The Black Douglas Trilogy

by J. R. Tomlin

  There was no time to waste and much to be done. He pelted down the stairs. Finding Wat still at the table, James sent him up for the armor and clothes in the master's chamber. Once he had that, James ordered that he go through the storerooms selecting anything that should be carried to the king and pile that outwith the gates.

  He stepped onto the top of the high table and shouted for attention. When he had it, he told everyone that once they had finished their feast to join him out in the yard.

  The stables had to be emptied, so he set Gib to leading out the horses to hobble them further from the gates, as well. "But find me one that we can spare for another purpose. One I won't want to take with me."

  "My lord," Will said as he came through the gate with Alycie, "I've brought my sister as you commanded."

  She was dry-eyed and calm but her face was white and stiff and she had a bag in her hands. "I brought bandages, herbs."

  "You know?" He tried to think of the right words to say. "I should have kept him close to me," he managed at last. "I'm sorry, lass. He was a good friend."

  Her nod was jerky. "Will told me how you tried to save him. I know you would have if you could."

  He reached out and took her hand, squeezing her fingers gently. "He will have justice. You know my oath. And before we leave the priest will give him his rites." Then tears started in the corner of her eyes and rolled down each cheek. James pulled her to him, stroking her hair. "I'm so sorry."

  Yet he seemed to have lost the power to feel. He was sorry, but it seemed as though his heart had frozen.

  He wasn't sure if it was when he carried Thomas's dead body or when he stepped into his home knowing what he had to do. Killing in the heat of battle was one thing. But he had to protect his people, no matter what it cost him.

  "I don't blame you," she pulled back, wiping at her eyes. "Is there anyone who needs care? The nuns taught me well."

  "Will, why don't you take her inside? Several men had wounds she could tend. There's much I must see to and little time."

  The prisoners sat, hands tied behind their backs, against the outer wall. Gib and a helper were leading out horses, their hooves ringing on the stones of the bailey yard. He spotted the smith coming out the door of the keep and called to him, giving him orders to find men and bring out all the stores from the kitchens and store rooms. "Any that people can carry with them stack there," he pointed to beside the doors of the Great Hall, "and the rest is all to go in the cellars. The tables and chairs and benches from the hall, break them up. Into the cellar with it. Everything--except the salt. Bring me the salt."

  Gib led up a brown filly limping on a hind foot. "You'll not want this one, my lord. What should we do with it?"

  "You know where the well is on the side, Gib. Take her there and wait for me. Once Iain Smith brings me the salt, I'll take care of the matter."

  The yard had become chaos with men and women both carrying out bags and barrels of stores, Wat and Will carrying out stacks of weapons and armor, horses whinnying as they were led through the press. Woman talked and laughed as they shared out flour and oats from the barrels stacked to the side. He set some children to chasing down chickens to carry home. Their squawking added to the uproar.

  James walked to the top of the steps to shout over the cacophony. "All of the women need to go through the food here. Take what you can carry away. Take anything you can use--but remember the English will come looking. If they find something they can identify, they'll take their revenge. Carry off only what won't give you away."

  Iain Smith appeared with a barrel of salt on his shoulder. "This is the salt I could find, my lord."

  "Good. I'll need your help." The man followed him around to the side. James pointed to the edge of the well. "Dump it in." Once the salt was poured in the well, he took the horse's head, sidling her flank against the low edge of the well. "Once I've done what I must, you see that she goes in. Get ready."

  He pulled the dirk from his belt. With a hard slash, he slit the horse's throat, jumping to the side away from the hot gush of blood. Still his hands were covered in red gore. For a second, her eyes rolled. The three of them pushed hard. Her thrashing body tilted onto the opening. Her weight topped her down. They scraped on the stone on the way down. James heard a splash. An unpleasant job, but not the worst he'd do this day.

  Gib met him as he strode back into the yard. "The supplies are all piled in the cellar."

  James looked down at his hands, once more blood soaked. Well, time for them to get more so. He must reek of blood. Mayhap it had soaked into his soul.

  "Get the prisoners," he ordered. He strode through the door of the Great Hall and went to Alycie. Will had a hand on her shoulder as she tied off a bandage on a youth's arm. They were in front of the hearth where a fire still crackled though the room was empty of tables and benches. "It's time for justice to be done. You should stay inside until after."

  Alycie looked from him to her brother and back again. "What are you going to do, Jamie?"

  "What I must."

  She paled. "I--don't think I like this."

  "There are many things I don't like, lass." His voice grated. "But the English will know they can't despoil my people. Nor may they live to take revenge once I'm gone. None must know who helped me here."

  Outside he pulled Wat aside, "Whilst I finish here I want you to check the church. Take anything we can use--armor, weapons." He frowned and motioned to Gib. "Start someone moving the horses into the village. But I want you to stay. I'd have the village elders witness what I do."

  Then James stood in the middle of the yard, motioning the people to clear a space and drew his sword. Iain Smith and Gib dragged the commander before James at his nod.

  "You commanded here?" James asked. "And what was done here was at your command?"

  "You know I did." He jerked against the men holding him.

  "Be grateful I'm not your sovereign. I don't torture men before I kill them. But you have offended against the laws of the Scotland and of God. In the name of Robert, King of the Scots, I sentence you to death."

  The two men forced the commander down until his face was pressed into the ground. James lifted his sword in both hands high over his head. He sucked in a breath. He brought it down as hard as he could. It hit the ground with a jar. The head bounced, rolling. Blood sprayed across the stones.

  He heard Alycie give a cry behind him. He didn't turn, but something inside him seemed to crack and unfreeze. He felt his face flush as though he had a fever, and he knew if he let them, his hands would shake. But he had to finish this.

  He motioned to someone, not looking to see who. "Drag the body into the cellar with the rest of it. Put it on top."

  Twice more he sentenced a man to die and executed him. It was right that he should soil his own hands. He wouldn't put this on another man's soul.

  The ground was soaked red with blood and the air stank of it and of death.

  At last, he sent everyone away. Silently they filed out to wait in the village. He watched them go, holding tight to his sword, so no one saw his hands shaking. The cellar door stood open and he walked down the steps. He took a torch from its sconce. The pile reached the thick beams that supported the upper floor. It filled the room--spilled grain, split barrels of wine, furniture. On the top were bodies. Oil seeped through the mess and pooled onto the floor.

  He said goodbye to memories and the days of happiness he'd had in this place. This was now how he'd remember it. He tossed the torch.

  The oil caught with a whoosh and flames climbed and twisted towards the beams.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Douglas Castle, Scotland: March 1307

  Even the men-at-arms had had armor in better condition than his. James gave a grim laugh. Wat had put aside armor for both of them, improving what they were wearing. James threw aside the bloody mess his own was and waded into the Douglas Water within sight of the kirk. He shivered in the cold but plunged his face in to wash off the blood and sw
eat. The water tasted of mud and grass and living things. He turned, looking at the green sprouts of spring. He had to hang on to why he'd done what he had. He couldn't let go of it.

  Beyond the trees, the smoke from Douglas castle rose in a black column into the sky. As he splashed out of the water and sponged off with his discarded cloak, he pictured his father that last day they'd left. He'd lifted James's step-mother off her feet in a bear hug and tousled his brother's hair. But he would have understood--would have done the same thing. James picked up the looted hauberk and paused. Would his father have executed the prisoners? James's stomach twisted. He hadn't tortured them. What he'd done was gentle compared to Wallace's and Thomas de Bruce's deaths.

  He shuddered. Killing them didn't mean he was a ravening beast. He wasn't like King Edward. St. Bride, please let him not have turned into a demon from hell.

  He jerked on the armor and buckled on his weapons. That smoke was likely to bring someone to investigate. Time to finish here.

  Buckling his belt, he strode through the trees and into the village. The men were dividing up the armor and weapons. Now most of the seventy who would ride with him had at least a mail hauberk. About half had a helm and they all had dirks and swords at their belts. Around them stood those who would stay behind, women and children and most of the family men.

  "If anyone wants to flee, I'll give them escort. There's a chance that even with no one who could say who aided me that the English may still take revenge."

  Gib came forward. "My lord, it's our home."

  One last task.

  The grave was already dug. James stood behind Alycie, his hands on her shoulders, whilst the priest said his prayers and blessed the holy ground. She trembled but made not a sound. As dirt clods began to thud over the body, James turned her. "Don't watch. Come along." Pulling her against him, he nodded to Will and started towards their home.

  As they walked, Will said, "I'd go with you, my lord, but how can I leave Alycie alone? With no one to care for her?"

  She sighed and James tightened his arm around her shoulder.

  "Can you truly take care of me as long as there are English in the land? What can you do to protect me--however much you want to?" she said.

  Will opened his mouth but nothing came out at first. "You know I tried."

  "Did I say you didn't try?" she said in an angry voice.

  "Wait," James said. "Will, I need you here. I have a more urgent task for you than riding with me."

  "Truly?"

  James stopped and turned to face Will. "You know the men here as well as your father did. I trust you. I must know what happens in Douglasdale. Even in Bothwell and Lanark. Anywhere we can find someone to watch. I'll have a camp in the Forest. When I'm not there, I'll see that someone is."

  Will opened the door to their home and they went in.

  James kept his arm around Alycie. It somehow seemed like the right thing to do. And she didn't seem to think he was a ravening beast. He needed to feel that.

  "Once I have a camp set up, I'll send Wat to you. We'll make plans. Find a few men--ones you can trust mind--to spy for us. I'll know every time the English move, how many and where."

  "My lord," Will's eyes had widened. "I can do that."

  "I know you can." James managed a smile.

  A horse whickered and hooves clattered outside. He tilted Alycie's chin. "Keep safe, sweetling."

  Her eyes were soft--full of sadness. She stroked his cheek. "When will you return?"

  How could a man not kiss such soft lips? They parted under his mouth. His tongue touched hers. Her face was scarlet as he pushed her gently away. "I must go. I'll return when I may."

  He threw himself out the door. Wat held the reins of a big black stallion. He vaulted into the saddle, wheeling the animal in a circle. "The Forest," he yelled. "And let the English seek us."

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Ettrick Forest, Scotland: April 1307

  James paced the vale whilst his men hobbled the horses. He set a watch upon the ridge where the stone peak curved like a scythe. Trees covered its lower slope, pine and yew and hawthorn. As he paced the edge of the clearing, jays and skylarks burst from the trees. The spring wind sighed amongst the trees. A squirrel chattered and scolded high above.

  He climbed to the peak, pebbles scattering as he went and nodded to the sentry. The red sun hung low above the horizon and the trees stretched on and on in waves like a sea of dark green marked by a line where the Water cut through. He smiled. Good luck to the English when they tried to find him here. Like Wallace and Frasier who'd hidden here before him. This was a fastness as good as or better than the mountains where Bruce yet lurked. They stretched thick over three counties, and he'd hunted them as a boy.

  He had to wonder how the king would take the news of his fight at Douglasdale. He was religious in his own way. James knew that Comyn's killing worried at him. In spite of the bishop's absolution, the king sometimes said their ill fortune sprang from that deed. James would have to tell him of a kirk that had a floor coated with blood and men he'd beheaded. He supposed confession would be a good thing if he could find a priest who would absolve him for such acts. Bishop Moray would understand. As he watched the sun setting, he had to laugh. At least he wasn't important enough for the Pope to excommunicate. That worried Bruce as well--that the Pope threw anathema at him for rebelling against the English rule.

  Ah, time to see to the camp and think about what they might yet do to annoy the unwanted guests in their country and plans yet to make.

  Men in twos and threes were building small cook fires and for comfort in the shelter of the scattered trees. The scrape, scrape of a whetstone on steel was a comforting sound. A long and lean man whose name he didn't recall sharpened a dirk. He needed to learn his men--their names. Their strengths. And their weaknesses.

  Wat came through the trees. "The horses are hobbled and wiped down. But keeping enough feed for them will be hard."

  "I want to look them over. We have no time for cutting hay." They'd had to double up to ride them into the Forest. Some of the men who couldn't ride would straggle in later. The black charger James had ridden snorted and snapped when he took its halter. He gave it a jerk.

  "This one I have a use for." He chewed his lip and went to the animals one by one looking them over. "They're good rouncels but I'd rather find lighter garrons for us to ride. They'll go where these never will."

  Will frowned. "I've never heard of an army on garrons."

  "Nor have I but it's what we'll do. They're light enough to make it through marshes where these would be stuck in a trice."

  "So what do we do with these? They're too good for a cook pot except the pack horses."

  "The pack animals we'll keep. But these... There is a market it seems to me at Bothwell village. And the last I heard, Aymer de Valence was in residence there. I'd like to see if I can get wind of what that man is up to."

  "Surely this many animals would raise suspicions, my lord. I've no desire for us to end up with our heads on a stake."

  James gave a grim laugh. "Even less do I since I'd share Wallace's fate. Give me a clean death in battle, pray God. But we can take them a few at a time to this market and that. We'll make sure they look rough, like an animal that's never known a fine stable. Thus, we'll learn much, mayhap find a chance to do our friends an evil turn and gain some much-needed coin. After all, out of this mail would you take me for a king's man?"

  "No, not any of us." Wat nodded. "We could do it, I think."

  "The market for animals is--" James squinted searching his memory. "It used to be held on the second Sunday of the month so a week from today. The Lanark Fair is only a few weeks away. And, Wat, I want the men trained to use their swords and dirks. These are farmers and need practice. That will be your task. Set up a schedule to work with them. And set some to hunting. I'll have them busy and not idle. Who knows what work I might find for them traveling about?" He smiled.

  Wat nodded. "Right you a
re that they need training, my lord. I'll start tomorrow."

  "I'll see to the sentries myself whilst I'm here." James strolled back to the edge of the camp and Wat followed. One of the men was singing a song about two corbies looking for their dinner whilst another played on a pipe. James's stomach grumbled. Time to eat and rest, but it was hard with so much to do. Ten men to a watch would suffice.

  He tried to keep his mind from skittering about, but there was so much to plan. On the way to Bothwell, he'd sneak into Douglas village. Someone must go to Berwick-upon-Tweed. It was a long trip, but Will would know who could be sent. James had to know Isabella's fate. Was there any chance of getting aid to her? Did she have warm clothes? He had no chance of a rescue at that great keep--yet, he had to be sure. If only there was a way to rescue her. Thinking of her locked in a cage like a wild animal made him want to howl in rage, but it was better to do something instead.

  Soon he had someone digging latrine trenches and the rest of the sentries in place. They'd brought a haunch of beef from the castle that sizzled and spit over the fire and each of them sliced some off. The camp started to feel like a good place to be. But when he closed his eyes to sleep, the eyes of the men he had executed stared out of the dark.

  The next morning Wat practiced with some on their blade work and others hunted. James made it a point to talk with each of them, to fix their names and their faces in his mind. He talked to them about what they could do and what they knew about the surrounding towns and castles. Most had some skills. Iain knew horses. David had helped in the kitchen at the castle, so James put him in charge of the food. Most had never ridden so he'd need to work on that. Moving fast would be essential. But they'd need the right horses for it. He sent Sym to hunt for a new campsite. When he returned, they'd move. A week in one place would be more than long enough.