by Kara Griffin
Liam scoffed and pressed his forehead in confusion. “Why would we tell ye to stay calm and not get upset? Surely you can think of something better to use for the code. How about, ‘tis a dreich day?”
“Why would we say the weather is cold?” Heath chuckled. “’Tis always cold.”
“Keep the heid. That is what we shall use for our code. It does not give away your peril, and thus anyone who intercepts the message will not ken its true meaning.”
“Ah,” Brodin said, nodding and tapped his head. “A fair idea, but I have one better.” He tossed out wooden medallions which he’d carved with their names on the back. The front etched with an image of the Bruce’s crest of a lion with the word fuimus ‘we have been’. “Wear them and if you need us, all you have to do is send it to the friar.”
“I’m impressed, Brodin. You’re skilled for it’s an excellent image.” Graeme pulled the medallion over his head and tucked it inside his tunic. His comrades did the same. “We should still use our code for if it’s impossible to send the medallion, we’ll still be aware of your jeopardy.”
Brodin held his medallion out and nodded. “We’ll use both methods.”
Graeme took hold of his horse’s tether from Gilroy. “We will meet at the hall this eve for supper and listen for news. I must visit with Dooley.”
Heath stopped him with a hand to his shoulder. “Why ye be seeing the tailor? Need a new cloak? Yours looks in good repair.”
“I can mend your cloak, m’lord, if ye need me to,” Gilroy said. “Can’t say it’d be a fair job, but I learnt to use a needle.”
Graeme gave a shove to the lad because he stood too close. “Stand over there, lad, before my horse tramples ye.” He grinned, and held back the laughter Heath’s comment brought. “I’ve got a perfectly good cloak, and it’s not in need of repair. I am having Dooley prepare garments for us and need to pick them up. If we’re to go out in darkness, we’ll need cover. Our garments will be as obscure as the night and none shall see us.” He tapped his head. “We must use our brains as well as our brawn.”
Heath stroked his horse’s neck, but didn’t look at them when he spoke. “We’ll blend in with the night. Aye, is that why we practice swords in the dark?”
He grinned in answer.
“Good thinking, Graeme. You always were the wiliest of us. How’d ye come up with this plan?” Heath shoved Gilroy so he could move closer to his horse.
Graeme leaned against his horse’s shoulder, and a shine came to his eyes. “My old grandda told me a story once when I was a lad of these Germanic mercenaries. He called them Ghost Warriors, who would train in the night, and use unconventional weapons. They’d cover themselves with soot mixed with oil lest they be seen. They’d strike their enemies in the darkest part of night, when least expected, and disappear within the trees. Many feared them, just as they will fear us.”
Liam guffawed, Heath groaned, and Brodin let out a bellowed laugh.
“And now that we’re back on Scottish soil, we shall keep our enemies close.”
Brodin nodded, and took Gilroy’s arm, and forced him to step back from his steed. “Aye, akin to what you said, ‘keep your enemy closer than that of your friends.’”
“Aye, be wise, my comrades, for if we keep watch on our enemies we shall ken what they are about. Friends we have no worry over.”
Heath shook his head. “I disagree. Sometimes we may think we ken who our friends are and they end up becoming our enemy. We learned that lesson the hard way recently.”
Graeme tilted his head to the side and considered what Heath said. “Mayhap you are aright. But none of us have to worry about each other. We have taken an oath to support one another until this is finished, the day our leader left us in exile.”
Liam frowned. “Aye, a man we trusted, who left us there to perish on that isle so his arse would be saved.”
“We cannot judge Robert, Liam, for he did what he thought was right. Besides, the Bruce is destined to be king. We all do what we must. He deemed he’d be in more danger were we to return with him. The English king knows who his guard was, and we’d be questioned about that night, verily tortured for information. Several of the men there that night were executed. How can we lie about what we saw? We’d have to speak falsely if we are to protect Robert.”
Brodin grinned. “Aye, the Bruce has our fealty, our sworn vow to protect his arse until death takes us no matter what. If only Comyn realized his jeopardy when he went into the abbey, he might have avoided his end. I still cannot fathom Robert killed him even though I saw it with my own eyes.”
“Comyn instigated the Bruce, aye taunted him with his political gain. The Comyn’s own messenger was caught with the documents to prove he went against his agreement with the Bruce. He deserved what he got. I will not go back on my vow to Robert, will any of you?” Graeme asserted his question with a scowl of intimidation, even though it was not needed.
All his comrades shook their heads.
Graeme took to his saddle and gave a firm nod to his friends. “We are and have always been in agreement on this matter. I will meet with Dooley and obtain the garments we need. I’ll see ye at the mead hall, and we shall find out the latest news.” He kicked his horse’s flanks to get him moving and headed in the direction of the village where the tailor occupied a cottage along merchant’s lane.
After he purchased garments and took care of a few other matters, Graeme made his way back to the hall, and found his friends awaiting him inside. It neared night and darkness shadowed the land. They had a wee bit more time before they could leave if the report of the imminent battle was accurate.
When he arrived, he found his comrades entertained by two buxom women. Graeme took a spot on the bench one of the women vacated. She now sat upon Heath’s lap and giggled as his comrade caressed her.
“This is not the time for amusements,” he said sternly, hoping they’d get the message and send the lassies on their way. They were there with a purpose and that reason was not for a diversion or to entice women.
Brodin shoved Heath and smirked. “Aye, be gone with ye ladies. We have business to tend to.”
Liam pouted and held fast to the brunette who sat upon his lap. “You’re surly because they’re not sitting upon your lap, Brodin.”
“Well, if she was sitting on my lap, she sure as hell wouldn’t be giggling.” Brodin picked up his drink and drank it down, then set it in front of him with a bang.
Heath hooted with a harsh laugh. “Nay she’d be wondering what crept between her legs. Mayhap a wee prick?”
His comrades were testy this night and with good reason. They hadn’t been with a woman in several months and hadn’t trained effectually to blow off their hostility. When they were able to settle down at the cave they resided in, he’d have to get them back to training.
Brodin stood and caused the table to shake and several cups toppled. “I’ll show them what a wee prick looks like, Heath, aye come here so I can disrobe ye for the ladies.”
“Take yourselves off, ladies. Now.” Graeme’s chilled words sent them to another table. “If you’re going to fight, go outside. We haven’t come here to entertain ourselves or take to fists. Sit ye down and be watchful.” If they weren’t set on making progress in their endeavor, he might suggest they take a few days to see to their needs. But time was of the essence and they shouldn’t waste it on romantic pursuits.
He sat at the table they occupied and assessed those around him. “We’re being watched.” Graeme spoke low enough only his comrades heard him. “Speak low so we are not overheard.”
“Is it one of the Bruce’s followers?” Liam set his cup down and peered about the large hall. A good many men made their way inside and most of the tables filled with occupants. “Who is it?”
“He’s sitting at the table by the farthest wall. Got his hood pulled down low. I can’t see his face.” Graeme kept his gaze averted, but spied the man from the corner of his eye.
Heath set his feet
upon the table, crossing them at the ankles, in a casual manner. He was in the perfect position to spy the man and did so over the tip of his boot. “Aye, looks to be interested in us. Shall we see what he wants?”
“’Tis just a lad.” Liam disregarded him and viewed the rest of the occupants.
“Nay, let him come to us. He looks young by the set of his body and has no muscle in his shoulders. Besides, we haven’t come here to instigate anyone’s interest. We haven’t heard what we came to hear,” Brodin said.
Graeme nodded, for his comrade was wise. They needed to keep to their mission and not be distracted by a troublesome lad. “What hear you of the Bruce?”
Liam folded his arms across his chest. He leaned forward, and appeared to have had his full of drink, but Graeme knew he was being deceptive, should anyone be watchful. None of them were loose with their cups and never imbibed more than necessary. “Robert was indeed made king in March at Scone. He’ll need our support now with his intent to thwart the English king. Edward, that dastardly king, will not give up so easily in his quest to overtake us.”
“Much like he did in Wales and what he’s trying to do in France.” Heath took his feet from the table and refilled his cup with the sweetened mead in the jug in front of him. “The Bruce banded together groups of men from various clans even those from the far north. Do you deem he intends to fight against Edward’s army again?”
Liam grimaced. “The last time, at Falkirk, didn’t go so well especially with Lord Segrave leading the English’s men-at-arms. Too many are perishing in this battle to win our freedom. Losing Wallace was a setback. We might have lost Moray as well. Mayhap it is for naught, this never-ending battle.”
Graeme raised a brow for Liam was the only one of their band to be skeptical of Robert’s intensions. “You say that because he left us on the island to rot. He only did so because he knew if we were to return and questioned we’d be killed for the information.”
Heath guffawed, but his eyes remained on the lad across the hall. “We all saw what he did in the abbey that day and what happened to Comyn. The Bruce assured his ascension to the throne by killing his only rival. We’d all do the same. Och, the English king would torture us for answers to learn the truth of it.”
Brodin put in his insight. “Segrave got to Wallace and handed him over to Edward. What makes ye think he cannot get to us? Robert protected our arses by leaving us to exile.”
“Mayhap, but he could’ve given us leave to return when it was safe. Robert took the crown sooner than I thought he would. Here’s to our new king.” Liam fingered the cup of mead, raised it high, but didn’t appear to want to drink it. For the hostel keeper wasn’t good at making the drink and it tasted more sour than sweet.
Graeme, Liam, Heath, and Brodin clunked their cups with vigor and drank down the mead.
Several soldiers came inside the hall and joined others who sat at a nearby table. They were young ones with smooth faces and didn’t have a care for who heard their discussion. Graeme suspected them to be new recruits to the king’s army. Many of the lads came from farmsteads and outlying areas ravished by England’s king. That caused many of them to put their whole heart into the thrust of their swords.
The lads took to cups and within minutes their lips loosened with talk of an upcoming battle. That was exactly what Graeme came to find out, and he hoped to catch a location.
A tall lad who appeared level-headed, spoke to his comrades, “Do not drink too much, for we’ll be leaving soon to meet with the king’s army.”
“Aye, Methven’s hills will be covered with red come the morrow,” another retorted. “With the blood of the English.”
Graeme turned his attention back to his friends. He signaled them to keep their voices low with a shake of his hand, and to take interest in the conversation happening at the next table.
Brodin leaned toward him. “Do ye still intend we should aid the Bruce? From what I’ve learned, he’s gained an army, a sizable one at that, and can confront Edward’s men-at-arms. He might give them a wee bit of hell. Though I doubt he’ll be able to claim victory for England’s army has wealth on their side.”
Graeme frowned at that. “All of us were given to the Bruce in service. Until we are given our leave, we will protect his arse no matter what the cost. We will do what we must. This night we’ll sneak in the darkness and attack the garrison at Methven. Even if we dispatch a band of men, that’s less he must fight. We will do as we agreed and go under the cover of night. Are we all in agreement?”
His three comrades nodded. Graeme kept quiet then for the watcher continued to peruse them and he liked not that they were being observed. If found by Robert’s men, the king’s wrath would be worse than the England’s king’s torture. They had to keep themselves from the axman and executioner if they were going to do as they claimed and aid their king until their service ended or they met their death.
Such an oath was the only thing a man had to own these days. He and his friends took that oath seriously and none of them returned to their lands, swearing until this was over, they’d do whatever necessary to see the Bruce succeed.
“If we’re to go to Methven this night, we should get going. We have a ride ahead of us if we want to arrive before the king’s men.” Brodin finished his mead and shook from the foul taste.
“Aye and let us find out if this fellow is interested in us.” Graeme tilted his head toward the lad in the corner. “We’ll leave separately and meet by the horses. Gilroy should have the steeds ready for us. If that lad follows, we’ll confront him there.”
Graeme rose, tossed a coin on the table, gave a nod to Rohan, and headed toward the door. He glanced at the lad as he passed. From what he could tell, he was a scrawny lad, likely too young to take to Robert’s army. Too bad, for most loyal Scots wanted nothing more than to fight with their king, especially after hearing of the fervent fighting with Wallace and Moray in the previous years’ battles.
Outside the spring night greeted him with a breeze. He was pleased the weather proved fair, for their ride would take a few hours, and it was best not to have to travel in the rain or mist. He hastened to the paddock where he and his comrades tethered their horses. Gilroy talked incessantly in his ear about God knew what, he wasn’t listening.
“Cease the blather, lad. I want you to go to the cave and make ready for us. You’ve the coin I gave you earlier. Get foodstuff and drink if ye can procure it. I can always get some from Friar Hemm if ye cannot. Don’t dally. Be watchful and await us there.”
“Aye, m’lord, I’ll take care of it, ‘tis doubtful I can find fare at this late hour, but I’ll do me best.” He ran off to do his bidding.
The lad was safer in the cave. For this night with good fortune, they’d be able to join the fray and help the Bruce.
In pretense of needing something to do, Graeme checked his horse’s hooves, and then did so to Brodin, Liam, and Heath’s horses. They each paid handsomely for their horses, and in doing so, they ensured great care for the animals. All the coin they’d earned providing services to those in need went toward the food and upkeep of their steeds.
Graeme chose a black warhorse who he named Black Devil. The name suited his warhorse, for he indeed, was a black devil and ornery. Much like his comrade James Douglas who most people called the Black Douglas. Their personalities matched and Graeme found humor in it for if Douglas knew he’d compared him to his horse, his ally would draw his sword.
His comrades soon made their way to him, each coming minutes apart. There was no sign of the lad/watcher.
“What of Gilroy? Did he leave yet?” Liam asked.
“I’ve sent him onward to the cave. He’ll set all to right for when we arrive. Let us be off.” Graeme mounted his horse and kept his gaze on the hostel’s door.
“What of our interloper? Shall we await him? He might want to hire us. We could use the coin,” Heath said, as he was the last to seat his horse.
“It doesn’t appear the lad will
follow. If he wanted to employ us ‘tis too late now. We should get going. We have a more important task to see to.” He turned his horse and headed for the gates of the village.
He expected to come across the Bruce’s army along the way, but it appeared their meeting place wasn’t along the trail to Methven. Graeme led the pace and after a swift ride, they reached the woods near Methven’s keep. He stopped his horse a short distance from the keep’s walls and listened for sign of activity. The English must not suspect the attack for the keep’s gate was barely manned. Only two sentries stood guard on the barbican from what he could see. But he knew others were there.
When each of his comrades dismounted, they stood in a circle and awaited direction.
“We need to find an old campfire.”
“I shall search,” Liam said, and walked off toward the trees.
Graeme donned a black tunic and pulled on a pair of similarly colored woolen breeches. He retrieved the black cloaks and handed them out, except for Liam’s, who went in search of char. They put the garments they’d unclad into their satchels.
Liam returned from a copse of trees and tilted his head toward the woods. “There’s an old camp there, by the trees.”
“Good.” Graeme tossed a cloak and breeches to him and walked toward the trees. His comrades joined him and looked to the ground. Heath gave a light whistle when he found a circle of stone with the embers from an old campfire.
“Here, there looks to be enough soot.” Heath knelt and scooped up a good amount of ash.
Graeme took a large bottle of oil his friend, the friar at a nearby abbey gave him, and added it to the soot. He applied it to his face, neck, and hands. When he finished all but his eyes blended with the night. His comrades followed suit, and they readied to mask themselves for the darkness of night.
“Cover your shields and blades too,” he directed and set out to attend to the task.
