And I thee. Farewell."
Upon which the speakers went their several ways to arrange themselves
beneath the banners of the cause they favoured.
Soon there was a fair mustering of each faction, and with the trains
of knights, who came from north and south, the rival forces grew from
companies into armies. King Stephen sent a great body of horse and
foot to strengthen the array of those who fought beneath his banner,
whilst stray bands of Highland men swelled the ranks of the warriors
of Matilda.
Now the chief forester of Longdendale was a man with a kind heart, and
to all those civil and respectable folk who took to the woods for a
refuge, he showed such toleration and care as his position allowed;
only upon the idle, thieves, and evildoers, was his anger bestowed. It
was no new thing for him to meet with fugitives--particularly
women--seeking shelter in the forest, and, accordingly, he gave little
heed to a small band of riders in which were several females, who
entered the forest of Longdendale upon a certain evening just before
the hour of sunset.
"Another band of fugitives," said he. "Poor souls; God have mercy on
them."
He would have passed on his way had not one of the band--a
sturdy-looking young man, dressed in plain russet garb--thus accosted
him:
"Ho there, fellow," cried the youth. "Come thou hither, for I would
have a word with thee."
The tone in which the words were spoken was commanding, and to the
forester it sounded insolent.
For answer he turned, and looking the horseman straight in the face
said:
"Have a care, knave, what words thou usest to thy betters, or thou art
likely to rue such speeches as that."
The young man frowned, and, raising a light riding whip, made as
though he would strike the forester. But the latter brought into
position a stout oak staff which he carried, and, advancing boldly,
said in a threatening voice:
"Take advice from an older man, and drop thy paltry weapon. Otherwise
I shall be put to the necessity of cracking thy pate. One blast of
this horn now dangling at my side will speedily summon some of the
stoutest lads in Cheshire, and thou and thy followers will ere long be
dangling from the nearest tree."
So saying, the bold forester blew upon his horn, and scarcely had the
echoes died away ere five stalwart men clad in green, each armed with
yew-bow and quiver, and long knives at their girdle, burst from the
thickets and ranged themselves by the forester's side.
What the newcomers would have done with the old forester at their
head, it is difficult to say; but a diversion was created by one of
the female riders, chiding the horseman who had first spoken.
"Thou art over-hasty, and even rude," said she; "where is thy
discernment. Seest thou not that these men are honest, and wouldst
thou set them against us?".
Then, advancing alone, she bent in her saddle, and whispered something
to the forester. The old man started, gazed at the speaker, for a
moment, then doffed his cap, and bowed low. Next turning to the five
who stood behind him, he cried:
"Uncover, and on your knees. It is the Queen."
The Royal Matilda--for she it was, thus driven with her infant son,
Henry, and a few faithful followers, to adopt the disguise of poor
travellers, and to seek for a place of refuge until the coming battle
should decide her fate--smiled graciously upon the old man and his
companions.
"Methinks there is a likeness in all your faces," said she. "Are these
thy sons?"
"They are my sons," answered the forester; "and withal thy loyal
subjects, gracious lady, ready to give their lives for thee and
thine."
After a few further passages of speech, the chief forester led the way
to his own dwelling--which was a strongly built and well concealed
place, where, attended by his good wife, the Queen might rest secure
until the battle had been fought and won.
Meanwhile the forester and his sons donned their war-gear, and when
the time was ripe they took their stand with the rest of those who
fought beneath the banner of the Queen.
It was in the gray dawning of an autumn day when the two armies met.
The battle was fought on a hill in the Mottram township, where the
ancient Church of Mottram now stands. But there was no sacred building
there on that gray morning of long ago, when the clashing of arms
awoke the echoes, and the air was heavy with the shrieks of dying men.
The army of Matilda was posted on the hill. Their position was strong
and commanding. From it they could note the approach of the foe, and
fight him with advantage. In the midst of their array rose the
standard of the Princess--the royal banner of the great Henry--and by
its side the bonnie flag of Scotland floated in the breeze.
As the gray light broke from the east, the watchers on the hill beheld
the first line of Stephen's forces emerge from the woods. The King's
army was a mighty host, the bright spears gleamed in the light of
dawn, and the archers carried great quivers full of deadly
goose-tipped shafts.
The royal force came on, and the leading ranks broke into a
battle-chant as they neared the hill foot, and bent to meet the slope.
The archers winged their shafts, the axes, bills, and pikes advanced;
a rain of arrows beat whistling from the ranks upon the hill, and the
great fight commenced.
Bit by bit the soldiers of Stephen advanced up the hill. They left
many dead upon the slopes, but still the host went on. The army of
Matilda hung thick and massive upon the crest, and waited with
unbroken front for the closing of the foe; they rained down their
flights of arrows, but kept their ranks unbroken, with bristling rows
of pikes in front.
At length the advancing host drew near. The foremost men rushed
bravely on, they clutched the wall of pikes with their hands, and
strove to hew a way to victory. But the arrows fell among them,
dealing death in full measure, and the brave men fell. Others took
their places, and again the goose-shafts flew.
Now the advancing army remembered the trick of Norman William on the
field of Senlac. At a given signal they turned and fled in apparent
confusion. With a wild yell the unwary Highland men broke from their
post upon the summit, and charged down to slay. Then, swift as
lightning, the warriors of Stephen turned. Their archers met the
onrush of the pursuers with a staggering volley of shafts. The pikes
and bills charged up the slope. The axes hacked the brawny Scots, and
the broken ranks upon the hill, opening wider yet to receive their
retreating comrades, let in the charging body of the foe. After that
there was a mingled mass of slaying men about the summit. The hosts of
King Stephen girt the hill round, so that there was no escape for the
men who stood upon it. Death was everywhere, death for the victors
and the vanquished; for the soldiers of the Princess died as soldiers
should, and they slew great numbers of the foe.
[Illustration: MOTTRAM CHURCH AND THE WAR HILL, THE SITE OF THE BATTLE
MENTIONED IN THE LEGEND.]
That was the last stand for the Princess Matilda in that part of
Cheshire, and the old chronicles say that the blood shed in the battle
ran in a stream down the slopes, and formed a great pool at the foot
of the hill.
* * * * *
As the gray of the morrow's dawn fell upon the scene of battle, the
pale light fell also upon a group of living beings, who stood upon the
summit of the hill among the hosts of the dead.
Matilda, the Queen, was there--beaten and dismayed, since all hope was
lost. The chief forester of Longdendale stood there also, and he, too,
sighed, as one whose heart is broken--he had just been groping among
the corpses, and had found what he sought.
"Are thy fears well founded?" asked Matilda, anxiously.
The old man pointed to the inert forms of five dead men.
"They were all I had--and I am an old man. Now they are gone, my very
name must perish."
The royal lady looked at him for a moment, her whole being trembling
with grief.
"My heart is broken," she said. "Yet what is my loss to thine?"
The old man took her hand, and kissed it.
"I am a loyal man--and an Englishman. I gave them freely to the cause
of my Queen. Who am I that I should complain?"
Royal lady and lowly-born forester gazed into each other's eyes for a
brief space--their looks conveying thoughts which were too sacred for
words--and then the Queen's train moved down the hill, and the old man
was left alone--alone with his sorrow and his dead.
* * * * *
The world is full of changes, and ever on the heels of war comes the
angel form of peace. Men called the hill whereon the battle had been
fought Warhill, and in after days the builders raised the sacred pile
of Mottram Church, where the soldiers of Matilda and Stephen fought
and died.