Sir Robert Keith, the Marischal, as yet untried in the Kings service, had been given the Loch Doon assignment, with a mere 200 men. He would have been left to deal with it on his own, undoubtedly, had it not been for the arrival on the scene of David de Strathbogie, Earl of Atholl. The birth of a bastard daughter to his sister, deserted by Edward Bruce, had so enraged this proud young man that nothing would do but that he must at once take the field actively. From being merely a high-born exile in England, he became a man with a mission-to wipe out this affront to his name and fame. The English gleefully had given him a following assessed at 400, and truce or none he had marched north from Carlisle.
Presumably Edward himself, besieging Buittle Castle deeper in Galloway, was too ambitious a match for Atholls first sally; at any rate, he had made for this, the next nearest siege, and taken up a threatening position at the head of Loch Doon -but so far had not dared an attack.
The King had been holding justice eyres in Kyle and Carrie based on his own house of Turn berry, only twenty miles away, when he heard of this situation. Instead of finding reinforcements for Keith from elsewhere, he had come himself, with Hay and a mere bodyguard of two-score men-at-arms. Now he had to justify it… Superficially that was not difficult-for he knew the castle on Loch Doon as few did. Though an ancient strength, renewed and restored by the Baliols during the period when they controlled the Galloway lordship, it had been incorporated in the Carrick earldom and used by Bruces father mainly as a hunting-lodge. As boys, the Bruce brothers had spent happy days here amongst the cradling mountains, with the giants of Merrick, Gaimsmore and Corserine all close by. If anybody could discover a weakness in that castle, the King could-for twice he himself had had it repaired from ruin and the effects of siege, the second time, but a year before.
Loch Doon was six miles long, but very narrow, and the island with the castle lay some 300 yards off the east shore at the south end-where it was in a position to dominate the drove road through the high passes from the Ayrshire lowlands south to those of the Galloway Cree, its sole strategic purpose. In the early days, after the Turnberry landing, when Bruce had lurked in this country, he had deliberately avoided the ruined loch-bound castle as refuge, preferring as so much less obvious his spider-cave five miles to the north, away from the road.
Like so many island castles, this one had an underwater causeway out to it, cunningly twisted. Keith had been told about this, but an early night attempt to progress along it unseen had resulted in a sad reversal and loss-for the English had cut a large gap in the hidden stone pavement some two-thirds of the way out, and within arrow-shot of the walls. Not unnaturally the Marischal was wary of a second such adventure.
Back at the camp, where all fires had been damped down, so that no movement would be visible from the island, their hour almost up, Bruce made his final dispositions, taking over entirely from Keith. He arranged that the force should be split, one party taking up position at the head of the causeway; the other placed to guard the south flank from possible attack by Atholl. Then he had the men gather round him closely, so that he could speak to the shadowy ranks without having to raise his voice. A thin rain had begun to fall.
I want a score of good men, he said.
Only men who can swim a little. And who are not afraid of cold water!
No small men;
see you. Who offers? Out of all the murmuring, questioning and
humorous comment, little more than a dozen stepped forward. There were no Islesmen or Highlanders in Keiths force, and the ability or need to swim was not a Lowland priority.
I hope none may have to swim, in the end. But your lives may depend on it, nevertheless, the King went on. He counted.
Fourteen.
It will serve. Now-off with your clothes. Then, ashes from the fires, to rub on your faces and shoulders. Bodies will show white, even on a dark night. As he spoke, he was unbuckling his own sword-belt and beginning to draw off his chain-mail tunic.
Sire-not you! Hay exclaimed, shocked.
Not the King… in the water! Naked …
Tush, man-am I the King because of my clothes? It must be I who lead, since only I know what I would effect. Moreover, I do not ask others to do what I will not myself do. You know that. All men indeed did know that. It was one of the secrets of Bruces success, in his kind of warfare, with his kind of people. The Scots character was always such as responded best not to clear orders and discipline but to personal leadership and close contact, where there was affection and involvement with the men. As soldiers they had never excelled at siege-warfare, any more than in great impersonal battles, for this very reason.
So, presently, a very odd-looking and inadequate-seeming party of warriors made their awkward barefooted way along the pebble and sand beach northwards for about 200 yards, to where a fair sized burn flowed in from the steeply-rising flank of the hugely looming hill behind them. Completely naked save for belts and cords to tie weapons to their persons, they were daubed with wood ash which made them so much less visible in the mirk. As well as their weapons they carried ropeladders fitted with grappling irons, and single knotted ropes with hooks attached.
Immediately below the shallows at the mouth of the burn, Bruce halted and formed up his people in single file.
Keep close behind me, and follow exactly as I go, he directed.
As I mind it, we should not have to swim. I was a laddie when last I did this. But I do not think aught will have changed. The burn will still bring down much silt and stones, and the flow of the loch is still northwards.
There is a spit of this silt reaching out and bending down loch, towards the castle. Perhaps that is how the island was made.
The water gets much deeper than the causeway. But not over our heads, I think. It has been a dry summer. I used to be able to walk it as a lad …
He paused, as a fifteenth naked and besmeared volunteer came hobbling up, and had to peer close to discover any identification, Ha, my lord High Constable! he whispered.
You also? Man, your costume fair becomes you! Would that the Lady Annabel could see you now! Come, then-and slowly, silently. Pray that we do not have to swim-for that might give us away. And pray that the sentries watch best the front and the causeway.
Carrying a coiled rope with hook over his shoulder, and a cut hazel-stick in his hand, the King waded in-and gasped a little despite himself at the chill of the water. Even though it was only early September, the loch lay nearly a thousand feet above the sea, and was fed from giants 3,000 feet high.
Gingerly, carefully feeling his way at each step with both stick and toes, he edged out into the loch, Gilbert Hay immediately behind and the party following close. Bruce had toyed with the idea of having Keith stage some sort of demonstration at the causeway-head, or at the camp itself, to distract the watchs attention;
but had decided against it as likely perhaps to rouse more of the castles defenders. Better that all should seem quietly normal, and the beseigers camp asleep.
Quite quickly the water deepened to waist height-where its chill made maximum impact. Thereafter the depth increased only imperceptibly until it was halfway up the mens chests. This gradual ness did not imply a smooth and easy advance, however; continually Bruce came across uneven stretches, holes, or stumbled over boulders, waterlogged tree-trunks or other hazards. Fortunately the shoal or spit was fairly broad, and keeping to its crown was the least of the problem.
Bruce could not recollect just where the thing tended to bend northwards, with the main current of the loch-which was more like a widening of a river, with the Gala Lane entering at the head, near by, and the River Doon emptying at the foot. But some 200 yards out, slantwise from the shore, it became obvious that they were curving round. The castle loomed about another 150 yards ahead.
This second leg was the most testing-for from the direction of progress it looked as though the spit might have changed course during the years and be
going to miss the islet by quite a margin, to the west. Also, at every step, Bruce feared a shouted challenge from the castle battlements. The men behind him seemed to be making an unconscionable splashing, and moreover puffing like stranded whales. It was now raining heavily. He had never been so thankful for cold, driving rain.
But at length he was under the lee of the island. He was brought to a
stop, almost within stick-reaching distance of the bank, by deeper
water. There seemed to be some sort of channel circling the isle
itself. Taking a long breath he gently but strongly launched himself forward with a swimming motion. But almost at once his feet touched bottom again-sorely indeed-with the water only up to his chin. From there he could clamber carefully out on to dry land, with the dark masonry of the castles outer bailey rising directly above him.
He whispered to Hay to stand aside and warn each man of the ditch-like channel, as he came up. And he held out his stick for each to grasp as he came over.
It took only a few moments-although with some alarming splashing-for the entire party to join him below the walls, unchallenged.
There was no need for any instructions now. Each man knew his task. They spread out along the few feet between water and masonry. At the signal of a pebble thrown into the water at each end, they went to work.
Their task was in essence entirely simple but not necessarily easy to perform, and quietly, nevertheless. It was to throw those ropeladders and single climbing ropes upwards sufficiently high for them to go over the walling and their hooks and grapnels to catch in the crevices and fissures of the masonry beyond, and so to hold. This was elementary siege-procedure, and all had practised it many times, even if they had not actually taken part in previous such assaults. For all that, hooks and prongs could not be guaranteed to catch and hold fast. And the noise of all that metal clattering on the stonework sounded like a carillon of cracked bells ringing to rouse even the dead.
Bruces own hook caught at the second throw. Dirk between his teeth, jutting his bare feet against the walling, he walked up hand over hand, foot over foot, counterpoised between knotted rope and stone. Getting over the wall head was the difficulty, where rope and stone came together. He barked his knuckles, but managed to hoist himself bodily, bare stomach on the coping, and uncaring of the scraping on tender flesh, vaulted legs over and on to the parapet-walk.
One or two figures were there-but they were naked, and therefore his own men whose ropes had held first throw. Bruce sighed with relief. The most dangerous moment was past, when defenders might have unhooked the ropes and sent the attackers crashing down. There was as yet no sign of any defenders.
Gibbie! he said, in a whisper-for though the ash had been washed off their bodies, faces were still daubed and it was almost impossible to identify individuals. Hay, in fact, was almost at his side.
Take half. Round that side. The gatehouse. I take this. Quiet as you may.
They split up. The castle consisted of a central square keep, surrounded by this high perimeter wall with its parapet-walk on top, with subsidiary lean-to buildings within the courtyard. At the far side of the perimeter, or outer bailey, nearest the shore and facing the unseen causeway, was the entrance, an arched pend with iron grille gate piercing the small gatehouse-tower which contained the watch-chamber and guardroom. In castles this was always the base from which sentry-duty was taken. The naked attackers now stealthily approached it from two sides, swords and dirks in hand.
This was a comparatively small fortalice, and was unlikely to have a garrison of more than perhaps thirty men. So no large number were to be expected on night-guard at any one time, and the sixteen assailants had no fears of being unable to deal with them effectively. The danger was that the dealing might be insufficiently swift and silent, so that the rest of the castle might be warned before the main keep could be reached.
In the event, when Bruce reached the gatehouse-tower, it was to find its door, opening on to the parapet-walk at this side, shut. It faced east, and there was an east wind, so this would be for the guards comfort. Holding up a hand to halt his party, he put his ear to the planking, to listen.
What he heard was a gasping, choking noise, the crash of an upset form, and then a single high cry, swiftly cut off. Almost immediately, from down in the courtyard somewhere a dog barked twice, with yelping enquiry. Bruce cursed and threw open the door.
By the flickering firelight within he saw that Hay was already in control, the small warm chamber crowded with unclothed men.
The men with clothes, three of them, lay twitching on the floor.
Quick! Bruce said, Down to the courtyard. That hound …
A voice called out thinly from higher-a Northern English voice.
Whats to do, down there? What was that, Tom?
Frowning, Bruce took a chance. That had come from the keep parapet-so there was another guard up there.
Tom burned himself.
His hand, he called, trying to sound as English as the others, and hoping the muffling of his voice from indoors would help.
A
burn only. The fire. He even produced a hollow-laugh.
The man above still called down enquiries, but less concernedly.
He must be ignored. The King gestured urgently towards the turnpike stairway. The dog had not barked again.
Down they all streamed, into the entrance pend. Across the courtyard,
the keep door stood ajar. Detaching three men to look to the buildings
in the yard, stables and the like, and to silence the dog if need be,
he led the others at a rush across the paving-stones for the other door.
The basement of the keep contained arms, food and storage; but within the springing of its stone vault would be a timber sleeping-loft for men-at-arms. Racing on silent bare feet up the main stair, Bruce signed to Hay, at the first door, to deal with that loft. He himself took only three men, and hurried on.
The Hall, on the first main floor, was empty, a dying fire on the great hearth. But two deer-hounds lay thereat, now sitting up at the arrival of intruders, growling deeply in their throats. Bruce pulled the door shut-but not before the hounds began to bay. He dashed on upstairs.
On the next floor would be the masters chamber, the keeper of the castles quarters. As he reached the door it was thrown open from within, and dimly seen, a man stood there, pulling on a bed robe, a womans querulous voice sounding behind. Bruce felled him with a single great flat-sided blow of his sword. The woman began to scream. Motioning his three companions higher, he rushed into the dark room, made for the bed by ear rather than sight, groped hands on a naked squirming woman until he found her open mouth, and shut it.
Silence! he ordered.
More noise from you, and you die! You understand? Die! Bide quiet here, and no harm will come to you.
He left her, choking and gasping and whimpering, but otherwise quiet.
There was only the one room to each floor. Above he found two of his trio coming out of the chamber, wiping their dirks and going in higher. Inside sounded more female cries and sobs. Silence was pointless now.
He demanded information, in the darkness.
Two dead … he was answered grimly, and, after a brief pause, Three now, by God! These bawling doxies! Dirty bitches!
Leave them. Come higher…
But they were not required higher. Men were coming bounding up the stairs, naked men, shouting that all was over below. Leaving the remaining two storeys, and the guard on the keeps parapet walk, to them, Bruce went down.
Hay had not had to kill more than a few of the sleepers in the main dormitory-loft. Now, in the light of a smoky lantern, he had about a dozen sleep-bemused or terrified prisoners, staring at the demon-like naked apparitions with the dripping swords.
Loch Doon Castle was taken, a bedlam of shouting, moaning men, screaming, weeping women, barking dogs and stamping, uneasy hor
ses.
Neatly done, Bruce commended briefly.
Now-lights, And let us find some clothes, a mercys sake! And get word to Keith …
They found a timber pontoon contrivance laid along the entrance pend and weighted with stones, obviously an underwater gangway to bridge the gap cut in the causeway. Forcing at dagger point sundry of their prisoners who clearly knew how this contraption worked, to manhandle it out into position, shouts from the victors soon brought Sir Robert Keith, and others, on horseback, out over the causeway, from the camp. The Marischal was suitably impressed by the swift and effective capture of the strength which had defied his 200 for ten days; but he was otherwise preoccupied also.
A messenger has arrived, Sire, he said to Bruce, now in the bed-robe of the knightly but unfortunate English captain.
From Turnberry: He came soon after you were gone. From England.
From Bishop Lamberton. The English invade. They are over the Border, in strength. King Edward at their head …
Before the words were out, Bruce had grabbed the nearest horse, pulled himself into the saddle, and went clattering out through the pend and splashing into the dark waters above the causeway, robe flapping.
The Path of the Hero King bt-2 Page 37
