Margaret the Queen

by Nigel Tranter

  Nevertheless, well before dawn, at least the van of the host was round the mighty western shoulder of the Hill of Fare, into the Tillenhilt area, with the land beginning to fall away perceptibly before them, their guide agreed, towards the valley of the Don.

  Presently, when the King caught up with the pathfinders, he was in fact in fair spirits — for whatever else he lacked, Malcolm did not lack energy and drive, and could not have cared less for the complaints of his men. He accepted that they had indeed stolen a march of ten miles or so on the rebels, and were almost certainly in a position where they would not be looked for. They would press on until sun-up before halting.

  The lie of the land now took them first north-by-east and then north-by-west, to avoid the Black Hill of Tillycairn. Then, depressingly for this late stage of their exhausting march, a great detour westwards again was necessary to circuit the Moss of Cluny, a large expanse of marshland and lochans which heightened and firmed only gradually into the Muir of Balvack. By the time, wearily indeed, the vanguard was crossing this last, the sun was rising behind the low hills to the east, its yellow, level rays illuminating another vast and more pointed hill directly ahead of them, rising like a cone above wooded heights, blocking all vistas to the north — Beinn a' Chie, the Mountain of the Maiden's Breast, their guide mentioned. He added that around its base, west-about, the Don flowed.

  From a slight escarpment bounding the north side of the Muir of Balvack, Maldred and his brothers drew rein and waited for the King, the light now sufficient to show them all this reach of the Don valley, the great coiling river, still dark, in its floor. Immediately below them lay the small monastery and associated township of Monymusk, at a bend of the river, a daughter-house of the great Abbey of Deer, in Buchan. To the west, the Don emerged from the jaws of a deep wooded cleft between Beinn a' Chie and another steep but lower hill which their informant called Pitfichie. To the east it flowed on through an ever widening vale, fair and green with cornlands and hay. There was no sign of an armed host or even a scouting party in all that noble prospect.

  Malcolm, when he came up, had no doubts. "They are not yet come so far," he declared. "If they were past, they would have left some trace, followers, stragglers. So we are first. And can choose the field. If there is one here to choose."

  "That great cleft, sir," Madach pointed. "From which the river flows. If they are coming down Don, they must come through there. An ambuscade. Could we have better place?"

  "What will an ambuscade serve us, man?"

  "Surprise, Highness. Trap them in that narrow gulf. Between river and steep. A great slaughter."

  "You think so? How say you, Maldred?"

  "No. Not that. Not an ambuscade. This is not a small company but a great army of thousands. Ambush them, and a hundred or two of us might slay a hundred or two of them. But that is all. The rest would retire, undefeated, the full numbers of neither side engaged. We seek a victory, not just to turn them back for a little."

  "Aye — you have the wits of your family, as I have ever said." Maldred had never heard the King say it, but he inclined his head in acknowledgement — although with an apologetic glance at his brother.

  "So we look for a battlefield not a deer-trap!" Malcolm went on. "See you that haugh? The one below the monastery of Monymusk. The bend in the river much narrows it. To three or four hundred yards, no more. With the road running through. West of that is that lochan and marshy ground. There, I say. That should serve. The host hidden. Behind the monastery and the village. And in the scattered woodland around the lochan. We shall split into two. Let them come on, unsuspecting. Then an assault, at the front first, from the monastery. When this has them fully engaged, strike behind, from the lochan woods. That should damage them, on a narrow field, pressed against the river."

  "If they have scouts forward, they could discover us, sir," MacDuff said. "Warn them. No surprise."

  "They will have scouts, yes — if they are not fools. But early in the day — if early they come — they will be for pressing on. Not searching woods and monasteries back from their road. They will hold to the road, after coming out of that ravine, I think. We let the scouts past."

  "You cannot hide five thousand men, Highness. And hundreds of horses," the Earl of Strathearn objected. "In a monastery, a village and a wood!"

  "Can I not, man? You were not with me that day, twenty years back, when I hid more than that! At Dunsinane. When I brought Birnam Wood to MacBeth's Dunsinane! Hidden thousands under branches and boughs. There are birches here in plenty. We shall cut leafage. Most horses to be sent back, behind this wooded brae. A few hidden in the monastery. At a quarter-mile, they will not perceive the deception. So — two arrays. Or three. You, MacDuff, with Angus, will take the left, at the lochan. I will command at the monastery. Strathearn — you will hold a reserve, to aid where needed. And all must remain hidden."

  "Another, smaller force, Highness," Maldred suggested. "To move over into that defile, where the river issues. The ambuscade place. To hold up any reinforcement of the enemy. And to prevent his escape from the field."

  "As you say. That is wise. Not too many — I cannot spare many. Take you half of your Athollmen, then. But — remain well hidden until the fray starts, see you. No — you place them, then come back to my side. Madach can command there. Meanwhile, our scouts will probe ahead. . ."

  This was Malcolm Canmore in his own element, at his decisive best.

  So all went forward as the King commanded, weary men not consulted. Maldred and Madach, with some two hundred of the Athollmen, moved forward, mounted still, to the deep wooded cleft between Beinn a' Chie and Pitfichie Hill — and were surprised to discover it much longer than they had anticipated, winding away northwestwards seemingly for at least two constricted miles. But they were concerned only with this bottom end, and there was no lack of suitable, narrow, gorge-like locations where a few men could hold up hundreds. There proved to be a track on both sides of the river; but that on this western side was obviously the main one, a drove-road, and almost certainly to be used by an advancing host. Which was as well for Malcolm's plans.

  The brothers were placing their men to best effect when one of the forward scouts hurried back. In passing, on his way to the King, he shouted that the enemy van was in fact less than three miles ahead, on the move and entering these narrows at a place called the Mill of Tillyfoure, scouting party in front. It seemed to be a great host, but much strung-out in this close country.

  Maldred saw Madach installed at a vantage-point where he could control his own ambuscade and also see down towards the chosen battle-area around Monymusk, and be in a position to observe the course of the engagement and react accordingly. Then he hastened back to the monastery.

  He found there a scene of great activity. The village's inhabitants had been rounded up and placed under guard in the eating-hall of the monastery, with most of the monks likewise, in case, voluntarily or otherwise, they might give warning to the enemy. The horses, save for the leaders' own beasts, hidden in the village cow-byres, had disappeared. Most of the army was engaged in cutting down birch-boughs and greenery in the scattered woodland of the surrounding slopes. The King and his lords were plotting out tactics on the ground. All this movement must be stilled very shortly, for they calculated that the enemy scouts would be emerging from the pass in no more than half-an-hour.

  Presently, with all activity ceased, or screened, and the royal army in its three great sections crouched down under the canopy of leafage, they waited. Maldred, had he not known,-would not have suspected that so much of the birchwood and fern was in fact false and that men hid there in their thousands.

  Malcolm, sniffing battle, was almost genial, patient now.

  After what seemed an inordinate delay, they saw what they looked for — movement in the mouth of the wooded defile. Out, two by two, trotted a score of horsemen, in the plaids, calfskin jerkins and blue bonnets of the North, Malsnechtan's scouts. Down into the open haughs flanking the Do
n they came, most evidently unconcerned and keeping in their formation.

  "The fortunate ones, this day!" Malcolm almost whispered. "Since they pass unscathed."

  Despite the King's confidence, Maldred at least tended to hold his breath as the party rode down the track midway between the riverside and the village. One man's foolish move amongst the thousands hiding there could ruin all.

  But no alarm was raised and the scouts trotted on down-stream and were soon lost to sight behind trees. No doubt they conceived the royal army as still in the Banchory area this fine morning, all those miles ahead.

  Now there was more waiting — but the atmosphere had changed, as men tensed themselves for battle. Many might not be alive in an hour or two.

  At last they came, flooding out of that dark cleft in the hills, a great and gallant throng, all colour and gleaming steel, the leaders under a dozen flags, topped by the great blue-and-white banner of Moray.

  "The red-and-white of Ross is not there," Maldred observed. "Unless it comes in the rear."

  There was over a mile between the monastery and the mouth of the defile. The head of the Moray column came about one-third of that way into the wide haughland, and there halted — clearly to await the consolidation of its force behind it after the long, stringing-out process of threading the narrows.

  "He has the wits for that, at least," the King commented. "Although it is to our advantage, even so. I do not want to engage only a portion of his strength."

  When the enemy came on again, in close order now, they made an impressive sight. Only the leadership was mounted — for despite the late MacBeth's efforts to copy the highly successful cavalry tactics of the Normans, the Scots still preferred to fight on foot, even mounted bodies like the Atholl contingent only using their garrons to bring them swiftly to the scene, then dismounting to face the foe. Seen thus, it looked fully as large a host as the royal one, and as well equipped.

  There was still no sign of any large red-and-white Ross banner.

  "We wait until he is level with yonder trees. Some way past this monastery. Before we strike," Malcolm announced to his lieutenants. "So that he has to turn his van back. A further confusion..."

  Something had been niggling at the back of Maldred's mind since arriving at this place, something perhaps relevant. Suddenly it came to him.

  "This monastery of Monymusk!" he exclaimed. "It belongs to Deer. The Abbey of Deer. Malsnechtan is pious. I have often heard my father say so. He has granted large lands in Moray to the Abbey of Deer. It was King MacBeth's favourite house. So — he might come here. Come to the monastery. To pray. Or make an offering. Since he is so close ..."

  "A curse on you, man! Why did you not say so sooner?" Malcolm cried.

  "I but now recollected ..."

  But the King went on. "Yet — it could be to our good. Aye, it could so. This is a small house. He would not bring any large company up to it. See you, if he comes, he will leave his host down there. Come up with only some few of his close friends. So, for a space, his army will be all but leaderless. Praise God, I say, if the man does come to pray!"

  There were some grins at that — but Kerald, with the precious reliquary in his arms at Maldred's side, moved closer.

  "I do not like this, Mai," he muttered. "It is ill-done. If this Malsnechtan is a man of God and supporter of the Church. And we use this house of God to lure him to ruin. Carrying this sacred shrine of Columba against the son of a King of Scots who is a better follower of the saint than . . ."

  When he choked on the rest, Maldred nodded grimly but said nothing.

  Perhaps Malcolm heard some of that, for suddenly he cried out, making for him a surprising gesture. "If God gives me the victory this day, I swear to give this monastery and the lands here to St. Andrew. Who once gave my forebear victory. And to increase this house in wealth, strength."

  The brothers were not the only ones who stared, at that — although probably Maldred was the only one who paused to think why the dedication was to be to St. Andrew and not St. Columba, significant in the circumstances.

  There was no time for further talk. The enemy van was almost level now, some three hundred yards away. Without the column halting, suddenly a small mounted group spurred away from the banners-party and came trotting towards them.

  "Wait!" Malcolm said. "Let them come almost to us. Glamis — your troop to deal with them. The rest, heed them not. Follow me down. To the middle of their van. Maldred, raise you my banner. Kerald, at his side with the

  Brecbennoch. Wait, I say! Every moment will tell. Hugh, sound . . . now!"

  High and clear the bull's horn ululated, its wailing notes echoing from the hill-slopes, to be drowned in a great shout from two thousand throats as the King's array leapt up out of hiding and went surging down into the haugh after the monarch, yelling, swords, maces and battle-axes upraised.

  Maldred had no opportunity to observe what happened to Malsnechtan — presuming it was he — and his mounted party. On foot, without the support of the saddle-socket, holding up the large royal banner of Scotland, the silver hump-backed boar on blue, was no light task, especially when he had to keep up with the bounding Malcolm. He could not wield sword himself, requiring both hands for the staff; but he managed to draw and clutch his dirk, for some measure of self-defence. At his side Kerald, monkish robe hitched high, scorned anything of that sort, reliquary clutched tight.

  So they led a tide of shouting, blood-lusting humanity down upon their shocked and utterly unprepared fellow-countrymen, doubts and scruples for the moment forgotten in a fierce and savage upsurge of elation and naked aggression.

  What followed was not really a battle at all, even though individually the Moraymen fought bravely enough. But individual fighting does not make a battle, and seldom makes any major effect on the issue. They were in column-of-route, not in any defensive formation; their senior leadership was separated from their men; the host was mentally and emotionally unready. Moreover, Malcolm's tactics were sound. His first furious impact struck some way down the column, so that the head of it was forced to turn back on itself in major confusion. Thus a large part of the front half of the Moray army was largely invalidated for the moment, ineffective. And as the rear portion came hastening to its aid, the second array of the royal force, under MacDuff and Angus, launched itself down upon them from the woodland. When the reserve thousand under Strathearn, uncertain as to where if at all it might be needed, showed itself in further menace, the thing was all but over, defeat accepted, conceded. All who could of the enemy turned and fled, back towards the defile, where Madach waited.

  Maldred himself saw very little of it all, being fully occupied in maintaining his position at the King's back and in keeping the boar banner approximately upright above the royal head. In fact, he did not strike a single blow throughout. Malcolm himself did all that was necessary in that respect, smiting his way forward into the tightest press with unflagging energy and complete disregard for personal safety. He favoured the battle-axe to the sword for such close combat, and wielded it with a methodical and tireless figure-of-eight rhythm which succeeded in cutting a lane of bloody ruin through the opposing throng, along which the Atholl brothers were his closest followers.

  But if Maldred saw little and contributed less, save as standard-bearer, he experienced sufficient in that brief encounter to imprint the Battle of Monymusk on his mind's eye and memory for ever after. For, with Malcolm having driven almost right through the Moray column, and swinging round to seek a new series of victims, there was an inevitable brief pause in the process for those immediately behind. And in that moment or two of panting lull a small wiry Highlander who had ducked agilely under the sweep of the royal axe, darted in behind and slashed his sword up and clean across K'erald's unprotected throat. In a sudden and dreadful fountaining of blood, that inoffensive young man staggered a couple of steps onward and then collapsed in choking, ungainly death, the Brecbennoch of Columba flung out of his nerveless grasp on to the tra
mpled, slippery grass.

  Appalled, for the moment paralysed in horror, Maldred stared down at his brother, the royal banner wavering in his grip. Croakingly he found his voice, to call out, to Kerald, to God, to the King. God may have heard him, but the others did not. Malcolm was already plunging back into the thick of the fighting, shouting. And Kerald mac Melmore would hear no more until he would hear better things than this in a better place.

  Maldred had seen enough of war and sudden death to know that there was nothing to be done for his brother; also to know his own duty as standard-bearer and knight. As well as demonstrating to all, friend and foe, where the monarch fought, to ensure that the realm's colours remained flying high, it was his part to protect the King's back with his own person. He could not stop, therefore, could not kneel to Kerald's jerking, ghastly body, must press on to fill again the gap which had opened behind Malcolm — the hardest thing ever he had had to do in his life. What he did do, although with a grievous swaying and dipping of the boar flag, was to stoop in his striding and snatch up the precious Brecbennoch, dropping his dirk in the process, and, clutching the reliquary to him also, in Kerald's stead, lurch on after their liege-lord.