The Price of the King's Peace bt-3

by Nigel Tranter

  “Why? Why do you do this, Robert? Is it a trick …?”

  “No trick. I offer it because we must come to terms, Edward. If this campaign is not to fail. It may be that I keep too much in my own hands, that I assign too little authority to others. I think not-but it may be so. I am willing to try this. For harmony and the sake of our cause.”

  Edward was on his feet now.

  “Under your direction I am in full command of this first cavalry force? Is that it? I will not have Moray, or the Islesman, or other of your friends, sitting on my heels? Frowning and reproving …?”

  “No. Any Scots veterans that I give you will be lesser men. You will have full command. Only-I expect my directions to be obeyed, Edward. Or else we think again. Or we turn back, here and now-for me, all the way back to Scotland!”

  His brother searched his face for a long moment, and then grinned.

  “Very well, Robert-we shall try it. Try again. On these terms. Here is my hand on it!”

  They shook hands there before the Prior’s peat fire. It was a long time since these two had made any such gesture.

  “Now-to planning,” Bruce said briskly, “MacCarthy says that there is much broken, forested country ahead. Mid-Meath. Between Trim and Dunshaughlin. My good-father has a manor and castle at Ratoath, in this part. And Trim is the de Lacys’ most powerful castle. We do not know how they will jump …”

  Chapter Twelve

  It was just after noon next day that the first fruits of the royal brothers’ rapprochement became apparent. Bruce, at the head of the main Scots force, now little more than 5,000 men, with detachments well out on the flanks and to the rear, was riding at a fast trot through scattered and broken woodland country south of Dunshaughlin, when young Sir Colin Campbell came galloping back from the forward host.

  “His Grace of Ireland, Sire, sends me to inform you that he has

  captured a kern who declares that the Earl of Ulster is here. Here,

  not at Drogheda. At his own house ahead. This Ratoath, he names it”

  “De Burgh, here? In front? With how many men, Sir Colin? An army?”

  “No, Your Grace. Not many, the man said.”

  “That sounds strange. He can scarce be ignorant that we are near. My brother-what does he do?”

  “He rides for Ratoath, with all speed. To capture the Earl.”

  “He does? Aye, he would!” Bruce frowned.

  “I do not think that I like the smell of this! How far ahead is he?”

  “Four miles. With another three to go to Ratoath, the kern said.”

  “And the country? What is it like? It is still wooded, close? As

  here?”

  “Thicker, Sire. More hills. Rocks.”

  “M’mmm. This kern that you captured? How was he? Did you see him taken?”

  “Yes. He was sitting at the roadside, watching us pass …”

  “Watching! How many of the people here do that? They flee at the sound, much less the sight, of us! Was he armed?”

  “No, Sire. Save with a cudgel. He seemed a simple countryman”

  Bruce turned to his close lieutenants.

  “How say you?” he demanded.

  “It could be honest. Or it could be false. A trap,” Angus Og said.

  “I mislike the sound of it,” Moray asserted.

  “The Lord Edward has 3,000 men now,” Gilbert Hay reminded.

  “It would require to be a large trap!”

  “What do you fear, my lord King?” Campbell asked.

  “What is wrong?”

  “Two matters smell wrong. One large, one small. Your Queen’s father is no ordinary man, no mere Anglo-Irish baron. He is a warrior, and wily, a veteran trained by that great schemer, the late Edward Longshanks. He cannot but know of our advance. Last night we were only ten miles from Drogheda. If he is indeed in front of us now, is he the man to have left Drogheda with only a few men? For this Ratoath, directly in our path?”

  “How do we know when he left Drogheda, Sire? He may have been at Ratoath for days,” Hay pointed out.

  “We have had no sure news.”

  “Our flank vedettes to the east have sent us no warnings of any movement of men, from Drogheda or anywhere else,” Sir Alexander Fraser put in.

  “The Earl of Ulster is thought to be at odds with this Bishop and

  Mortimer,” Angus added.

  “He acted strangely over the relief fleet for Carrickfergus. If they have superseded him as commander in Ireland, it may be that he does not seek to fight you now, but to talk. Parley with his good-son?”

  Bruce drummed fingers on his saddle-bow.

  “It is possible. But this other matter does not smell well, either.

  This of a knowledgeable kern, who waits to watch my brother’s host go by. That metal does not ring true. Had de Burgh wished to parley with me, would he have done it thus? Sent a common kern to let slip that he was in the neighbourhood? However secret, he would have sent me a messenger of quality.”

  “The kern could still be just a kern, Your Grace. A villager of this Ratoath, who knows the Earl…”

  “Could be-but may not be! I shall ride the easier when I am assured of it. Meantime, we shall hasten. Four miles is too great a gap, in this close country.”

  The King’s face grew longer, his frown darker, as they drove on, at a canter now, into ever thicker and rougher country, with rocky bluffs, densely wooded and with flooded scrub-covered bottom land. This was die sort of territory in which a cavalry host was least effective, even light cavalry. If an attack was indeed to be made on them, this was the place for it. Yet, no word had come back from Edward that his force was meeting with any difficulties. And Brace’s own flanking scouts sent no warning of anything unusual.

  When Colin Campbell at length announced that it was here that the kern had been taken, here that he himself had turned back with his message, his liege lord all but snapped his head off. They were passing through a small open glade with evil swamp on the left and a steeply rising bank on the right.

  “Did MacCarthy, did any of the Irish, say what sort of a castle this of Ratoath is?” he interrupted.

  “I think it cannot be a great place, in this wretched country. I had never heard its name, never heard my wife speak of it.”

  “The Prince of Tyrconnel named it a small place, Sire. Scarce a castle at all, I think, as we Scots would say. A moated manor, rather …”

  “Aye. I like this less and less …” Bruce chewed on his thoughts for a while. The swamp on the left was drying up somewhat, with more trees; but the bank on the right was growing ever steeper, taller, almost a cliff. Apart from famous death-traps like the Pass of Brander in Lome, and Glen Trool in Galloway, he had seldom seen territory which he liked less, from a military point of view. He had reduced the pace to a slow trot now. Yet Edward’s force had gone through here, only a short time before. There was no least sign of trouble, only recent horse-droppings.

  He took a sudden decision.

  “Campbell,” he ordered, “ride you forward, after my brother. Take a small party-a score. My salutations to His Grace-but request him to turn back. Forthwith.

  Whatever he is doing, besieging this Ratoath, or other. His host to return. To close up, until we are safely through this evil country.

  It may be little necessary-but we could meet disaster here. Weshould

  not be more than half a mile apart. Where each could cover the other.

  You have it? With my salutations, mind-but it is a firm command.” And

  as the other, nodding, turned to collect his twenty or so men from the

  first files behind, the King added, “Do not be distracted, left or

  right, see you. You are not scouts. Ride fast. Press on to my

  brother. If you get hint of trouble, avoid it. I shall have others

  out, to scout, behind you.”

  “Do you but make sic car Sire?” Fraser asked, as the little party clattered ahead.

  “Or have you more reason than we here perceive?”

  “I

  smell danger, S
andy,” the King answered that implied criticism.

  “It stinks in my nostrils. Do not ask me for better reason!”

  The words were hardly out of his mouth when a scream from ahead, around a bend in the woodland track, was immediately followed by shouting, confused, urgent.

  He dug in his spurs. They all did.

  Hurtling round the bend, Bruce saw a scene as confused as the noise.

  One man lay spread-eagled on the road, an arrow transfixing his chest. Two horses were down, hooves lashing. Others were milling about, one with a long shaft clearly projecting from its haunch.

  Colin Campbell was seeking to marshal his men and lead them off to the left, off the track, down into the boggy woodland.

  “Follow me!” he was shouting, “Follow me!”

  Cursing furiously, Bruce drove his horse straight for the young knight, shaking a suddenly upraised fist.

  Campbell saw him, and mistook the gesture. “I will get them!”

  he yelled and spurred on.

  After him the King plunged, pushing aside two men-at-arms in the way. Coming up with the eager Highlander, he reached over and struck him a resounding buffet with his steel-gauntleted fist, that sent the other reeling in his saddle.

  “Fool!” he cried.

  “Back! Back, I say! If your life means nothing to you, think of these others. My subjects! Back, man!”

  Shaken, Campbell pulled up, staring as though his monarch had run mad.

  “What were my last words? The last I spoke you?”

  Appalled, the young man reined round, waving his men back now.

  “I … I am sorry, Sire. I did not think. Or … I thought otherwise.

  To save Your Grace. The next arrow might have struck you … !”

  “When last I struck you a blow, man I said that you should be a true knight until your life’s end!” Bruce panted turning back for the track. The heat was going out of his voice, however.

  “You were near your life’s end there I swear! But a true knight obeys his liege lord’s commands. Remember it I said turn aside for nothing.”

  Back at the halted column, Fraser called out.

  “You have a good nose, Sire! Even for so small a trouble.”

  “Small, Sandy? What mean you by small?”

  “I count but eight arrows. There may be more in the bushes, missed their mark. But no large force would shoot so few.”

  “But they are English cloth yard shafts, see you-not our short Irish or Scots bolts” “Even so, Sire, but few. And now they have seen how large a force we are, they forbear.”

  Moray had men dismounted, awaiting his order to slip off into the trees. He looked at his uncle.

  “Leave them, Thomas. They will not shoot against us again I think. Not here. Sandy is right-these must be a small party. But English, mark you. They made a mistake, opening up on Campbell’s troop, not knowing that we followed so close. They will have fled now, deep into these fastnesses. Let them go. But-this is not all the danger that I smelt, by the Rude!”

  “You think there are more, Sire?” Hay asked.

  “Yet they have let the Lord Edward’s force go past, it seems …”

  “To be sure there are more. And if my good-father is behind them, many more. A small band of archers would never have risked shooting at Campbell’s score if they had not greater numbers near.

  Besides, what are a dozen English archers doing in such a place?

  That is not how these fight. They are part of a scouting patrol, I say, sent to watch. Their leader misjudged, that is all. But, if they were sent to watch this road, from these woods, then whoever sent them is expecting us! Yet he has let my brother past. You see the pattern? Remember we are likely dealing with Richard de Burgh, fox as much as lion! I would say that he is waiting for me. In ambush.”

  There was silence, as the leaders of the long column eyed the King.

  “And the Lord Edward?” somebody asked.

  “The Lord Edward no doubt goes on with a blithe heart! He is likely already besetting an empty Ratoath Castle, waiting for him as bait!”

  “You conceive the Earl of Ulster as between us and Ratoath, between us and my uncle?” Moray asked.

  “I would judge it likely.”

  “And we cannot get word to him?”

  ”We can try. Not along this road. By sending men on foot, back and

  up by the high ground, to the right. That way they may win through, unseen. Your Islesmen would be best, Angus. But it cannot be other than slow.”

  “And us? While they do it, dare we go on?” Fraser demanded.

  “Yet we cannot wait here. As ill a place to defend as any I have seen. And if we retire, will not de Burgh turn on the Lord Edward’s force instead? From behind. Where he will think to be safe, with us at his back.”

  “We will not retire, no. Edward apart, I did not bring these thousands to Ireland to retire in the face of die first threat. But-I prefer that I choose the battleground, not my good-sire!”

  “How can you do that? Placed as we are?” Angus Og said.

  “We dare not retire. There is no good ground to fight on for miles back, as we have seen. Since we cannot stay here, we can only go on, de Burgh or none!”

  “Aye, my lord-you are right. But we go on warned. Warned, and dismounted. If there is to be fighting, in such country, I would do it afoot.”

  “Aye! Aye!”

  “Is that best, Sire?” Hay wondered.

  “To throw away our speed.

  Should we not remain mounted, and charge our way through.

  Many as we are. Using our speed and weight…”

  “No, my lord Constable-for that is what de Burgh would expect us to do. If that earl is indeed before us, he will have planned for that, the wrecking of a mounted host. So we go afoot.

  Horses, in these bogs, are useless. All horses, therefore, to be sent to die rear. Lest arrows get them. We need them hereafter, if we are to conquer Ireland! But not here and now. If Richard de Burgh is here. If, I say…” The King shrugged.

  Metaphorically they all shrugged. It was all supposition, after all. Save for those cloth yard shafts and the one dead man. There was nothing hypothetical about them.

  With a certain amount of difficulty, and even some grumbling, along die line, the cavalry host there and then converted itself into an infantry host, passing die horses back. Bruce had die men close up into a much tighter and broader formation, as broad a front as die terrain would allow. Also, he insisted that all shields be carried, and on die left arms, not left with die horses-never a popular move with cavalrymen.

  And so they moved on southwards, slowly now. And silently, with die command passed down for die maximum of quiet.

  It made a strange progress through die early February afternoon, thousands of armed men all but tiptoeing, unspeaking, watchful, aware. Bruce had their relatively few archers up near the front. Never for a moment did any of them cease to scan the woodland ahead and to the left.

  The King gave his instructions as they walked.

  “Thomas-our first warning may well be a hail of arrows. They will seek to pick off our leaders first. But if they have any wits, they will let us get well into their trap. Go you part way down the column. If we are attacked from the woodland, have all behind you, save for the horse guard, swing off the track. Down into the wood. A wide sweep, to take the archers in flank. And swiftly. Or we may not survive! You have it?”

  “Aye, Sire. But you?”

  “We will play the poltroons! We will throw ourselves down. As poor marks for arrows as may be. Covered by our shields. To give you and your men time to get in amongst them. Then we shall up and charge to your aid.” He glanced upwards, half-right.

  “Pray for us that there are no rocks loose, up there!”

  The bank above them was steep but mainly of earth and rough grass, with scrub clinging. Higher, perhaps 200 feet above, the slope eased back out of sight, and the lessened gradient permitted taller trees to grow.

  “At least it is no place for archers,” Moray commented.

 
; “They could not shoot down at that angle, without exposing

  themselves.

  And it is too steep for men to charge down.”

  “Aye-as for men to charge up! So long as it remains so. It pens us in, cramps us-but it does not threaten us greatly. Off with you, then, Thomas-and God go with you. If a bend of the track comes between us, three short blasts from my trumpeter means that we are attacked. One long blast, and you hasten directly forward to me. Gibbie -pass the word back. AH men to fall flat if the arrows come, and so lie.”

  They had gone perhaps another half-mile when Colin Campbell spoke suddenly, low-voiced.

  “I saw something, Sire. Movement. In the trees …”

  “Where, man? Where?”

  “Yonder. Near that white tree. The dead tree. Right of it.” He

  pointed to an area about 250 yards away.

  “Do not point, man. That could bring the arrows. Do you see aught?”

  No movement showed.

  “It could be a deer. A boar. I have seen droppings,” Angus Og said.

  ”Shall I go search?” Campbell demanded. “No That will serve nothing.Send a man back to Moray. Tell him of this. The place. For the rest, move on.”

  Now the sensation of tiptoeing, of walking on hot stones, was intensified. It would have been a clod-like dolt indeed who could have stalked on unconcerned. Stout warriors found themselves stooping a little, hunching their shoulders, seeking to shrink their persons behind shields and armour.

  No attack developed.

  Then, round a substantial bend in the road, there was a major change in the scenery. Temporarily the scattered woodland rolled back, to reveal a wide clearing, perhaps a quarter-mile across.

  Ahead was more forest, but the high bank on the right began gradually to break down and level off.

  Bruce drew a long breath.

  “If I planned an assault, this is where I would choose,” he said.

  “Before this bank ceases to wall us in.

  With a killing ground, open for archers. Yet cover all round for my forces. It…”

  “Sire-see! A flash. A flash of light,” the keen-eyed Campbell

  cried.