The Path of the Hero King bt-2

by Nigel Tranter

  There was some low-voiced bickering amongst the Highlanders.

  It seemed that the previous killing party were assuming that they would continue with the good work, whereas the others wanted to share in the proceedings. Almost they were coming to blows on the matter. The King had sternly to order peace, and commanded that a new selection of dirk men be given their chance.

  The farmhouse itself was small and mean, little better than a cabin; but the associated buildings were quite extensive, barns, stables and byres, for formerly much cattle had grazed on these grassy links Bruce cattle. It was from these outbuildings that the singing emanated, where the troops were presumably quartered. The King’s own party drew their swords this time, and moved close in with the rest of the en circlers in case this proved to be a less tidy exercise.

  It did-although the knightly swords were not in fact required. None of the enemy ever actually emerged from the buildings, but the process of elimination was clearly a much lengthier and noisier one, with shouting and yelling, the clash of steel and the crash and tumble of fitments and bodies. This went on at some length, so that Bruce was constrained to detach another couple of score of eager participants from the surrounding cordon, to send them in to aid and speed the work.

  He kept glancing over his shoulder, southwards towards the Kirkton,

  less than half a mile away. Admittedly all was dark in that direction,

  and the blustery wind was from the southwest; but an unholy noise was

  undoubtedly arising from Auchenduin steading. At last the racket began

  to abate, and the Islesmen to emerge from the buildings. Some few were wounded now, and presently one was carried out dead. But there was no depression, most evidently.

  It seemed to have been a thoroughly enjoyable affair for the Moidartach, really more satisfactory than at Maidens Mill; these were of course professional sea-raiders and killers, however addicted to poetry, the sagas, music and dancing. They claimed that there had been all of four-score Englishry in there. None would trouble Scotland again.

  This experience convinced Bruce that he was wise to leave the Kirkton

  and the Castleton until later. These were villages, or at least

  hamlets, with a number of houses, and the danger of noise, disturbance and resistance would be the greater, especially with the local people

  there to complicate matters. Much better to pick off the outlying billets first-and according to the fishermen there were still four more of these to account for.

  So again ordaining that there was to be no plundering meantime, and that the horses were to be left in their stables, the King divided the company there and then into three parties of approximately a hundred each. Edward, with his overbearing and impetuous nature, did not get on well with others-with men, that is; he did well enough with women usually-was given Gilbert Hay as lieutenant, Hay being a quiet, level-headed but effective man.

  They were to deal with another smaller farm-steading to the north, and a second mill on the Morriston Burn. Ninety minutes was all the time they could be spared for this, and they would have the longest distance to travel-so haste was essential. Lennox was sent to watch the castle exits, with Neil Campbell, a hardened fighter, to stiffen him. Their task meantime was to avoid conflict if possible, avoid detection, but to ensure that the English leadership was prevented, if roused, from issuing forth to take charge of the situation.

  Bruce himself, with James Douglas, would tackle the castle brewery and the main kennels and falcon-yard. These being both close to the castle walls would demand extra care and quiet. They would all meet again at the Kirkton in about ninety minutes, for a joint attack.

  Douglas, who had remained very silent until now, voiced his views to his monarch and hero as they moved off, southwards, with their hundred men.

  “This is ill employment for a King, as for noblemen, Your Grace,” he declared.

  “I never thought to see the day when I would skulk and steal and slay sleeping men, like any thief in the night.”

  “It is not pretty work,” Bruce agreed.

  “But necessary. How would you order it, Jamie?”

  “I do not know,” the other admitted frankly.

  “I have had but little experience of war.” Sir James was just twenty-one, and had spent six years as a refugee in France, with Norman relatives.

  Tournaments and jousting had been all his military education.

  “But surely other than this.”

  “Aye,” the King said heavily.

  “But if you are going to serve me and my cause, lad, you will have to be prepared to soil those white hands of yours. Oh, yes-you have done well as a fugitive in the heather, Jamie. Taken your part and complained nothing. I have watched you. But when ill work fell to be done, anything went less than well with your honour, it was not James Douglas who did it. That I noted also!”

  The younger man bit his lip and said nothing.

  “See you-once I thought as you do. But I have learned in a hard school. Eleven years I have been a-learning. I have learned that a nation fights for its very existence cannot always afford the luxury of honour. I have had two stark teachers, Edward of England and William Wallace. For long, the lords of Scotland prevailed nothing against Edward, who cares no whit for honour or chivalry or anything such. Only Wallace knew how to fight Edward. Against the overwhelming might and utter ruthlessness of the Englishman, Wallace alone made headway. He fought no pitched battles, made no knightly sallies, accepted no challenges.

  He slew by night, surprised, ambushed, outwitted. He burned a small castle here, took a village there, harried the flanks of armies, cut their supplies, wasted the land before them. And only Wallace did Edward fear. This, Jamie, is Wallace’s kind of warfare. And it is the only kind Bruce can afford to wage today.”

  “Since needs must, some must do it, yes,” Douglas conceded, “But… must the King?”

  “The King? What is the King, man, but the representative and leader of his people? I have thought much of kings and kingship since coronation-day at Scone. Would you have your King to stand back, not to soil his hands with what he would have others do on his behalf? That is not as I see the King’s part, Sir James. Nor yet Douglas’s part. Remember who you fight. Remember day when first we met. Ten years ago, at Douglas Castle. Remember how the English then were prepared to fight, to win your castle. By hanging children before your eyes, so the Lady Douglas’s tender woman’s heart would be wrung into yielding her house rather than see it done. Mind you that!”

  “And yet, Sire, it was because you were so otherwise, because you threw

  aside all your position and safety, your credit with King Edward, to

  save those same children, that I saw Robert the Bruceas worshipful.Then, and have continued so to do. All those years ago I swore that, one day, I would be the man of this noble knight.”

  It was Bruce’s turn to be silent. He could by no means refute what his friend had said. And at the back of his mind he was well aware that what he had been enunciating was as much to convince himself as Douglas.

  They were nearing the Kirkton now, and must by-pass it to reach the brewery. There was no opportunity for further debate.

  The King frowned as he strode forward.

  The castle’s former brewery was situated beside another small stream, and with its makings, brewhouse and stores formed a sizeable establishment. No lights showed here, however, and it was unlikely that there would be dogs present. A couple of scouts, sent forward, came back to report that there were men in the mal tings and storehouse, but not in the brewhouse. There appeared to be no horses evidently these were footmen, archers perhaps, quartered closer to the castle than were the cavalry.

  Bruce divided his party seventy-thirty this time. With only a third of the former manpower, he could not afford any close-knit outer cordon. Instead, the outside thirty were set to watch windows and doors for possible escapers. The seventy should be sufficient for what was required within.

  “Your permission,
Sire, to lead the killers,” Douglas requested formally.

  “Not so, Sir James. This is my part. You will command out here.” The stiffness went out of Bruce’s voice.

  “Though, God knows, I but go in with them-do not lead them. Since they know the task better than I do.”

  Accordingly the King did not announce his heading of the pursuit, but merely slipped in amongst the last of the party of thirty or so entering the mal tings drawing his dirk like the rest. He did not know whether or not to wish for some return of the former animal elation that had swept the company after the first bloodletting.

  Inside the building it was very dark, making even the outside mirk seem light. At first Bruce could distinguish nothing. But the Moidartach appeared to have cats’ eyes, and moved with entire confidence. Before he began to achieve any real vision, however, he became aware that the Highlandmen were all in fact hurrying past and up a stairway, unseen but sensed, ahead. Making after them, he blundered into a stand of tall yew bows, which he saved from falling with a clatter only by a desperate effort. Evidently this was indeed an archers’ billet, and they used the basement only for then equipment.

  A choking, gurgling noise from above indicated that the slaughter had begun. It was followed by a scream quickly muffled. There, after the sounds were more like those of many dogs worrying rats.

  The Islesmen used their plaids to smother their victims at the same time as they stabbed and slashed. Reluctantly the King forced himself to climb those stairs.

  He was only part way up when the sort of general scuffling above was punctuated by a sudden scrambling and slipping, involved with bitten-off Gaelic cursing. Swift movement, the padding of bare feet, heralded a running man at the st airhead The merest hint of light came from a window up there, and against it Bruce was able to make out a figure, evidently dressed only in a shirt. This came hurtling down upon him in panting panic.

  The King acted without hesitation, almost without thought Throwing himself in the path of the escapee, he grabbed the man with an encircling left arm-the formerly damaged arm, now healed-and in the same movement raised the drawn dirk and plunged it deep into the other’s breast. As the shocked gasp began to rise to a shriek, he released his grip on the dagger and raised the hand to clamp it over the open mouth. He was vaguely aware of teeth sinking into his flesh as the man slid down within his grasp and thereafter to the steps. He wrenched his hand free, and his victim rolled away bumping down the stairs.

  A little unsteadily Bruce went after him. It was only the second time in his life that he had used a dirk on a man, many as had been his sword-thrusts- and that other had been John Comyn at the Dumfries altar, the deed that came between him and his sleep. The Englishman was twitching and making strange snoring noises, and the King knew that he ought to cut the throat, as his minions above were doing, but jibbed at it. He waited there, instead, retrieving his dirk, for other possible attempts at escape.

  None developed. The first Highlandman down the stairs made short work of the King’s victim, without any request. The brewery was won, without casualty to the attackers.

  Bruce remained lacking in elation, as they pressed on towards the kennels and falcon-yard, a little way south of the castle walls and ditches.

  He had been concerned about this last assault, leaving it late, for

  here had been kept his pack of hunting-hounds, and a great hullabaloo

  and outcry was possible. But not so much as a single sounded as they

  approached, and it looked as though Percy had dispensed with the

  brutes, or at least kept them elsewhere. This time, the King allowed

  Douglas to go in with the attackers to the silent, unlighted square of

  low buildings, without demur. It was soon over, here, with the

  smallest number of deepen so far, mainly cooks, grooms and servants apparently. James Douglas looked stiff and, somehow, even in the darkness, gave the impression of being very pale, as he came out He made no comment to Bruce-who indeed sought none.

  The programme now called for a return to the Kirkton, and a united assault upon it, with time in hand. But well before the King’s party reached the hamlet they heard noise therefrom, which grew to uproar.

  “A plague on it-they are roused! That is an attack,” Bruce exclaimed.

  “Whose folly is this…?”

  He had no need to ask that, of course. Lennox was not the sort to initiate assaults, out of turn or otherwise. This would be Edward Bruce demonstrating his independence.

  At the run now, the King led his men on, with the din ahead continuing. One of the Islesmen’s leaders presently tugged at the royal sleeve, to point away to the left, where he declared two figures had shown briefly, fleeing in the other direction. Even as he spoke, someone else called out that he had seen a man running off on their right.

  “Damnation!” Bruce cried.

  “Escapers. These will warn the Castleton. The castle itself. Edward is a headstrong fool!” He ordered some of the Moidartach to race after the fleeing men from the Kirkton, to try to prevent them giving the alarm elsewhere.

  At least, it meant presumably that Edward’s people were winning in their premature attack. The noise was gradually lessening.

  This reading of the situation was confirmed as they came to the Kirkton. There was a certain amount of moaning, and screaming of women, with many dark shapes lying around, but the fighting appeared to be over. The houses clustered round a grassy mound, on the summit of which the church stood, a notable landmark. It was up there that any remaining activity seemed to be concentrated.

  Hurrying up the hill, Bruce found his brother inside the church itself which apparently had been used as one more barracks. All seemed to be over here too, though the number of bodies lying scattered amongst the gravestones indicated that it had been a fight, not a massacre of slumberers.

  “My lord of Carrick-a word with you,” the King called sternly.

  “Over here.”

  “Ha-is that you, Rob? You came too late. It is all by with. Hot while it lasted. But more sport than knifing sleepers!”

  “We are not here for sport,” the other snapped. He jerked his head.

  “Those women skirling? More sport?”

  “You would not grudge our cater ans a little play, man…?”

  “By the Rude, I would! Any women here are villagers. Our own people. Moreover, they are my subjects. Mine. I have come to free them, not to savage them. Jamie-see you to it. With your sword, if need be. Quickly.” He turned back to his brother.

  “As for you, Edward, you are a fool. Witless! And worse. You have disobeyed my commands. I told you to await me here. For a joint attack. I told you plainly…”

  “Save us, Rob-what’s to do? We finished these other two billets quickly. They were no trouble. Arrived here early. Why wait, when I could take the place? Save time?”

  “Because I said to wait.”

  “God in Heaven-I am not a child! Think you I need your guidance, Rob, for all I do …?”

  “Enough, my lord! It is the King who speaks-not Rob Bruce!

  When I give my royal command you, as all others, will obey. Mind it, hereafter. You have like as not made ruin of this night’s work.

  You had not sufficient men to surround all this village. You have taken it, yes. But some escaped. To warn others. We saw them.

  They will warn the Castleton. Percy himself, in the castle, it may be. Percy still has men enough to destroy us, probably. Armour Horsed knights. Men-at-arms. You may have won me this Kirkton, but you are like to have lost me the night!”

  His brother said nothing.

  “Enough, then. Get your men assembled. And quickly. We move at once.

  For the Castleton. With all speed.”

  The Castleton of Tumberry, the main village which had grown up to serve the principal seat of the Carrick earls, lay less close to the castle itself than was usual-this because of the cliff-top position of the fortalice, with no sheltered or convenient area near by.

  More than a
quarter-mile southeast, and as far from the Kirkton, its village nestled amongst the trees of a shallow valley.

  The Bruce brothers’ united company of 200 was left in no doubts but the Castleton had been warned. Lights were glowing and shouts sounding, as they approached; even a trumpet neighed shrilly on the night. That trumpet would be heard in the castle, without any doubt likewise.

  Despite Bruce’s lecture to James Douglas, what followed was a much more

  acceptable instalment of the night’s work than what had gone before,

  though undeniably more expensive and less efficient. Men emerged from

  all the houses of the Castleton. Indubitably many were more intent on

  flight than fight, while not a few were still bemused by sleep or

  drink, but none had left their arms behind them. Two hundred attackers

  were insufficient to employ any surrounding tactics, and the resultant

  battle, without any real line or focus, was incoherent in the extreme, no more than a confusion of individual tuss els and duels in the darkness, running fights with leadership and direction almost impossible on either side. What advantage there might be was with the attackers, with surprise and the night tending to fight for them;

  but on the other hand, the assailed were fighting for their lives, and moreover had the feeling of the great castle’s support near by to sustain them. Neither side knew how many might be arrayed against them.

  Bruce suddenly found himself alone, and engaging two men simultaneously, one armed with a halberd and the other with a short cavalry sword. His own longer blade dealt with the halberd effectively, shearing through the wood staff with a single great slash, and then cutting down the bereft wielder with a swift backhanded stroke. But this left him open to the other man’s stabbing rush, and he had to jump backwards and sideways urgently, blindly, to avoid the vicious thrust. There was an unevenness in the ground, only a group of tussocks but enough to send him sprawling -and with the recoil from his own swinging blow, he overbalanced and fell his length.