Campbells from South Argyll; MacGregors whom they had collected at Glen Strae and Glen Orchy, under their intimidating chief Malcolm himself;
Macleans of Morvern; and most interest-of all, Macphersons,
Cattanachs, Shaws and Mackintoshes from Badenoch, Comyn lands which
they had passed through on their move north from Lorn-but which,
unlike the true Lowland Comyn country of Buchan, had only been gained
in conquest by its Norman lords, not married into, so that its Highland
population showed no enmity to Bruce, and following the example of the
West Highland chiefs contributed their quota to the royal advancing army. Hitherto no King of Scots would, or could, have entrusted himself to a Highland army, since the Lowlanders looked upon these people as barbarians, little better than vermin, not to be associated with nor trusted. Yet here he lay, secure and accepted, within a company of 4,000 and more of these Highlanders, on the southern shore of Loch Ness, hundreds of miles deep within their mountain fastnesses. Moreover, using them to counter another Highland army, just across the water.
The King turned his glance, as he had done frequently that early August night, away from the dramatic scene of blazing fires and flaring pitch-pine torches and the thronged colourful ranks of fierce-looking clansmen, lit by the glow of the flames, against the twisted silhouettes of the trees and the black outlines of the crouching mountains-turned to the north. Loch Ness, although all of twenty-three miles long, was little more than a mile wide here, between Dores and Inverfarigaig: and across that mile more fires gleamed red against black hills.
For what seemed leagues those points of light glowed and flickered, left and right, marking the north shore of the loch, though they were less bright to the right, the north, where Urquhart Bay curved deeply back at the mouth of Glen Urquhart. The sky was overcast and dark for an August night, so that the host of fires showed the brighter, where the Earl of Rosss army awaited them, had awaited them for days; indeed, from all accounts, for weeks, on the borders of his great territory. For all Scotland to the north of where they camped here was in the grip of William of Ross, since it consisted of but the two mighty earldoms, and Sutherland happened to be he ired by a minor, whom Ross dominated.
Caithness was a no-mans-land, disputed between the crowns of Scotland and Norway, but in fact its unruly clans were also under the thumb of Ross. How many men lay encamped across Loch Ness none knew for certain-though there were tales of tens of thousands.
That was undoubtedly an exaggeration-but there was enough to give Bruce pause, at any rate.
His glance, as had happened before, tended to dwell upon a certain point over there, some way east of directly across the dark waters. Here the pattern of lights was different, the gleams smaller and feebler and clustered close together, some indeed one above another. And it was noticeable that none of the larger lights looked close to these, on either side. For these indeed were not fires at all, but lights from windows, candle lamp or torch-the lights of Urquhart Bay. That was Crown property, a royal castle, strong and strategically placed at the mouth of Glen Urquhart, guarding the only road to lead into the northeast between Inverness and the Western Sea. And presently held by Sir Alexander Comyn, brother of the Earl of Buchan.
The King rubbed his chin, eyes narrowed.
The singing was succeeded by Highland dancing, seemingly wild but essentially disciplined nevertheless, with the wailing, shrilling, groaning music of the bagpipes bubbling and skirling to hills and sky, when Bruce suddenly came to a decision and rose to his feet.
Angus Og, from near by, looked up.
You join the dancing, Sir King? he asked, brows raised.
Not tonight. I think that I will make a call. Across the loch.
The night being dark.
Now? By night? You mean-in force?
No. A secret call. Private, very. Come you with me, my lord?
The other hesitated.
If so you wish. And believe it worth the doing.
I believe it worth the trial, at least, yes. There are more weapons than swords in a Kings armoury, friend.
Though all there who could hear looked uncertain, many wished to accompany the monarch nevertheless. But Bruce declared that two small boats were all that should go, the second only as a precaution in case of trouble. For days the Highlanders had been collecting boats from all up and down the loch side for many miles, assembling them hereabouts; also felling trees for rafts, for the boats to tow over. The shoreline was a mass of craft therefore, for 4,000 men would take a deal of ferrying across that mile of water, should it ever come to that.
Ordering the dancing to continue, the King led a little group out of
the circle of the firelight and down to the shingly beach. Angus Og,
Hay and Randolph-who was religiously taken everywhere that Hay went
joined Bruce, with two gillies for the oars, in one boat; Lennox,
Campbell and the young man whom Bruce had knighted with Somerleds
sword at Castle Tioram, Sir Ranald MacRuarie of Smearisary, went in the
second boat. Christina MacRuarie had returned to Moidart, meantime,
during the recent Lorn campaign, but had sent her nephew, Sir Ranald,
with 400 men, as her link with the King. A popular young man with the
Highlanders, because of his storytelling abilities, he now rejoiced in
the somewhat empty title of royal cup-bearer. At the last moment a
long lean dark figure came scuttling down to the strand, and came
clambering aboard the Kings craft, all flapping black robes, much to
the scorn of Angus of the Isles-Master Bernard de Linton, the secretary. Shrugging, Bruce let him stay.
The oarsmen were set to row half-right, north by east, and at their quietest.
Presently, above the creak of row locks and splash of blades, Bruce heard sounds at their backs, and stared astern.
There are craft behind us, he jerked.
Following.
More than one, the Lord of the Isles agreed grimly.
Think you I would allow the whole leadership of this host to risk capture over there? Without a sufficiency of broadswords at our backs to ensure our safety.
The King frowned.
I said two small boats, he snapped. Then he waved a hand, assenting.
So be they keep out of sight. And quiet, I told you, it is not swords I am concerned with, this night.
With their own fires become mere points of light, in turn, strung along the southern shore, and some of the enemys seeming alarmingly near now, the oarsmen, pulling very gently, drew in towards the dark and lofty bulk of Urquhart Castle on its bluff of headland. From this water-level its high walls, battlements, flanking-towers and soaring central keep looked impressive indeed, daunting. It was after midnight now, and few windows showed a light.
About fifty yards from the rocks, Bruce ordered the oarsmen to be still, and raised his voice. He did not shout, but called.
Ho, the watch! Hear me. Does any keep watch in Urquhart Castle of a night? Only on an overcast night at this time of year could they have won thus close, unspotted.
Swiftly he had reply.
Hey-fits that? Fas there? a broad Aberdeenshire voice gave back, from one of the flanking-towers parapets.
Guidsakes, ist a boat?
It is your King, man. Fetch you Sir Alexander Comyn, who captains this my castle of Urquhart.
Eh …? Guidsakes -the King? Bruce …?
Fats to do, Tosh? somebody shouted, from another tower.
I
can see twa boats. Sma yins …
Quickly, fool! Bruce commanded.
Tell Sir Alexander that King Robert requires speech with him. And no outcry, or you will suffer for it.
Ooh, aye. Aye. Wait you …
It was nerve-racking
for them all to sit there, swaying on the water, so close to their toes-for Rosss patrols assuredly would be on the watch along all that waterfront, save just immediately in the vicinity of the castles promontory. Bruce was torn between thankfulness, after all, for the presence of Angus Ogs supporting craft somewhere behind, and the fear that these larger boats would loom visible from the main shore.
It seemed a long time before another voice sounded from the castle-not from any flanking-tower this time but evidently from a window of the great keep, though there was no light.
Who claims to be the Bruce? it demanded, in very different tones.
At this hour?
I do, Alexander Comyn. Your liege lord, whose castle you now occupy. You know my voice, as I know yours. In whose name do you hold the castle of Urquhart against me, sir?
There was a pause, as well there might be. For Comyn to admit that he held it by right of conquest was to put himself in the wrong, since there was no question but that Urquhart was a royal castle.
To say that he held it in the name of King Edward would be something of a humiliation for the proud Comyn, who undoubtedly considered himself an ally of the English King rather than a vassal.
I hold it in the name of King John, he replied, at length.
King John Baliol.
Then you are the only man in Christendom, Sir Alexander, who still calls John Baliol monarch!
The other made no comment.
I have come for my castle, Bruce went on.
Yield it to me, Sir Alexander, as is your duty and right, and you may remain its keeper.
The gasps of those beside him in the boat drowned any reaction that Comyn might have made.
You hear me, sir? Do your duty. Yield me Urquhart, and I will forget the past. I will confirm you as keeper.
Still there was no perceptible reaction from the castle. Bruce cleared his throat. This calling across seventy or so yards of water was trying on the vocal cords.
I have always considered you a man of some understanding, Comyn. No hotheaded fool, to throw away life and fortune on a lost cause. You have too much to lose, for that. And your Comyn cause is lost, whatever happens here. You know that. You have heard what is done in Buchan?
I have heard of savagery and shame. Of destruction. A fair land made a desert. A whole province harried without mercy. Do you boast of that?
I am not here to boast, sirrah. I am here to offer you terms.
Or to destroy you. Destroy you as Buchan is destroyed. That Comyn
shall never again threaten Bruce. The choice is yours. Make your
peace with me, your liege lord. Or fall-not to rise again.
I am not like to fall, my lord. This castle is strong. And my nephew, the Earl of Ross, has a greater host than yours, encamped around Urquhart. You will not easily win across Loch Ness to come at me.
Ross and his host are not here to save you, Comyn! They are here only to prevent me crossing the loch and entering their country. If they are outflanked, as they will be, they will leave you, like a stranded fish! They love you not, a Southron. Bruce took a chance.
I warrant the Earl of Ross, nephew though he may be, is not with you in my castle, Sir Alexander! Nephews are not always strong in their duty. And the King glanced over at Thomas Randolph.
Silence from the castle. Rosss mother was indeed Sir Alexanders sister, who had married the second Mac-an-Tagart Earl; but the Rosses remained purely Highland in outlook, with little interest in the Lowland Comyns.
Summoning reluctant lungs to the task, Bruce proceeded.
My brother, the Earl of Carrick, has finished laying Buchan low. He has done it thoroughly, and on my command. Not a single castle or place of strength, not a single slated house, or town or village remains to Comyn therein. Now he marches to meet me here. He is not far off, Sir Alexander. To the east. It is for him I wait, for he has my main host. But I have sent the word for him to come by the north shore of this loch, not the south! He will cross the river at Inverness. That town will not, cannot, withstand him. I expect him here tomorrow, Comyn. How long, think you, will Ross linger round Urquhart Castle when my brother appears on his flank? And with Lachlan MacRuarie, of whom you will have heard, marching from the NorthWest. He will retire up Glen Urquhart, to seek a stronger line in Strath Glass, where he may not be outflanked. You know it.
The continuing lack of response from the dark building was very eloquent.
I offer you better terms than you deserve, sir. Bruces voice growing hoarse and tired, now.
But I have a realm to win and to govern, and require the services of strong and able men, whether they love me or no. I would have Comyn, if not my friend, at least not my enemy. Your brother, the Earl of Buchan, is a broken man, and ill. Now in disgrace in England, it is said. The Comyn power is broken quite. You are the last to hold out against me. Let there be an end to this folly, Sir Alexander. Why should more men die? My subjects. Yield me this castle, and Tarradale on the Black Isle, also a royal house but held by you. Come into my peace. Then, I say the past is past. You shall remain keeper here, and your lands shall not be forfeit. How say you?
I… I must think on it. I require time to consider. To consider well…
Then you are a fool as well as a traitor, Comyn! That was Angus Og, who could restrain himself no longer.
This King is over-kind, I say. He offers you a deal more than would
I. It a Angus of the Isles who speaks. Most of the men yonder are mine. I have taken and burned many a stouter hold than this. Myself, I would have no parleying. And you would hang on your own duletree tomorrow!
Bruce smiled to himself, at that.
From the other boat, only a couple of lengths away, someone else spoke up.
This is Malcolm of Lennox. You know me, Alexander Comyn. Do as His Grace asks, I pray you. We have had enough of killing and hatred. The King is right. And he is a true man.
He keeps his word. What gain to you now by withstanding him?
This our country, our kingdom, needs to be built up fore God it does!
Not torn apart. King Robert is the man to do it.
You were ever the best of the Comyns. Will you not aid him in it?
Well said, Malcolm, Bruce murmured.
Would you have me betray my own kin? the voice from the castle came back.
The Earl of Ross?
Bruce answered.
I ask no man to betray other. There has been too much betrayal in this Scotland. I say that you will serve Ross well. He cannot win against the rest of Scotland. None come to his aid. He hoped for aid from John of Lorn. But we have just come from Lorn. MacDougall licks his wounds. He has not come north, nor will do. And yesterday we captured a courier from Ross. To King Edward of England. Beseeching aid. Saying that he was sore pressed. That he had insufficient men to protect all the North.
That unless he received English aid soon he must retire into a closer country. Knew you of this letter?
That elicited no reply.
Edward will not aid him, Comyn. You know that. Has he aided Comyn? This Edward is not as his father. Ross will win aid from none. The sooner he perceives it, the better. I do not wish to fight him. Even he, who delivered up my wife and daughter, I will receive into my peace. Tell him so. He is my subject. And by yielding me this castle, open his eyes, man.
I must consider it. Give me time to think on it… Sire.
Bruce caught his breath in his hoarse throat. That one reluctant word
from Comyns lips! Sire! It might serve-the thing might serve!
Very well, Sir Alexander, he called.
Think you. Think well. I give you until tomorrows noon. Edward had sent word that he would arrive the next forenoon.
This is a royal castle. Somewhere in it will be its royal standard, the Lion Banner of Scotland.
Tomorrow, fly that standard above this
castle, and pull down your Comyn colours-and I accept you into my peace. Keep your own banner flying and I destroy you. Is it understood?
It is understood.
Very well. I bid you a good night, sir. And may tomorrows sun shine kindly for Scotland! For us all!
Thankfully the rowers dipped their oars, to pull away.
You are a strange man, Robert Bruce. Angus Og declared, as they headed back into the southwest.
Both cunning and trusting.
Fierce enough, yet too kind of heart. You truly would forgive the Comyn all?
Bruce was staring at the dark shapes of fully half a dozen larger boats which now loomed out of the night ahead of them.
It is not my heart that is so kind, I fear, Angus, my friend, he said slowly.
My head, rather. I am cursed, or blessed, with a head that speaks different from my heart, in many matters. Or perhaps it is that a king must have two hearts? One his own, and one for his kingdom, his people. And the first must needs give way to the second-or his coronation vows are worthless. I do not say that I forgive Comyn -yet. One day, perhaps. But I will keep my promise to him. If he submits.
Oh, he will submit, Hay said.
You heard that Sire? There spoke the decision he will make, I swear.
Out of the quiet that followed, another voice made itself heard, one that seldom spoke.
My word, Sir Thomas Randolph said, was it truth that you said? That you would accept even William of Ross to your peace? The Earl? He who betrayed your lady?
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