The Path of the Hero King bt-2

by Nigel Tranter

You did that?”

  “Yes. So we win Stirling cheaply. I have his written word …”

  “Cheap!” However weak the King’s voice, it was intense enough.

  “You are a fool, Edward! A bigger fool than even I judged!”

  “But … do you not understand? We are spared a long and wasteful siege. Such as you are ever against. Who will relieve Moubray?

  My men are freed-and are now investing Linlithgow.

  Then it will be Edinburgh’s turn …”

  “Edward-what did our sire endow you with, for wits?” his brother demanded.

  “You have given your plighted word? That Moubray has a year unassailed?”

  “To be sure. Why not? Do you hate Moubray so much? Because he unhorsed you once! I say you should have hated MacDouall more,-who slew our brothers,” Yet he you gave honourable terms to …”

  “God’s mercy-listen to me, Edward! You have ensured the invasion of our country. On a scale we have not seen since Falkirk.

  Stirling is the key to Scotland, as all do know. The English cannot, I say, ignore this. Cannot fail to come to the relief of Stirling. Once that is yielded, they have lost this long war. Moubray knows mat, if you do not. And now you have committed my honour, with your own. Given Edward of Carnarvon a year …”

  “You have been giving English towns a year’s truce. For money!”

  The King, whose strength was ebbing, ignored that.

  “King Edward is now released from his foolish passion for his catamite, Gaveston. The English are no longer divided over that, for and against the King. His lords are spurring him to action against us, after all his folly and sloth. He is a weakling, but he has hard men round him. Men who will now control him. This of Stirling will give them what they need-a challenge. A challenge with a set time. To relieve Moubray and the key to Scotland. Edward will seek to redeem his name and fame. I see it all. All over England trumpets will blow …”

  Robert Bruce’s voice died away.

  Chapter Twenty

  Robert Bruce was right. All England saw that year’s bargain at Stirling as a challenge and a rallying-cry, not to be ignored.

  Strangely, Bruce’s own raids over the Border, with all their attendant blackmail, seemed to have little effect on opinion in the far south; but the Stirling ultimatum was different. England’s name, fame and honour were at stake. That winter of 1313-14, plans were laid for the greatest invasion of Scotland ever mounted. Not only was Stirling to be relieved, and dramatically, but the whole wretched country was to be ground into the dust, once and for all.

  By spring the trumpets were sounding indeed, for muster from one end of England to the other. King Edward set his invasion for Easter.

  Bishop Lamberton arrived back in Scotland, finally, for good or ill, to celebrate that Eastertide in his own land, parole broken-since no one seemed interested in it any longer, anyway.

  He brought word that the invasion had been postponed until late May, when there would be more grass to feed the hundreds of thousands of horses involved-always a major problem.

  So, by late May, the Bruce, almost himself again, though thin, had reluctantly taken up his position just south of Stirling. A head on confrontation with the embattled might of England was still the last thing that he desired; but now there was no alternative, unless he was prepared to abandon all but the Highlands to the enemy, The waist of Scotland had to be held.

  The English would, of course, seek to relieve the castle. But that was not the vital matter. It was the crossing of the Forth at the narrow slip of firm land between the vast morasses of the Flanders Moss and the widening firth, that mattered-Stirling Bridge, as ever the key.

  The enemy must approach that key crossing east-about or west about;

  round Stirling Rock, castle and town, by the flat links of the Carse,

  boggy and broken by burns, runnels, ditches; or west by the scattered

  woodlands and hillocks of the former royal hunting park, really only an extension of the great forest of the Tor Wood. One, or both, of these. There was no alternative.

  So, as his forces assembled from all over the land, Bruce applied his wits to the task of turning this entire approach area into a maze of traps. It was not difficult in the lowlying Carse, for the flats were already waterlogged and pitted with holes. It was the causeways and banks and dykes through it on which they had to concentrate, and, as mud-slaistered as his men, the King spent long May days cutting, digging, undermining and covering over, so that to the untutored eye the place appeared as before-but was not The inland higher ground was a much more difficult proposition.

  The scattered woodland would admittedly tend to break up enemy heavy cavalry formations; but the whole area was too widespread and open for defensive works. Only at one point was there any opportunity to improve on nature. All this upland of knowes and hollows was drained by small burns south eastwards into a major stream, the Bannock Burn, which cut a dee pish ravine for itself down to the windings of the Carse flats. The road from the south crossed this stream, just above the edge of the low ground, and there was no other convenient crossing near by. The ground on either side of this crossing was open, so there was no opportunity for ambush; anyway, a huge army cannot be ambushed.

  But some distance beyond the crossing, the road forked, one prong following the flats, the direct route to the town and Stirling Bridge; the other striking off to the left, and upwards, across King Alexander’s New Park, round the west side of the Rock and so along the south lip of the Flanders Moss. If the English decided on a west-about approach, they were bound to take this road. And before it actually climbed to enter the wooded area, there was a wide grassy level entry indeed it was known as The Entry, especially constructed for deer-driving. The Entry was flat and nearly half a mile wide to the south, but narrowing-in like a funnel to a mere fifty or so yards on either side of the road.

  Here Bruce got to work, using the same ideas that he had developed at the Battle of Loudoun Hill-and hoped that it would not again be Pembroke who led the English. Deep lateral trenches were dug at irregular intervals across that triangle of green, with stakes in their foot, and all carefully covered with woven brushwood and then grassy turfs brought from areas out of sight. The wooded flanks were honeycombed with individual pits, and the glades sown with spiked iron caltrops. It was all done on a vast scale, ten times that of Loudoun Hill, with thousands of men working, Bruce and some of his lords amongst the others, like labourers; even bishops and abbots might be seen leading trains of packhorses laden with turf and brush. All men, great and small, knew that Scotland’s continued existence was in the balance.

  And still the English did not come. Large numbers had assembled at Wark, on the south side of Tweed, spies informed-but the main armies delayed. To some extent, Bruce was grateful for more time-Angus Og, after capturing Man, had returned to his Hebrides, and dispersed his host. Summoned again urgently, he had not yet put in an appearance. It was possible that he might be sulking. But in another respect, this delay was a problem, for the camouflage over his pits and trenches tended to dry up a day or two after it was cut, and constant replacement was necessary.

  Bruce even had squads of men watering the turfs, like monks in a garden.

  Then, in mid-June, word reached the King that the invasion had indeed started. The English had crossed Tweed with an incalculable host, its baggagetrain alone extending for twenty miles.

  King Edward was leading in person, with the High Constable, the Earl of Hereford, and the Earl of Gloucester as deputies. Rumour had it that there were no fewer than ninety-three other English barons and lords present, with their levies, not to mention great contingents from Wales, France, Brittany, Guienne and the Low Countries. There were said to be twenty-three Anglo-Irish chiefs under the Earl of Ulster, Bruce’s own father-in-law. Total numbers were impossible to ascertain, accounts varying from 70,000 to 200,000. Not that such figures were really significant. None knew better than Bruce that the true worth of any army depended not on sheer size-since thi
s could only add to the problems of commissariat and mobility-but on its spirit, leadership and composition.

  It was that composition he demanded of his informants now; above all, what were the numbers of heavy armoured cavalry, and of long bowmen -the two vital arms in which Scotland was weakest Reports were now flowing in to the Scottish camp below the frowning battlements of Stirling, in a steady stream. The English were advancing, not by Berwick and the coast, but up Tweeddale and Lauderdale. They comprised ten distinct divisions, with Hereford’s and Gloucester’s in the van. Cavalry might number 40,000 or 50,000, but the heavy armoured chivalry, the knightly host, would be perhaps a tenth of that. Archers could be put at 7,000. Infantry was without number.

  These figures, although still vague, were daunting. In a set battle,

  as this must be, the heavy chivalry were allimportant—that is, knights

  and their like in full armour, mounted on destriers also fully

  armoured. Since the men’s full armour weighed up to too pounds, and

  the beasts’ five times that, only the most powerful horses could carry

  it for any length of time. Inevitably these were slow-but they were

  almost impervious to any assault save of their own kind. And of such

  Bruce would be hard put to it to raise too; Scotland just did not breed

  such horses. Of light horse, moss-troopers and the like-hobelars, the

  English called them-he had perhaps 4,000; but against armoured

  chivalry these were of little avail, however splendid at mobile

  warfare. As to archers, he did not have 500, and no long bowmen

  And still no sign of Angus Og and the Islesmen -though it was known that they were on their way.

  Bruce drew up his army in four main divisions, facing east so as to cover both possible approaches. The van, of picked infantry, with their long pikes for forming schiltroms, he put under his nephew Moray, as a sufficiently sober and steady man not to lose his head in the face of overwhelming odds. Edward, of course, wanted this place of honour; but his brother just did not dare risk it, with all at stake. Edward’s brilliance was as a dashing commander of light cavalry, not the spearhead of a static and defensive host. He gave him instead half of the light horse, to hold the right flank, based on the line of the Bannock Burn. The other half was for Douglas, on the left-although nominally commanded by the High Steward; old James Stewart had recently died, and young Walter was now the Steward, a notable youth but inexperienced.

  Bruce himself commanded the main body, not exactly in the rear but somewhat back on the higher ground, where he could survey all, and especially the approaches to The Entry. Randolph’s van was based on St. Ninian’s Kirk, a strategic site above the Carse route.

  It was Saturday, the Eve of the Vigil of St. John the Baptist, the 22nd of June-midsummer. Spies declared the English van to be at Falkirk, only ten miles away-though its rear guard and baggage was still rumbling through Edinburgh twenty-five miles to the southeast There was little sleep that night, and at four a.m. of a misty dawn, trumpets in the Scots host called men to Mass. There had to be, of course, many services-but there was an ample sufficiency of clergy, armed and armoured, to provide them. William Lamberton himself celebrated for the King’s company. He sternly prescribed only bread and water for the day’s substinence, as the Vigil required-poor fare as it was on which to fight a vital battle but he knew his fellow-countrymen, and the streak of fanaticism in them.

  Bruce was still concerned to have detailed news of his enemy’s numbers and quality, assessed not just by spies but by experienced commanders. He sent out a swift-riding va dette under Douglas and Keith the Marischal, to gain him the information he needed, risky as this was.

  Then, as they stood to arms, the King reviewed his whole force, riding

  round the divisions, alone, on a small and wiry grey gar ron

  He was clad in light chain-mail, under a gorgeous heraldic surcoat of the red Lion Rampant on gold, and on his helmet was a leathern crest of a demi-lion, ringed by a high crown. His review took a long time, with so many to exchange a word with-for surely never had a king and commander known personally so many of his host, veteran warriors with whom he had fought almost continuously for seventeen long years. Always concerned with the personal touch, today, which might well be the last for him as for them, he-desired his identification with all to be complete. Besides, this uneasy waiting period had to be got over.

  As he went his rounds, however, Bruce looked all too often back over his shoulder, westwards. Had he misjudged one man, in all these-Angus Og MacDonald?

  Then back through the secret glades of the Tor Wood came Douglas and Keith, grave-faced. They had risked much, got very close to the enemy, and spoken with many scouts who dogged the English columns. And what they had seen and heard obviously had affected them direly.

  “The van is not far off, Sire,” Douglas reported, panting.

  “Indeed, it should be In sight at any time. The main host covers all the plain between the Sauchie Ford and Falkirk. And far beyond. I have never seen the like. As far as eye can see …”

  “Sir James,” the King interrupted him harshly.

  “Of course you have never seen the like! I did not send you out to tell me that.

  Such stories we have been listening to for days. I want facts. Firm details. Have you brought me none?”

  Flushing, the younger man swallowed.

  “Yes, Sire. The van is of medium cavalry, under Gloucester and Hereford-about 6,000. It is said that there is bad blood between these, for though Hereford is High Constable of England, their King has appointed his nephew Gloucester, although but twenty-four, to be Constable for this battle. They have 500 mounted Welsh archers …”

  “Pembroke? He does not ride with the van?”

  “No-not Pembroke. But Clifford does …”

  “Ha-Clifford! Clifford came too late for Loudoun Hill!”

  “Pembroke, under King Edward, commands the main chivalry, Your Grace,” Keith put in.

  ”Three or four thousand strong, of barded des triers a terrible sight.

  “terrible sight!

  His informants said nothing.

  “It is my aim to make this an infantry, not a cavalry battle, God willing,” the King went on.

  “Where is the English infantry?”

  “Well back, Sire, I fear … the enemy will it otherwise. They will have it a cavalry battle.”

  “So much the better-so long as I choose the ground! It is all’ important, therefore, that this day be fought where I want it. Yon understand? This day-and all days to come-depends on it And, for the sweet Christ’s sake-lift your visages! Smile, my friends! Men are watching you. Would you lose all, before we begin? I am fighting this battle with the land, and men’s spirits.

  Have you naught of cheer for me to tell them?”

  James Douglas blinked.

  “They are tired. The English are tired at least. Yesterday they rode over twenty miles. They have hurried.

  Men and horses are exhausted, they do say-in this hot dry weather. They can have slept little last night-and you burned all Falkirk’s food and forage …”

  “Aye-so be it. Order the trumpets to blow. I will address my folk.”

  “Angus, Sire? The Lord of the Isles? He has not come …?”

  “No.”

  Edward Bruce had come up.

  “Did you really expect him, Douglas? I did not! The Islesman has ever fought for his own hand. And when it suited him. Now, at the pinch, why should he come?”

  “He is on his way. That we know, my lord …”

  “On his way! But will he arrive? In time? I think not. If we win then yes, he was on his way! And if we lose, he remains unscathed. And returns to his Isles faster than he came! That, I swear, is the MacDonald.”

  “And you, I swear, are wrong, my lord of Carrick!” Bruce exclaimed.

  “And even were you right-say nothing of it now, I charge you. This day depends on faith. Faith in God, in me, and in each other. Let n
o word or look or act destroy that faith.”

  When the trumpets had brought together a great part of the host, from its various positions, Bruce rode out alone on his grey pony, to westwards of them, so that his voice would carry from the slightly higher ground and on the westerly breeze.

  “My friends,” he cried, arm raised, when quiet was gained.

  “Today we put all to the test. Today Scotland stands or falls. And not only Scotland, but right, freedom and faith. If we fail today, these fall, with Scotland. Let none mistake. Today is fate hammered out on the anvil, hammered into shape.”

  There was a deathly silence at these grave words.

  He went on.

  “But mark you, today we are the hammer, not the iron! And the land, our land, is the anvil. The iron is the arrogant invading English host, which once more desecrates our land. But this time, friends, is the last. This time, we shall hammer and bend and mould that great unwieldy host until it is fit-yes, and glad-only to be tossed into yonder pools and pows of the Carse, to cool its heat and hurt! This, God willing, we shall do. For it is a host as tired as it is great. Empty of belly, for it has its baggage train. At enmity within itself, out of envy and suspicion.

  And ill-led by a King whom men despise, and a Constable who has never fought a battle.”

  That aroused suitable spirited reaction, however exaggerated.

  “We are otherwise. Few in numbers, yes-but united. We are rested, and if we fast, do so of our choice. Best of all, we know each other, have fought together over these long years. We are fighting men all. We know every inch of the ground. And Our all is at stake.

  We win, or the.”

  Men cheered now, if a little grimly.

  “I say, my friends, we win or die. The issue is simple as that.

  Therefore, I would have to command this day only those prepared to make the choice-to win, or die. Any who, losing would still live, I give fullest leave now to go. While there is yet time. I say this in good faith, and mocking none, deceiving none. Some may not be prepared to die, today, and for this cause. To all such, I say-go now. Any who have no heart in the business or qualms of spirit, it is best should leave us. Even should it be half our numbers. It is better for the rest…”