Of all the sombre dates etched into Scotland’s national memory, none carries a heavier, more tragic weight than September 9, 1513. The Battle of Flodden was not merely a defeat; it was a catastrophic, nation-shattering event that left the Scottish lowlands littered with grief and the crown lying beside the body of a king. The question of why the Scots lost is a complex tapestry woven from threads of pride, flawed strategy, tactical misjudgement, and the brutal reality of the early modern battlefield. It was a perfect storm of disaster where almost everything that could go wrong, did.
The King’s Gambit: Pride and the Auld Alliance
To understand Flodden, one must first understand the man at its heart: King James IV of Scotland. Charismatic, intelligent, and ambitious, James was a Renaissance prince who had brought stability and prosperity to his kingdom. He was a patron of the arts and sciences, and his reign saw the flourishing of Scottish culture. Yet, this same ambition and sense of honour became his Achilles’ heel.
James was bound by the Auld Alliance to France. When England’s Henry VIII, young and equally vainglorious, launched a massive invasion of France, the French queen, Anne of Brittany, appealed to James with a famously provocative gift: a ring and a plea to invade England to “take my heart” – a chivalric challenge he could not, in honour, refuse. James saw an opportunity for glory and territorial gain while his English rival was distracted. He was driven by a potent mix of feudal obligation, personal pride, and the chance to cement his legacy as a great warrior-king. This emotional and political commitment set the stage, but it was a series of subsequent errors that sealed the fate of his army.
The Flawed Invasion: Strategy Unravels
James’s initial campaign was powerful. He crossed the border with the largest, best-equipped army Scotland had ever fielded—a host of perhaps 30,000 men, including a formidable artillery train. He swiftly captured English border castles, but then he stalled. Instead of pushing deep into England to force a decisive confrontation or draw Henry’s forces back from France, James largely remained at the siege of Norham Castle.
This delay was critical. It granted the English regent, Queen Catherine of Aragon (left in charge by Henry), and the experienced Earl of Surrey, time they desperately needed. Catherine, a formidable leader in her own right, acted with swift efficiency, mobilising the northern levies and placing command in the capable hands of the 70-year-old but brilliantly shrewd Thomas Howard, Earl of Surrey. While James waited, Surrey was gathering a smaller, but highly motivated and veteran force, marching north to cut off the Scottish king’s line of retreat.
James’s subsequent move to the Flodden ridge was another strategic misstep. It was a strong defensive position, but by placing his army there, he surrendered the initiative to the English. He was now reacting to Surrey, not dictating the terms of the campaign.
The Fatal Choice: Abandoning the High Ground
The events of September 9th were a masterclass in how to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. James’s army occupied the summit of Branxton Hill, a steep, muddy slope that formed a near-impregnable natural fortress. Surrey, recognising the impossibility of a direct assault, executed a risky flanking manoeuvre, marching his army across the Scottish front and to the north, effectively offering James a choice: watch the English reposition and potentially cut your retreat, or attack.
It was here that James’s chivalric pride overruled sound military logic. A disciplined commander might have held his position, forcing Surrey into an even more desperate situation. Instead, James took the bait. Believing in the invincibility of his massed pikemen and seeing a chance for a glorious, decisive charge, he gave the fateful order to abandon the high ground and advance.
This decision neutralised Scotland’s greatest advantage. The descent was disorderly; the wet, slippery ground broke the cohesion of the massive Scottish schiltrons (dense pike formations). The formations, which required flat, firm ground to maintain their terrifying momentum, became ragged and disordered as men stumbled down the hill. By the time they reached the more level ground at the bottom, they were exhausted and their lines were compromised.
The Tools of Battle: Pike vs. Bill
The core of James’s military reform had been the adoption of the European-style pike, a weapon over 18 feet long that, in the hands of the Swiss or German landsknechts, was the ultimate battlefield weapon. The Scottish pike charge was designed to be an unstoppable tidal wave of sharpened steel.
The English army, however, was not a continental force. Largely comprised of northern levies and retainers, they were armed not with pikes, but with the bill. This was a derivative of the agricultural billhook, a shorter, more versatile weapon, part axe, part hook, part spear. On the flat, a pike formation would have skewered billmen before they could get close. But on the muddy, broken ground of Flodden, the shorter bills proved devastatingly effective.
As the disorganised Scottish pikes pushed forward, the nimble English billmen could duck under the points, use the hooks to drag the long pikes down, and then hack and slash at the now-defenceless Scots in brutal, close-quarter combat. The Scottish formation, designed for pushing and thrusting, was utterly unsuited to this kind of melee. The English weapons were simply better adapted to the terrain and the nature of the fight that day.
Command and Control: The King’s Last Stand
A recurring theme of Flodden was the catastrophic failure of Scottish command. James IV, at the head of his nobles in the centre, became a warrior, not a general. He immersed himself in the thick of the fighting, effectively losing all oversight of the broader battle. While the Scottish right wing under the Earl of Home and the Borderers initially had success against the English left, the centre and left became a bloody, grinding stalemate.
Crucially, the success on the right was not exploited. Home’s men, perhaps believing the battle won or simply intent on plunder, reportedly failed to wheel in and support the king’s beleaguered centre. This lack of coordinated command, with the king isolated in the fray, meant the Scottish army fought as disconnected pieces, not a unified whole.
In contrast, the elderly Surrey commanded from the rear, directing reserves and maintaining control. His subordinate commanders, like his sons, fought effectively within his overall plan.
The final, tragic act was the death of the king himself. James, surrounded by his loyal nobles, fought to the death mere yards from Surrey’s banner. His body was found the next day, riddled with arrows and slashes. The loss of the king in the pre-modern era was more than a symbolic blow; it was the immediate end of all coordinated resistance. The heart went out of the army, and the retreat turned into a rout.
A Harvest of the Dead
The result was a slaughter of unprecedented proportions. Estimates suggest between 5,000 and 10,000 Scots died, including a king, two archbishops, two abbots, twelve earls, and fourteen lords of parliament—a catastrophic loss of the nation’s entire political, ecclesiastical, and military leadership. England lost perhaps 1,500 men.
In conclusion, the Scots lost the Battle of Flodden due to a confluence of factors that began with a king driven by honour and ambition into a risky war. This was compounded by a flawed campaign strategy that ceded the initiative, and ultimately decided by a series of fatal tactical errors: the abandonment of an unassailable position, the use of an unsuitable weapon on difficult terrain, and a complete breakdown of command and control that culminated in the death of the monarch. Flodden stands as a timeless lesson in the dangers of pride over prudence, the perils of flawed technology, and the brutal unforgiving nature of war. It was a tragedy written by a king’s hand, inked with chivalric ideals, and sealed in the blood of a nation on a muddy Northumbrian field.