The Path of the Hero King bt-2

by Nigel Tranter

  Probably she perceived something of these reactions, for she drew the robe back over her leg, though not very effectively, but raised her other hand to his sound arm.

  “Come, sit, Robert,” she said.

  “Tell me of your Queen.

  Your Ulsterwoman. Is she very beautiful? I have heard that she is.”

  He sat, since standing he was the more distracted. But to sit and ‘discuss Elizabeth with this all-but-naked Isleswoman was less than suitable.

  “She is, yes,” he agreed shortly.

  “Beautiful, and leal.”

  “And she would have you monk, during this long parting?”

  “Would not any wife?”

  “Not any, no. Some, yes. I would not. With months, possibly years, between. My man’s heart I would have cleave to me. His manhood, his body, denied me, I would not deny Aim.”

  For a moment that bedchamber of Castle Tioram in Moidart gave place to another room, darker, smaller and no bedchamber, whatever had taken place therein-the little rustic garden-house on the island in Linlithgow Loch where, four years before, Elizabeth de Burgh had yielded herself to him in passion and love.

  After that joyful, cataclysmic union, she had spoken to him very much as this Christina spoke now. What was it she had said? That she would be a jealous wife. That if she married him she would require him to be faithful. In his heart. That he might amuse himself with other women, even lie with them. But if he gave his heart to another, she would turn from him and never forgive him.

  Even might kill him, she had said. Those may not have been her words, but that was the gist of it.

  And now, this.

  “Your Queen and I, then, are of a different sort,” she went on.

  “So be it.”

  “Different, yes. In much. But not… but not…” Absurdly, he felt that he had to be fair to Elizabeth in this.

  Speculatively she eyed him. But she rose, pulling the robe close again.

  “I will go, then-since I cannot serve your need. Remember hereafter, Robert, that it was your need that brought me. Only that.”

  He looked up at her, biting his lip. They said that there was no hatred to rival that of a woman rejected. This woman’s aid, cooperation, influence, he greatly required. And she was indeed beautiful… “Do not go,” he said.

  Their eyes met, and held.

  “Do you not know your own mind, Sire?” she asked.

  “Or is it your body you do not know?”

  “As to my body, there is no doubt, woman!” he told her.

  “Nor indeed in my mind, I think. It was my heart that gave me pause.”

  “We are not concerned here with your heart,” she declared levelly. But she looked away.

  He had a flash of insight there, that perhaps she lied. But he put the thought from him.

  “Then give me … what you came to offer. And find me … grateful.”

  Grateful? “”Aye grateful.” He stood up, and stepped forward to

  her.

  “And more than that. Desirous. Demanding. Needful. Hungry.” He reached out an ungentle hand to wrench back her bed-robe from her white loveliness.

  “So-you are a man, after all!”

  “Let me prove it, Christina of the Isles!”

  “You have all night to do that, Sir King!” She flung the robe away.

  “Let us see if there is a saga to be made of this also!”

  If thereafter Robert Bruce suffered twinges of a new sort of guilt, at least he made better company, and for more than just his hostess. None failed to perceive the change in the King-and few failed to find a reason for it.

  It was a strange development, manifesting itself not in any new zestfulness, triumphant masculinity or obvious satisfaction; rather in a relaxation of manner and temper, a greater friendliness towards his companions, a kind of lowering of guards. Clearly he felt less cut off from his fellow men and women, more in need of what others had to offer in sympathy and personal support. Indeed, although humility was not a word that was ever likely to be associated with the Bruce, a sort of modesty grew on him. He had never been arrogant or overbearing but there had been perhaps a certain un approachability a reserve. Always there would be something of this, but now there was a distinct easement.

  He even spoke frequently, to others, of the Queen and her perilous situation, as of his own helplessness, something that he had not done before. That she was much on his mind, whatever his current recreations, was evident to all.

  Of course the affair with Christina did not limit itself to a single engagement. Living in such close proximity, occupying adjoining rooms, that would have been almost impossible. And there was no question as to their mutual physical satisfaction; neither had cause to complain of the other’s adequacy or accomplishment. No coy teasings or lovers’ tiffs were there to punctuate their association.

  Vehement characters both, once decision was taken, there were no half-measures.

  Nevertheless, as time passed, Bruce recognised danger signals.

  He realised that he was becoming dependent on this woman, that not only was her physical presence becoming necessary to him but that her strong and vivid character was of growing influence upon him, upon his plans and his thinking. He was able to tell himself this way lay not only betrayal of Elizabeth but folly, the endangering of his cause. He accepted that it was not Christina’s fault, or deliberately caused-at least, he thought not. But the conviction grew upon him that he trod on thin ice. It was time for him to break loose. Despite the onset of November gales, and the implicit assumption that the winter was upon them, when men drew up their ships and laid by their swords until the campaigning season returned, Bruce decided to make a move.

  The couriers and spies had meantime been reporting back to Moidart, from many parts-although some there were who never returned. From their news the King was able to piece together a picture of the national situation as a whole. Basically all of Scotland was prostrated under the heavy heels of the English and the Comyn faction, plus those agile men who always looked to the winning side. But this was only a superficial impression. The enemy grip was tighter in some areas than others, just as the underlying Bruce support was stronger, manifesting itself in small revolts, rioting and civil commotion, ambushes of parties of occupying troops, night assaults on isolated garrisons, and the dumb noncooperation of the people. The SouthWest, from Glasgow down to Galloway, centring round Bruce’s own earldom of Carrick, was the most restive, aided by many small guerilla bands, relics of Wallace’s great force, operating from the upland wildernesses of Ettrick, Merrick and Kells. life, where the Church influence was predominant, despite the Primate Lamberton’s imprisonment in England, also was in a constant turmoil; as was South Angus, and Dundee said to be a hot-bed of revolt. There was significant word, too, from more than one source, of rifts between the Comyns and their English overlords, with actual fighting in Badenoch. The Bishop of Moray was reported to be recruiting men and ships in the Orkneys. The picture, overall, was of a nation defeated and held down but not subdued, seedling with unrest-no satisfactory prospect for King Edward. A small surge of hope was renewed within the Bruce.

  There was no further news, as yet, about the Queen or Marjory or of the other women in Edward’s grasp.

  While all this was encouraging in some measure, there was no blinking

  the one great ominous shadow-the Plantagenet’s continued presence at

  the Border. Rumour had it he was sick again-but still refusing to go

  south to the comforts of home life in London. Which could only mean

  his utter determination to destroy Scotland once and for all, and Bruce

  with it, in the coming season, once the days were long enough for

  effective warfare, the hill passes open for his heavy chivalry, and the

  coastal seas calm enough for his supply fleets. In 1303 he had let

  loose quarter of a million troops on Scotland. His present prolonged

  preparations probably meant an onslaught on a similar scale-and this<
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  time upon a prostrate foe and undefended land.

  Anything Bruce could do, therefore, it became evident, must be attempted before the spring, while he still had men who might rue for him throughout the country-for nothing seemed more certain than that afterwards there would be no more such alive. Which surely meant that he should not be lying in idle dalliance at Castle Tioram, winter or no winter. Could he even make winter fight for him?

  One maddening aspect of the situation was to be surrounded by fighting-men, in these Highlands and Isles, who would not fight for him. Or, at least, who would not unless their chiefs told them to.

  And what had he, Bruce, to offer the said chiefs-who looked on the Lowland Scots much as they looked on the English, and certainly accepted no sort of allegiance, or duty to support them. Offers of position and privilege, as reward, in the freed Scotland, should it ever be free again, would have little relevance. Yet these great numbers of fierce fighters were available. Angus Og indeed, like lesser chiefs, built much of the Isles economy on the hiring out his broadswords by the thousand, mainly to the ever warring Irish princelings-as he was doing, and leading them in person, at this present. Bruce undoubtedly could hire them likewise -had he the wherewithal. But today, he had not two gold pieces to rub together.

  Yet, apart from the empty Scots treasury, altogether, he was, in theory, one of the richest lords in Scotland, owner of vast lands and estates, whole towns, almost provinces. Carrick was his, and rich Annandale; much of Galloway; the lordship of the Garioch, in Aberdeenshire, and many other lesser estates. Moreover he controlled the great earldom of Mar, as guardian of his nephew.

  Riches indeed. And it was nearly the Martinmas Term, when the rents of all those lands were due to be paid to him. If indeed, most, or many, of his people and tenants and vassals remained loyal to him, even as lord, much less king, and if they would probably rise and shed their blood for him-as they had done in the past-might they not still pay their rents to him? Even in today’s circumstances, and though almost certainly the English invaders would be mulcting them as well? It was worth a trial. He could send out rent-collectors, at least.

  Then there was the position of his two remaining younger brothers to consider, Thomas and Alexander. Apparently the enemy had not managed to lay hands on them, and the rumour was that they were in hiding somewhere in Galloway, instigating much of the insurrection there. Alex was now a priest, in name at least pean of Glasgow, though barely twenty-five. Thomas, a year older, and long-headed, had been the stay-at-home of the family, content to manage the great Annandale estates. They should be found, and brought here to the Isles.

  So Bruce borrowed a small galley from Christina, and sent his brother Edward, and with Sir Robert Boyd and Sir Robert Fleming, a Galloway man, to aid and also possibly to restrain him. They were to sail secretly to Galloway, seek out Thomas and Alex, then try to collect as much of the Annandale and Carrick rents as they might, and return to Moidart. He would meet them here again, God willing, for Yuletide.

  For he himself was for the sea again, also. In Angus Og’s lent galley, he would continue on his northwards travels, interview the northern chiefs, seeking men and support, avoiding the Ross lands.

  And on round the top of Scotland to the Orkney Isles, to link up with the good Bishop David of Moray, there to draw up mutual plans. He hoped that when he returned to Castle Tioram, at Yuletide if possible, it would be in shape to take the first steps towards regaining his throne.

  None knew better than he how many, how weary and how long continued those steps must be. But at least a start would be made.

  Chapter Six

  After the spacious timber halls, the snug comforts, and much Yuletide feasting of Christina’s hospitable house-to say nothing of her person’s liberality-the small stone chambers of Kildonan’s keep were bare, cramped and draughty, with the chill February wind finding its way in through a host of cracks and crevices. The crash of waves from far below was a muted thunder, as background for the whistle of the wind and the rattle of the timber shuttering of the small windows ominous indication of the seas running in even these comparatively sheltered waters of the Firth of Clyde, and scarcely propitious sailing weather. But Robert Bruce and his friends were used to storms and high seas, these days, seasoned mariners. After the Sea of the Hebrides, the Minches in midwinter, and rounding Cape Wrath into and out from the dreaded Pentland Firth between Scotland and Orkney, these Arran waters held little terror.

  It was chillier, draughtier, less comfortable, in that tower-room than

  even was normal of a February night however; for the shutters of the

  lower unglazed half of one window were wide open, so that the night

  came in in blasts and buffets setting the lamps flickering wildly and gouts of choking wood-smoke billowing out from fireplace and chimney. The glass of the upper part was too thick to give any prospect, letting in only light and no view even by day.

  Despite the chill, the King himself sat near the open window, a plaid round his shoulders; he and his colleagues had taken to the Highland custom of wearing plaids at most times, finding them the most effective protection by day and night, on shipboard, in the heather, as surcoat or as blanket. Indeed Bruce, now weather beaten, curly-bearded and long of hair, looked entirely the Highlander, and a tough and fierce one-so much so that the captured English captain of this hold, whom Douglas had seized, still refused to believe that this was indeed the King of Scots.

  Bruce’s glance, though he listened to the talk of his friends, kept turning to that open window, as it had been doing since darkness fell. The others, James Douglas in especial, had offered many times to relieve his self-imposed, chill vigil and exchange a seat nearer the fire; but the King had shaken his head. So much of his hopes and plans could depend on what he saw from that window.

  For, due southeast of this southernmost tip of the Isle of Arran, where Kildonan perched on a cliff above a tiny harbour, lay the Ayrshire coast of mainland Scotland. More than that, it was the King’s own coast of Carrick. Only fifteen miles away from where he sat, his great castle of Tumberry, principal seat of the earldom, stood above these same heaving waters, his birthplace, now occupied by Englishmen. What was Scots in his blood, as distinct from Norman-French, stemmed from just over there, where his Celtic ancestors had ruled the SouthWest. These days, Robert Bruce was turning to the Gelt in him, in more than his clothing. The ancient blood stirred.

  But it was not just Celtic blood and wishful thinking that stirred the King tonight. He was looking for a sign, a signal. Sir Robert Boyd and Sir Robert Fleming were, if God was kind, over there now, spying out the land, secretly visiting key vassals, carrying the royal message. They had been gone for five days now. If conditions were not impossible for a landing, they were to light a bale fire of driftwood in a place he had told them of, a corner of beach under small screening cliffs about a mile north of Tumberry, known as Maidens. Here the fire, facing into the northwest, would not be apt to be seen from land wards but should gleam clear across the firth to Arran. To be lit either this night, or the next-the timing was important.

  So Bruce peered into the stormy dark till his eyes ached, scarcely aware of the cold, and listened to his friends’ idle talk with one ear. There were not many of them to chat, in that upper room-apart from Edward, only the Earl of Lennox, James Douglas, Gilbert Hay and Neil Campbell. The others of his company were far scattered-though he hoped, and would have prayed if he had dared, that his younger brothers were not so very far away at that moment.

  Edward Bruce had been successful in his mission in November, duly finding their two brothers, Thomas and Alex, in Galloway;

  and thereafter managing to collect a sizeable sum in rents. Most rental was paid in kind, of course-in grain, beasts, labour and armed service; but many of the larger vassals elected to pay at least some proportion in money, and the Bruce brothers had brought back to Moidart gold and silver, little enough for a great earldom’s rent-roll, but a large sum indeed
in the Hebridean economy, where a gold piece was a rare sight. After their reunion at Yule, then, the three brothers had been despatched to Ireland with most of the money, to seek out Angus Og -who with his mercenaries was wintering in comparative comfort in Antrim, as seemed to be his preferred custom-there to hire as many gallowglasscs, Highland or Irish, as the money would buy. Thereafter they were to bring their new host to Rathlin Island, where Sir Reginald Crawford, a kinsman of the late Wallace, from Galloway, would meet them and guide them to a planned invasion of the mainland, in Galloway itself, where insurgent support was awaiting a lead. This to coincide with Bruce’s own projected landing at Carrick.

  All this had gone more or less as planned, and ten days ago Edward Bruce had brought word from Rathlin that Thomas and Alex were there, with 800 men, had met Crawford, and intended to descend on the Galloway coast on the night of the 9th of February, in the neighbourhood of Loch Ryan-tomorrow night. The final member of the King’s former close company, Sir William Bellenden, had been left at Orkney with Bishop David, to aid in an invasion of the North, to coincide with these two attempts.

  Bruce waited there at the window until after midnight, reluctant to concede that there would be no signal that night. At length, with Edward and Lennox already retired, and the other three dozing by the dying fire, he sighed, and stood up, stretching stiffly.

  “There is still another night,” he said.

  “And Robert Boyd will not fail me. If the thing is possible. And if he is safe. If he has not been taken …”

  “Sir Robert is cautious and wise, Sire. He will be safe,” Douglas said, rising hurriedly.

  “And if there is no sign, we can still go to gallo way Join the others.”