by Jack Whyte
“He returned to Auch two weeks later, and late on a Wednesday afternoon his mounted men attacked the scheduled train of supplies and provisions bound for the castle. The attack, within view of the castle walls, was brazen, calculated to achieve precisely what it did. The raiders hit the supply train hard and fast. They inflicted heavy casualties and scattered what was left of the escort, who had numbered less than fifty to start with, most of them on foot. They then led the wagons away with much ado towards the woodlands half a mile to the north, taunting de Lisle and openly defying him to follow them if he dared. And of course he did. He turned out the entire garrison and led them against the raiding party.”
The priest looked about him, meeting the eye of every man there. “What de Lisle did not know, of course, was that the raiders he rode after were not the sole enemy on his lands that afternoon. They were the only enemy he had seen, and their impertinence had outraged him because it was the first overt sign of defiance to his rule that he had encountered since his arrival in Auch more than a year earlier. And so, as he led his men through the main gates of the castle on a wild chase after the brigands who were fleeing with his supply wagons, another hundred men, who had spent much of the night climbing the precipice of the motte and were led by Andrew Murray and Wee Mungo, entered the fortress by the postern gate.
“No Englishman knew of it, but beneath Auch’s postern gate is a secret passage that passes beneath the castle walls from a small cave close to the summit of the motte. The entrance to the cave cannot be seen from above, and the passageway, even though unknown to any but the immediate Murray family, was sealed by a pair of heavy iron padlocked gates beneath the walls. Andrew knew all that, having used the passage many times during his boyhood. He entered the cave alone, unseen by the others, whom he had left behind to wait for his signal, and he carried the keys to both padlocks in his pouch. Minutes later, he opened the postern gate to his men from within.”
Sir Alexander, wide-eyed, whistled quietly.
“That incident,” Father Murray continued, “announced Andrew Murray’s return home to Auch and marked the beginning of his uprising, along with his solemn, public oath, sworn beneath the battlements of Inverness Castle in the town itself, to sweep the English out of Scotland north of the Forth and eventually to cleanse the entire realm of their presence. And people paid attention because Auch Castle had fallen, that easily, and it is still in friendly hands. Geoffrey de Lisle led an army to besiege it soon afterwards, but he was waylaid in the hills on his way to join the attacking force and sustained wounds from which he subsequently died. I am pleased to say that since his death, no one has seemed keen to re-establish the siege.”
He waited until the buzz of voices had died down. “The most interesting aspect of all of this, however, is that within days of the recapture of Auch, Sandy Pilche crossed the firth from Inverness to the Black Isle at the head of more than a hundred well-armed men, all of them free burgesses, to throw in his lot with Andrew. And since then, the Scots cause, and the Scots folk, have prospered, with people coming to join the rising in Moray from all over the north and northeast. Andrew commands overall, of course, but he retains responsibility for the mounted component of his force, which is now several hundred strong, and Sandy Pilche has become his most trusted lieutenant, the commander of the foot forces of Moray.”
“How many men does Murray command now?” Sir Malcolm asked.
“I can’t answer that,” Father Murray said. “Ten days ago, when last I saw my nephew, he told me he had a thousand men at his back, but even that number was nearly two weeks old by then, and the incomers had been increasing daily, sometimes by as many as a hundred a day. So who can say? It might be two thousand or more by this time. They’ve had no reversals, and every skirmish they win draws new volunteers to their ranks. The English are demoralized, and they’re impotent for the time being, but Edward is not renowned for appointing incompetents. They have some capable commanders up there—de Cheyne of Inverness is no sluggard, and his subordinate, William Fitzwarren, constable of Urquhart Castle, is every bit as formidable. For the time being, however, they simply cannot seem to come to grips with the damages Andrew’s folk are inflicting on them.” He shook his head dismissively. “Frankly, I believe that my nephew is a better general than all of them together.”
“How so?” Lord James asked. “He’s very young for such an accolade, is he not?”
“Perhaps so, my lord, but he has consistently remained one step ahead of everything the English try to do to stop him. Immediately after taking Auch Castle, he came close to capturing Castle Urquhart, wresting it back from Fitzwarren. He might have succeeded, too, had he had more men at his disposal. But that was at the very start of his campaign, when he had only a hundred or so men at his back, and the Comyn Countess of Ross complicated matters there. She had heard about what was happening and marched from her castle at Balconie to offer assistance to Fitzwarren, in hopes of winning favour for her husband the earl, who is imprisoned in London.
“With the Countess of Ross’s army outside Urquhart, Andrew could hardly conduct the siege he had planned, and so he withdrew his men without further incident. That he was able to do so easily, without being counterattacked, was a wonder, but it was possible only because the English themselves were not convinced that the Countess of Ross’s offer of assistance was genuine. Suspecting an intricate plot either to lure them out of the castle or to permit a Scots army to enter it, they chose to do nothing, and so Andrew was able to march his army away uncontested.
“The Countess of Ross’s own fortunes were less happily resolved, because Andrew marched directly north from Urquhart into Ross and captured her own castle. At one blow he rejuvenated the fighting spirit of his men by besting, quite brilliantly and unexpectedly, the very enemy who had thwarted them at Urquhart Castle, while at the same time, by getting behind her army and cutting her lines of communication with her home base in Ross, he taught the Countess of Ross that he was an enemy to be feared, and that armed adherence to England’s cause was a dangerous course to pursue in Scotland. Her interference in his affairs had cost her dearly. She could not go home to Ross, and she could not safely remain in Inverness-shire.”
He paused. “My nephew himself mentioned another advantage that sprang from what he did in Ross. By seizing Balconie he established an additional safe, easily defensible stronghold for his growing army and a well-known gathering point for all the hundreds of volunteers streaming to join him from throughout the north.
“Setting all that aside, though,” he continued, “the point to be made here is that my nephew always uses the land itself as an ally and a weapon. It is a sine qua non of his campaigning. He is more than willing to fight against whatever forces the English bring to bear against him, but he always contrives to command the high ground and he always has rising woodland at his back—woodland and bogs into which he and his men can withdraw when necessary, but which render English heavy horse useless, ploutering helplessly through mud and mire. Fitzwarren and de Cheyne have both learned that to their cost, but so far they have been unable to develop countermeasures to deal with it effectively. Andrew and his people know the land as they know their own bodies. The English do not.”
Sir William Douglas looked up with a sneer. “So let me ask this again. Do we or do we not know whether word of all these goings-on has reached Edward in England?” The provocation in repeating his question was deliberate, but Father Murray refused to rise to it.
“We don’t know, Sir William. We suspect that no messengers have managed to get through with word, but we cannot be certain. The very success of such an effort, after all, would ensure that we knew nothing of it. We can but hope, but we must also be prepared to have those hopes dashed at any moment. One thing is certain, though. The moment Edward does become aware of the true state of his affairs in Moray and elsewhere, the response from England will be immediate and, in all probability, enormous.”
“Aye, it will be all of that,”
said Sir John Stewart, speaking for the first time, “but we have more immediate matters to concern us here. This campaign in Moray may be successful beyond its leaders’ wildest dreams, but will it have any effect upon us and what we have to deal with here in the south and southwest?” He looked quickly around the assembly, addressing himself to everyone. “Even were a miracle achieved up there and all the English driven out tomorrow, leaving the men of Moray free to join us as soon as they could be here, would that affect our situation here today, with Percy fast approaching? I think not. Percy could be about our ears within days. Murray might take months to get here.” He turned to look at his brother the Steward. “That’s really why you intend to negotiate, is it not? To give Murray time to organize?”
Lord James smiled tightly. “Aye, it is. Murray and others, elsewhere in the country.”
“And are these others all in touch with one another?”
The Steward glanced towards Bishop Wishart, who answered in his stead. “Not quite. Not yet. But that will be taken care of very soon now. We have plans in place.”
“Awaiting what, might I ask?” The Stewart knight was not trying to sound skeptical, but the question begged to be asked.
“This gathering,” the bishop said. “Or the other, some might say lesser, gathering that accompanies it.” He did not need to look my way. Knowing my employer as well as I did, I knew instantly that I had been correct: my attendance at this dinner was incidental to my true purpose here in Turnberry. I was predestined to be a participant in that other, “lesser” gathering.
Afterwards, when the guests had dispersed, the bishop beckoned to me with fluttering fingers as he bade Lord James a good night, and I went to him as the Steward left him.
“You have work for me, then, my lord,” I said quietly, not even attempting to conceal my smile. “Some lesser gathering I’m to attend.”
“Don’t be impertinent, Father. You’re attending it already.”
“And how tight is the time frame?”
“Tight enough. Why do you ask?”
“Because Lord Bruce invited me to hunt with him tomorrow morning.”
“To hunt with him? You, Father James?”
“To talk with him, my lord. He thought there might be more time for talking between kills than at any other time. Should I inform him I cannot go?”
“No, don’t do that. This might be the best chance you get to observe him. Besides, we are not all gathered yet. I’m still awaiting two more men. If they arrive tomorrow—they should have been here by now—then we’ll all meet tomorrow night and set things afoot the following day. So go and speak with the earl, but be sure to be back here in time for supper. I shall look forward to hearing your impressions.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
BRUCE — FIRST BLOOD
Iwas up hours before dawn and celebrated Mass by myself, or so I thought until I heard a stifled cough behind me and turned to see a bareheaded figure kneeling just inside the tiny chapel I was using. I was conducting the rites with the ease of long practice, in darkness relieved by the flame of but a single candle, so I could not see who it was who shared the Mass with me. But when it came time to eat the host and drink the sacrificial wine of Communion and I turned and offered to share the Sacrament with my companion, I discovered, to my surprise, that it was the Earl of Carrick himself.
He waited for me afterwards as I packed my vessels and removed my robes, leaving aside my priestly cassock for the day since I was going hunting, and replacing it with the tunic and leggings I had bought when I was recuperating at the Lanark priory. I took my walking staff, too, surmising I might need it in the event I was called upon as a beater, and when I was ready, the earl and I made our way together to the castle kitchens.
It was still night, the quiet, moonless blackness showing no sign yet of an approaching day, and a startled cook, wide-eyed at seeing the Earl of Carrick in his kitchen, offered to feed us on the same fresh bread and duck eggs, whipped and fried in cream and butter, that he had been preparing, probably illicitly, for his own morning meal. He set out a plenitude of cold meats, both flesh and fowl, from the previous night, but both Bruce and I were intrigued by the sight and smell of the eggs the cook had been making when we arrived, and as we ate them we were happy to have arrived when we did.
By the time we finished eating, each of us had grown comfortable with the other, a condition facilitated, I had no doubt, by the intimacy of the private Mass we had shared earlier, and we were perfectly at ease, talking comfortably of trivial things. So when we stood up to leave the kitchen and the earl whistled to catch the cook’s attention before tossing him a silver mark in thanks for the meal, I followed my companion out into the darkness, talking away to him as he made his way towards the stables, along the route indicated by a succession of guttering fire baskets.
The eastern sky was still black, but the stables were abuzz and bright with lanterns, with grooms and ostlers bustling everywhere, preparing animals and carts for that morning’s hunting party. Some of the more eager hunters were conscientiously preparing themselves and their mounts for the day ahead.
Bruce turned to me. “How good a horseman are you, Father James?”
“Adequate,” I told him. “I don’t need a spavined, sway-backed nag, if that’s what you mean. I can ride and I have no fear either of horses or of falling.”
He smiled and beckoned to one of the senior grooms, then told the man to take me out and let me pick my own mount. “Come back when you’re ready,” he told me. “I’ll be here until we leave.”
By the time I had picked my mount for the day and had adjusted all the necessary saddlery to my size and riding style, close to an hour must have elapsed, and when I returned I found the earl surrounded by the other nine members of the hunting group, five of whom were the knights we had dined with the night before. They were all in high spirits, even the two from Douglasdale, and no one showed any sign of curiosity when I rode up to join them. I was accepted as one of the party from the outset, and if anyone wondered about the shabbiness of my clothing, he kept his curiosity to himself.
We left soon after that, more than two score of us all told, counting the huntsmen, butchers, cooks, wagoners, and beaters who accompanied us, and from the moment we passed beyond Turnberry’s main gates all levity vanished, replaced by the gravitas of the hunt.
We made our first kill in the early light of dawn, having waited on foot in an open dell while a ring of beaters drove a small herd of deer towards us. Bruce held a surprisingly large, laminated bow as his favoured weapon, and while it was by no means as powerful as a yew longbow, it was a solid weapon nonetheless, and he used it well when a proud buck and three does bounded into the clearing where we waited with two of the other knights, both of them armed with crossbows.
The deer came quickly, in almost total silence, materializing almost on top of us, and Bruce raised and drew in a single, graceful movement, loosing his shaft effortlessly and catching the soaring buck at the apex of his spring, the missile striking it behind the shoulder in a perfect, lethal heart shot, so that the beast landed and died at the same instant. It was a magnificent shot—would have been so even for my cousin Will—and I acknowledged it as such, drawing an appreciative grin from the earl before he strode forward to kneel beside his prize. One of his two companions, Sir Alexander Lindsay, had killed his doe, but the other, Sir John Stewart, had missed his animal completely, and I could hear him cursing under his breath.
An hour or so later, we had another opportunity under similar circumstances, and again the earl was successful in his kill, though not with the spectacular brilliance he had shown the first time. This buck drove straight towards him, head on, leaving Bruce less than a moment to aim and fire, but his shaft sank to the feathers in the hollow beneath the beast’s neck, cleanly loosed and cleanly delivered. The animal swept on, driven by its own momentum as though oblivious to its injury, knocking the earl aside and driving every vestige of air from his lungs while it continued
for four bounding leaps before it fell dead.
It was almost mid-morning by the time we left that clearing, leaving the carcasses to the butcher’s crew. The earl had recovered his breath and his composure, and the time for early hunting was long past, but the butchers who had accompanied the main party had been doing their work for long enough by then to ensure that the camp cooks had several choice cuts and delicacies to grill for the hungry hunters. And so we collected our horses—we had, of course, been hunting on foot—and prepared to make our way back to the central encampment where the fires had been set up, about a mile and a half back along the riverbank.
When Bruce tried to mount his horse, though, it whinnied and reared away from him, almost pulling him over, and we quickly discovered that it had somehow been lamed: its right rear hoof was split and the poor beast was unable to place any weight on it at all. Yet none of us could remember any incident that might have caused such an injury on the way out from Turnberry. All three of us remaining with the earl—myself and the two knights, Stewart and Lindsay—offered him our horses, but he would have none of it. He was extremely gracious about the situation, and even jocular in his acceptance of it. He had invited me to join him that day, he explained to the others, in the hopes that we might be able to find sufficient time for me to catechize him about some information Bishop Wishart needed for episcopal reasons, concerning matters in England and details of his previous life there as a liegeman to King Edward. Therefore, he pointed out, since we were in fact about the business of God’s Holy Church, it was plain that God Himself had intervened to see to it that we should have as much time as we required for it. He waved away the two knights’ protests and sent them on ahead with our horses, leaving the two of us to walk together back to the campsite. I freed my heavy walking staff from where I had secured it to my saddle and handed my beast’s reins to Sir John Stewart while Sir Alexander Lindsay took the reins of Lord Bruce’s injured animal.
