Kingdom of Shadows

by Barbara Erskine

  With a howl of fear Casta dived under the bed and lay there trembling, pressed against the wall.

  ‘Isobel?’

  She didn’t realise that she had breathed the name out loud.

  Clare caught her breath. First in the bath, and now here, uninvited; not wanted. ‘No, please. Not again,’ she whispered. ‘What is it you want with me? Why do you keep coming back?’ She strained her eyes against the shadows.

  There was nothing there. Nothing but a deeper shadow in the fold of the curtain.

  ‘Oh God, I’m going mad!’ She finished the whisky with a gulp. ‘Casta? Casta, where are you?’

  There was complete silence in the room now, save for the sounds of the sea and the wind which were part of the fabric of the stones with which the hotel had been built – stones which had once been part of the castle itself.

  She never noticed when she dropped the glass. It smashed on the thin rug and the shards of splintered glass lay glittering in the candlelight.

  Isobel was alone with Robert at last. His men liked her; she was popular for her beauty and her courage and because the king loved her. And because he loved her they helped her to be with him. Elizabeth was cold; she was open in her disparagement of her husband’s efforts and she was haughty with his followers.

  By tacit agreement time and space was found for the lovers to be together.

  She massaged his neck gently, her cool fingers kneading the flesh where his mail had rubbed. ‘The people love you. They will follow you wherever you lead.’

  ‘And will you follow wherever I lead, my Isobel?’ He reached up and caught a handful of her hair, pulling her face down to his.

  ‘You know I will,’ she whispered. She gave him a lingering kiss.

  He pulled her towards him on the bed. ‘I have to fight the main English army soon. I don’t like the idea of Marjorie and my sisters and you being here, so close to the danger.’

  ‘None of us would be anywhere else. Surely you have no doubts, my lord?’ Her grey eyes mocked him.

  ‘None.’ For a moment his face sobered. ‘Scotland depends on me for her freedom. I will make her a nation again.’

  ‘And your women will applaud you from the edge of the battlefield. Even her grace, your queen, in spite of her daily doubts.’ Isobel rolled away from him. ‘She is only here because I am, you know. She doesn’t trust you with me.’

  ‘She is here because she is my wife.’ His lips tightened. ‘And you will not speak against her.’ He caught her wrist and pulled her back to face him. ‘She is a good and faithful wife to me.’

  ‘And you, your highness, are a bad and unfaithful husband!’ She reached up and put her arms around his neck. ‘But I saw you first.’

  ‘Cat!’ He kissed her again but she pushed him away.

  ‘Robert, are you never afraid?’

  ‘When Isobel of Fife has put the crown of Scotland on my head? How could I be afraid?’

  She frowned. ‘Don’t make fun of me.’ She sat up suddenly, her long hair covering her breasts. ‘King Edward is a vengeful, vindictive man.’ She shivered. ‘And he is a powerful king.’

  ‘And he is an invader, Isobel.’ He frowned. ‘What he did to Sir William Wallace still haunts you, doesn’t it?’

  She drew up her knees, hugging them thoughtfully beneath the sheet. ‘Doesn’t it you?’

  Robert shrugged. ‘He was a brave man, and Scotland will revere him always, but he was a soldier, Isobel. He knew what would happen if he was caught after he refused to come into Edward’s peace.’

  ‘Does that make it all right?’ She buried her face in her knees, refusing to recognise the terror which crept up on her sometimes, swamping her without warning, as she thought of what could happen to the man she loved.

  ‘Edward would say he was following the law.’ Robert groped for her hand and squeezed it, recognising her fear, and admiring her for the way she controlled it. ‘He is above all else a lawyer. Nevertheless, I believe he was being vindictive and vicious. He could have tempered his judgment with mercy and he chose not to.’

  ‘Because Sir William defied him.’ She swallowed. ‘As you are defying him now.’

  Robert gave a dry laugh. ‘It is a slightly different circumstance, my love. Sir William was a soldier, albeit a good one. I am a king.’

  ‘A month or so ago you were Edward’s man.’ She looked at him, her clear grey eyes holding his steadily.

  ‘Things were different then.’ He smiled grimly. ‘You had not yet made me king.’

  She shivered. ‘I hope I never see King Edward again. I don’t suppose he would approve of what I did.’

  Robert glanced at her sharply, then he pulled her to him again. ‘You never will see him again, my love. I shall see to that.’

  There had been no time for a parliament after the coronation, no time for talk. Scotland had to be mobilised and fast. Robert marched south-west back to his own lands where support for him was strongest and with him went his family and supporters. Isobel entered passionately into the campaign. She was delirious with excitement, revelling in her freedom, severed at last from her union with the Earl of Buchan, and irrevocably so, knowing that she would never see him again. There could be no going back.

  Inevitably she was one of the queen’s household, but she was able to avoid Elizabeth much of the time. She grew very fond of Robert’s sister, Christian, the widow of the last Earl of Mar who was her great grandmother’s son, and so had been her kinsman. Christian was now the wife of Robert’s friend, Sir Christopher Seton and she found she liked her enormously, as she did Robert’s other sister Mary, and his little daughter, Marjorie. For the first time in her life she would have been completely happy had it not been for the situation in which they now found themselves.

  They were travelling constantly and tensions were high. News from central Scotland and the south-east was bad. King Edward had not been idle for long. At first unable to credit that Bruce, whom he had thought loyal, had risen against him, he had swiftly turned the full force of his attention to quelling the rebellion, and now the English were sweeping all before them. Aymer de Valence, Earl of Pembroke, the dead Comyn’s brother-in-law, had been appointed to retake Scotland and order went out that no quarter be given throughout the length and breadth of the land. Men, women, even children who supported the rebellion were to be put to the sword.

  Robert and his followers became increasingly worried. Spring was turning towards summer and Robert knew that he had to stem the tide and drive the English out soon or it would be too late. News came that Bishop Lamberton and Bishop Wishart had both been captured and sent south in chains. The news was shattering to Robert and his followers. Isobel saw the lines on Robert’s face deepen. There were streaks of silver in his hair.

  Increasingly worried about the vulnerability of his family he took them all with him when he marched north towards Mar, and he left them all there in safety, Isobel included, in the Earl of Mar’s great castle of Kildrummy in the keeping of his brother Nigel. In vain she pleaded to stay with him, but he was adamant. He wanted no women with him now. As he marched out of Kildrummy at dawn, three days after arriving there, Isobel suspected that he had already forgotten she existed.

  Even though her beloved great-grandmother was still there in her private apartments within the Snow Tower at Kildrummy, Isobel had no intention of staying there. Without Robert’s presence the queen found many subtle ways to make her life a misery, ways that Sir Nigel could neither see nor prevent had he known about them. Isobel put up with it for a couple of weeks, then she planned her escape. A company of men from Mar were marching south to reinforce Robert’s armies in central Scotland. It was comparatively easy to join them, after a whispered farewell to Eleyne, accompanied by the ever faithful Hugh, and it was wonderful again to find herself at the head of a company of soldiers, buoyed up with the thrill of riding fast, heading breathlessly into danger and to Robert’s side.

  Robert had decided that the confrontation had to come at Pert
h where the Earl of Pembroke now held the town for King Edward. As night fell on 18 June, Robert’s men moved back from the walls to bivouac in the woods on the banks of the River Almond, easing off their armour in the hot June night, their weapons at their sides, their camp fires springing up in the nightlong twilight of midsummer. Six miles to the east Perth lay in semi-darkness, the walls patrolled by Pembroke’s men, lights and fires extinguished. The town seemed to be sleeping.

  Isobel left her horse at the lines and went towards the place where the king and his men were talking outside the makeshift tent which was the centre of his operations. Overhead, in the darkness, she could see the standard of Scotland, limp in the still night air. She stopped, half hidden by the shadows, not wanting to interrupt, afraid now that she was here that he would be angry with her for coming. She saw one or two of the men glance up and see her and she saw them smile, but Robert had his back half turned towards her and went on talking.

  With him were his most trusted followers – his brother Edward, the earls of Lennox, Atholl and Menteith, James the Stewart and James Douglas.

  Around them, spread out in the woods, most of their men were settling down for the night, although some had set off in parties to forage for food and others, seeking more comfortable sleeping quarters than the woods, were moving further afield into outlying farms and cottages. They expected no attacks; the guards were minimal.

  Robert pored over the map on the makeshift table in front of him. He stabbed at Perth on the parchment before him with his forefinger. ‘Lord Pembroke is not one to skulk behind walls. He may not have come out to fight today, but he will accept my challenge and meet us tomorrow, you mark my words. He will not be able to resist our invitation for a full-scale battle, with my kingdom as a prize!’

  ‘The heat must have made him sleepy today.’ The Stewart wiped his hand across his forehead with a scowl. He had noticed Isobel now in the shadows, and he grinned. ‘The English aren’t used to our Scottish summers.’ There was a growl of laughter at the joke. Robert smiled grimly. ‘He’ll like our Scottish summers even less when we drum him out of the country on the run.’ He straightened and moved the stones which were holding the map flat, allowing it to roll up with a snap. The candle flickered on the table. ‘If God be with us, sirs, we shall hold the last key to Scotland by tomorrow and be on our way to driving out this invader for good.’

  He walked out of the circle of light into the shadows on the far side of the circle of men. ‘I suggest you get some sleep if you can in this accursed heat, my lords.’

  He had noticed the small stone chapel as night fell. As he made his way towards it Isobel followed him. One or two of his companions made to go too, but the Stewart raised his hand and stopped them. Only Isobel went on.

  In the darkness the chapel was deserted, forgotten in its clearing in the centre of a stand of ancient oaks. Slowly he pushed open the door. The interior was in total darkness. Leaving the door wide so that the luminous starlight filtered in he walked towards the altar, a lump of rough stone with a carved Celtic cross upon it, and crossing himself he laid his sword on the ground before it. Then he knelt. His earlier optimism and resolve had faltered as dusk fell. Behind him he could hear the quiet talk of his men and the occasional shout of laughter. From far away, beyond the camp fires, a lone voice was singing a soft ballad to the plaintive accompaniment of a fiddle. His men trusted him. They had absolute faith in his cause.

  ‘Lord Christ and Our Lady, St Fillan and all the Blessed Saints, be with us in the battle tomorrow.’

  He stared up at the narrow window with its outline clearly visible in the starlight, wondering whose chapel this was, and why it had been built here in the middle of nowhere. ‘Preserve Scotland from her enemies, and give your protection to her people in their hour of need.’

  Behind him there was a sound in the doorway. Seizing his sword he leapt to his feet.

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt your prayers.’ Isobel stood in the darkness by the door.

  Robert closed his eyes briefly as he lowered the sword and laid it before the altar once more. ‘I might have run you through!’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ For once she was humble. ‘I shouldn’t be here.’

  ‘No, you shouldn’t! How did you get here? I gave orders for Nigel to keep you with the Queen safe in the north!’

  ‘I followed you with a company of men from Mar who have joined your flag.’ She took a step nearer to him in the darkness. ‘I had to be with you, Robert. Please, don’t send me away.’ Her voice broke suddenly. ‘It’s going to be a very big battle tomorrow, isn’t it?’

  Robert laughed grimly. ‘Big enough. Pembroke has Mowbray and Umphraville with him and they have a strong force there, in St John’s town. But we have a strong force here at Methven. And right is on our side.’

  ‘And God fights on the side of the right.’ She gave a small smile.

  ‘God, my dear, favours the strongest, it’s as simple as that.’ Robert spoke with unusual cynicism. He turned, and picking up his sword he led the way slowly out of the chapel.

  Around them the oaks formed a clearing, allowing the sky to illuminate the ground. Somewhere a blackbird, disturbed in its sleep, fluttered shrieking out of the undergrowth.

  Robert stood, gazing down at the ground. ‘I committed sacrilege, Isobel. I spilled blood in the house of God when I slew Comyn.’ He stared up into the dark canopy of leaves. ‘Can God still be with me after that?’

  ‘Pembroke’s men have done a great deal worse,’ she replied quietly. ‘They have raised the dragon flag and give no quarter, even to men of God.’ She shuddered.

  ‘True.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘So, we are all in an equal state of sin. I shall have to put my faith in God and trust that He knows which side is right and must prevail.’ He was holding his sword in both hands, digging the point into the soft loam of the track. Behind them, beneath the trees, two of his men were waiting. Ostentatiously they had turned their backs. Robert smiled.

  Catching Isobel to him he kissed her lightly on the forehead. ‘Go now, my love. You cannot stay here. I want you to ride back to Kildrummy now, tonight. I will send two men with you. I dare not spare more. Go back to the Queen and stay with her. That must be your penance for seducing a married man!’ He kissed her again.

  ‘Robert. I want to stay. Please, let me stay.’

  She was in an agony of fear suddenly. The excitement she had felt before the skirmishes in the west had gone; the excitement of her ride south had dissipated. All she felt was a heavy leaden weight of dread. She could sense his preoccupation, the burden he carried on his shoulders, and it frightened her. She put her arms up around his neck. ‘Robert, what if –’

  But he stopped her, his fingers over her mouth. ‘There must be no ifs, Isobel. Now go. And obey me.’

  She released him abruptly. ‘Please –’

  ‘I have commanded you to leave Methven, Isobel.’ He spoke with the full weight of royal authority.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Blinking back her tears she dropped a deep curtsey. ‘God save your grace!’ She turned without another word and fled blindly into the shadows.

  Robert beckoned one of the figures from beneath the trees. ‘Go with her, James. Send two of your most trusted men to take her back to Kildrummy.’ He watched for a moment as his friend too disappeared into the darkness, then he turned back into the chapel and knelt once more before the altar.

  She heard afterwards what happened. It was just after midnight and the encampment was fast asleep when the Earl of Pembroke, scorning the chivalrous challenge to fight the following day, which Robert had made and he had accepted, crept out of Perth in the starlight and attacked the unsuspecting Scots.

  The silence of the wood in the mist was abruptly rent with shouts and screams as men and horses hurtled in amongst the trees and the sleeping soldiers, grabbing desperately for their dew-wet armour, were cut down where they stood, still groping bleary-eyed for the swords which had lain beside them on th
e ground.

  Bruce’s followers fought bravely with their king and the battle was fierce in the strange half light of the summer night, but they were outnumbered. As Bruce’s men died around him he fought more and more fiercely himself, but to no avail. Their feet slipping in the blood beneath the trees the loyal Scots were slowly beaten back.

  As dawn broke Isobel, with two of the Stewart’s men, was riding north across the mountains into Mar. She had ordered Hugh to stay as near the king as possible, as she could not, and he had agreed with alacrity and remained. Her heart too was still with Robert and her hands on the reins were cold with fear in spite of the heat of the night. Her sixth sense told her that something was wrong.

  Twice she halted her sweating horse, wanting to turn back, but the men had had their orders. The Countess of Buchan was to go back to the Queen at Kildrummy. The King wanted her in a place of safety, so to a place of safety she would go.

  The third time she stopped, however, she was adamant. She reined in the horse and turned it defiantly. ‘Would you turn your backs on your king when he needs you most?’ she challenged them and something in her wild eyes and desperate voice persuaded them. All three horses turned and slowly they began to retrace their steps towards Methven.

  At Robert’s side Sir Thomas Randolph was overpowered and dragged away, a prisoner. One by one men dropped and died on the blood-soaked grass, the faithful Hugh amongst them. As dawn finally came to the devastated wood, and the sun rose, first in a mist of pearl, then in a blaze of crimson across the sky, the carnage was terrible to see. The King and the Earl of Pembroke had fought hand to hand. Two horses had died beneath Robert as he saw his friends captured and killed but still he fought on, exhausted though he was, his sword arm never failing, until at last he was forced to recognise the inevitable. To save the lives of those who remained he must flee from the field and recoup his strength in safety.