by Robyn Young
Robert had led his company through these deepening woods for miles, following the River Annan north through his father’s domain, before heading west into the rising hills. The land had marched up into lofty, green tors, cloaked with beech and oak, where rivers snaked along the valleys and waterfalls tracked silent silver lines down the steeper slopes. In the distance the blue shadows of higher peaks could be seen, the first markers of the mountains that barred the way to the north and west. Douglas, nestled in a valley in the heart of the woods, was a peaceful setting, the smell of wild herbs filling the air.
Sitting astride Hunter on the edge of the trees, the sun warm on his face, Robert stared at the hushed landscape before him. There should be peasants out working, farmers driving cattle to summer pastures, girls traipsing down to the waterside with laundry, lords and their sons out with bows, hunting the first deer. Instead, the place was deserted, the castle gates shut and barred. Only the smoke coming from the buildings and the noises of panicked animals beyond the palisade gave any sign of life. He could see Douglas’s banner, flying from the keep. Robert had never met Sir William Douglas or his family, but he knew the man’s wife was a sister of his grandfather’s old ally, James Stewart. Douglas’s son and heir had been named after the high steward, his uncle and godfather.
‘Do we make camp?’
Robert looked round at the blunt question to see a flint-eyed knight staring at him. Gillepatric was one of his father’s staunchest vassals, a tough, canny man who had aided in the defence of Carlisle. Robert had often wondered how his father inspired such loyalty in men like this, who had kept faith and fought for him even while their homesteads were being burned by the Comyns. He supposed his father’s decision to support King Edward had been proven right in the end, for the men of Annandale were some of the few in Scotland to retain their lord and their lands, many others now subject to the rule of English barons such as Warenne and Percy. Still, his father inspired so little devotion in him by comparison. It now struck Robert that these men weren’t a threat to his father’s ambitions. They were followers, loyal because they had to be, for their own sakes as much as their lord’s. He was the one waiting in the shadows to take his father’s place, his fortune. His father had already been passed over, his earldom removed. However much Robert admired his grandfather he couldn’t deny that the old man’s disappointment in his son and affection for him had been the main cause of the division between them. For the first time, he thought he understood something of his father’s resentment. He was a mirror in which the man had watched his own life pass.
‘Not yet,’ Robert said, in answer to Gillepatric’s question. ‘I will speak to the garrison commander first.’ He doubted Douglas’s wife and son would give themselves willingly into his custody, but he wanted to parley with them before any assault was made.
Instructing the other knight captains to tell their men to rest and setting foot soldiers to watch the road at their backs, Robert picked six men to accompany him to the castle including Walter, Gillepatric and the Yorkshire squire, Christopher Seton. Robert had grown fond of the squire over the past few months. The young man had a pleasant manner that reminded him of his youngest brother, Niall, who had remained in Ireland with Thomas through the war. Christopher was possessed of the same cheerful disposition and a desire to please without being fawning. With Christopher on this mission was his Scots-born cousin Alexander, a lord from Lothian who was ten years his senior. Alexander Seton was less immediately likeable, more guarded and aggressive, but he was a skilled fighter. Robert nodded for him to follow as they left the main host.
The small company approached the castle gates, skirting the loch on a dusty track. Impatience was sharp inside Robert. He forced it away, knowing rashness here would be dangerous, but he couldn’t ignore the fact that he wanted this over with quickly. Affraig had remained close in his thoughts on the road to Douglasdale, her accusations plaguing him. He had been beset by visions of Henry Percy and his knights hunting in the forests of Carrick, taking what they wanted from stores and larders, scorning protests. He had seen them do it in Wales. Robert had never been close to the blond Lord of Alnwick with his chilly smile, but he knew him well enough to know that the men and women of Ayrshire and Galloway would not be faring well under him. Neither would the people of his earldom, caught between.
‘Sir!’
Robert pulled on Hunter’s reins as Christopher shouted. To their right, away across the grass, a narrow gate in the palisade was opening. Robert slowed, seeing a solitary figure slip out. The figure was incredibly lean and short for a man, but stranger than his physique was his clothing. He wore just a white tunic, looped by a belt, no armour at all except for a great helm, the visor of which was down. The metal was rusty and the helm ill-fitting, almost lopsided. The figure clutched a broadsword in both hands, holding it in front of him as he stumbled blindly down the grassy slope towards them. The men with Robert were frowning, their eyes darting from the figure to the castle, suspecting some trickery. Gesturing for them to remain where they were, Robert kicked Hunter towards the helmed man, gripping his sword, but not yet drawing it. ‘I am Sir Robert Bruce, the Earl of Carrick. I am here on the orders of King Edward to take into my custody the wife and son of Lord William Douglas, in retaliation for his rebellion against the crown.’ The words sounded forced and hollow. Robert could hear the distaste in his own voice. The man hadn’t answered his question. He repeated the words, louder now, pulling Hunter to a halt a short distance away.
‘I will fight any man in your army,’ the figure called in fierce response. ‘But if I win you must let the Lady Douglas go free.’ The voice came muffled through the helm, but it was clearly that of a boy.
Robert heard laughter behind him as his father’s knights caught the high-pitched challenge.
In response, the helmed figure took several determined steps towards Robert. ‘Will you not accept, you cowards?’
The laughter stopped abruptly and Gillepatric drew his blade with a snarl.
At that moment, the main gates of the castle opened and a woman emerged. She let out a cry as she saw the helmed boy halfway down the grassy bank, confronting Robert. ‘James!’ she screamed, running towards him. ‘Dear God! James!’
‘It’s the son!’ shouted Gillepatric triumphantly, spurring his horse towards the boy. ‘It’s Douglas’s son!’
There were more shouts as the castle garrison spilled from the gates after the woman, swords drawn. Robert’s knights urged their horses towards them. Away across the loch, a horn sounded as the host saw the emerging soldiers. The woman reached the boy and grabbed hold of him, pulling him back. In the struggle, the oversized helm toppled off and clanged to the ground, revealing a pale-faced boy of no more than twelve or thirteen, with sleek, crow-black hair.
Robert saw Gillepatric and Christopher charging towards the woman and boy. The other knights were breaking away, heading for the guards. In the chaos, the boy fought against the woman’s hold, still clutching the sword, his lips peeled back, pale blue eyes flashing in the sunlight. Robert was transfixed by the boy’s brazen courage. His mouth was dry, his heart thudding. In his mind, he saw himself, years ago, in the church at Scone, drawing his sword against John Comyn in defence of his grandfather. All at once, something snapped inside him, something bright and sharp that was both painful and liberating. He raked his spurs across Hunter’s sides. Urging the horse on, he manoeuvred himself in between the woman and boy and his father’s knights. Drawing his sword, he roared at his men to halt. Gillepatric and Christopher were coming straight at him. To avoid collision, Gillepatric had to pull on the reins so hard his horse reared up, hooves striking the air. Christopher Seton turned in a tight circle, his horse protesting with a high squeal.
The woman had managed to drag James away and the castle guards had reached them. Surrounding the two in a ring of swords, the men hustled them back across the grass to the gates.
Gillepatric regained control of his horse. ‘In Christ�
��s name, what are you doing?’ he yelled at Robert, pointing his blade towards the retreating group. ‘We could have taken him!’
Robert met the man’s flint-eyed stare. ‘No.’
‘Your orders are to seize the wife and son!’
‘And your orders are to follow my command.’
Behind Robert, the guards had reached the castle gates and were disappearing inside with the woman and boy. Fast along the track by the loch more riders were coming, the men of Robert’s army responding to the threat.
Christopher’s gaze darted between Gillepatric and Robert. ‘What is it, Sir Robert? Why did you stop us?’
Robert glanced round, hearing the castle gates rattle shut. He wanted to grin, for it felt like a victory. ‘We’re not going to seize Lady Douglas, or her son.’
Gillepatric stared at him. Men were riding up, slowing as they saw the castle gates had closed. The air was full of the clatter of hooves.
Robert went to speak, but poised on the brink, unsure of what to say. What was he doing? Forcing the question aside, he addressed the growing circle of knights. ‘I have summoned you on my father’s instructions. But now I am here, I cannot fulfil those orders.’ His voice strengthened. ‘We have been sent to seize the wife and son of a man who is fighting for our kingdom. Can anyone here say he agrees with this?’
‘It is not our place to question orders that come from the king,’ said Gillepatric harshly.
‘Scotland has no king,’ responded Robert. ‘Balliol is broken and imprisoned in England.’
‘And King Edward rules in his place. Have you forgotten the fealty we swore to him after the war?’
‘Oaths of the vanquished to the victor,’ said Robert, his voice becoming clearer. He felt as though he had been asleep for months and was suddenly awake. It was a heady, volatile feeling.
‘This is madness,’ snapped Gillepatric. ‘You dishonour your father and his name. He could lose his lands. We all could!’
‘Not if he is seen to have nothing to do with this.’
‘Sir Robert,’ said another of the knights, ‘you cannot return to Carlisle or Annandale if you disobey the king’s orders. You’ll be imprisoned in England with Balliol and the rest.’
‘I do not intend to return.’ As he said this, Robert felt a great wash of relief. For too long his father’s household had been as a prison. Trapped under the lord’s authority, unable to speak out or make his own decisions, he had been treated like a humble knight rather than the earl he was, his authority passed over without a word. But even as his doubt fell away other, darker concerns replaced it. He thought of the prospect of imprisonment and the loss of his lands. He thought of the betrayal of his pledge to the king and to the Knights of the Dragon, and was pricked by guilt as Humphrey’s broad face appeared in his mind. But he couldn’t allow a friendship, or his oath to determine the fate of his kingdom, not any more. ‘You can choose to return to Annandale to my father’s service,’ he told the knights. ‘Or, if you are willing, you can come with me. But, either way, we leave the lands of Lord Douglas.’ He stared around, his gaze resting last on Gillepatric. ‘That is my command.’
Gillepatric snarled. ‘You’re a fool! No man here will follow you.’ For a moment the knight seemed set to spur his horse away in disgust, then he switched back suddenly, his blade rising.
Robert, who had already lowered his sword, had no chance to defend himself. Christopher Seton, however, had seen the hostile intent in Gillepatric’s face and urged his horse in between them, lashing out with his sword, intending to deflect Gillepatric’s. The older knight was far quicker. Switching the trajectory of his blade at the last moment he turned it to smash the pommel into the squire’s face. Christopher was slammed back with the force and toppled from his horse. Several things happened at once. Robert lifted his sword with a fierce shout at Gillepatric. Christopher’s courser bolted, causing the other horses to stamp and jostle in panic, Hunter’s hooves narrowly missing Christopher’s head. Out of everyone, though, it was Alexander Seton who was the quickest. Barrelling into the fray, he wrenched forward and grabbed Gillepatric round the neck. Pulling back, he squeezed, causing the knight to gag and choke. Several of Gillepatric’s comrades turned their swords on Alexander as Christopher struggled to his feet, one hand to his bloodied nose. Gillepatric dropped his sword and tried to prise Alexander’s arm off his windpipe. Nes and Walter moved in determinedly to defend Robert.
‘Enough!’ Robert’s voice ripped across them. Trembling with fury and shock at the unexpected attack, he strove to maintain his composure. ‘You will stand down. All of you,’ he told Alexander, who hadn’t relinquished his hold. Gillepatric’s face was turning a bruised purple. ‘I will not allow blood to be shed here. Not in my name, God damn you!’
Slowly, Alexander loosened his grip on Gillepatric. Christopher had staggered to his feet and was snorting blood out of his nose. Released, Gillepatric sagged in his saddle, drawing ragged gasps of air. His comrades kept their swords pointed at Alexander, but made no move, glancing between Gillepatric and Robert. One knight dismounted, warily, to retrieve the older man’s sword.
Gillepatric touched his throat, his eyes on Robert. ‘You are not your father’s son,’ he breathed. Snatching his sword from the man who had retrieved it, he wheeled his horse around and spurred it viciously away across the grass. His men followed, riding back along the track by the loch. More peeled from the circle around Robert. A couple tried to persuade him to reconsider, but he sat in defiant silence, refusing to be drawn. In less than a few minutes only Nes, Walter and the Setons remained.
Robert nodded his gratitude to the two cousins. ‘Thank you for coming to my defence.’ He fixed on the lord. ‘But you have a rich estate, Sir Alexander. You will most likely lose it if you join me.’
‘I fear I will lose my property whether or not I stay with you,’ responded Alexander. ‘King Edward is carving up our kingdom according to his own design. Soon, there will be no Scot left in authority.’ He smiled coldly. ‘But if William Wallace wins this rebellion we could all be rewarded by choosing the right side now.’ He looked at Christopher.
The squire wiped his bloodied nose with the back of his hand and nodded at Robert. ‘I am with you, Sir Robert, wherever you plan to go.’
Robert was silent, thinking through the implications of his actions, which had put him on the side of the insurgents. He thought of William Wallace with caution. From what he knew the rebel leader was fighting in the name of the captive John Balliol, which didn’t necessarily make him an ally. Nes’s quiet voice drew him from his considerations.
‘Where will we go from here, sir?’
‘Perhaps to Carrick,’ Robert said, after a pause. ‘Yes,’ he went on, firmer now, ‘to my people.’ Before they could ask him anything further, he continued. ‘I want you to go back to our camp. Escort my attendants and my daughter here, and bring what you can of our supplies.’
‘I have two good men with me,’ said Alexander in answer. ‘Both dubbed. They will join us.’
Robert’s gaze moved down the loch to where the men of his army were already beginning to move out. Then, kicking Hunter on, he made his way up to the gates. As he reached the palisade, he swung down from the saddle. He could hear raised voices on the other side. ‘I would speak to the Lady Douglas,’ he called loudly. The voices quietened at once. ‘I am alone. My army is leaving.’
Slowly, the gates of Douglas Castle opened and Robert found himself faced by a line of armed guards. A woman was in their centre, holding the shoulders of the boy, James. He was sure now what he had suspected before, that she was his mother, the Lady Douglas. She was young and attractive with solemn brown eyes like her brother’s.
‘I do not understand, Sir Robert,’ she said, her voice strained. ‘What are your intentions?’
‘My men will not harm you, my lady, but you must leave this place. My father is acting on King Edward’s orders and even if he sends no other men to seize you and your son, the king mo
st certainly will. He intends to make an example of your husband, to dissuade other noblemen from joining Wallace.’
She nodded. ‘James has an uncle in Paris.’
‘Mother—’ began the boy, looking between her and Robert.
She spoke over him. ‘He will be safe there. I have family in the west I can go to.’
‘You should leave as soon as you are able.’ Robert inclined his head. ‘My lady.’
As he moved to go, Lady Douglas stepped forward, between the swords of the guards. ‘And you, Sir Robert, where will you go? The king will surely punish you for this.’
He turned back. ‘To Carrick, for now.’
‘You should seek out my brother.’
‘The steward?’ Robert frowned in question. James Stewart he knew had remained in Scotland after pledging homage to King Edward, but Robert had heard nothing of the high steward or his whereabouts in many months. The man seemed to have melted away. All Robert knew was that he had been married, some time before war broke out the previous year, to a sister of Sir Richard de Burgh, the Earl of Ulster.
‘William Wallace is the son of one of Sir James’s vassals. You cannot believe he managed to stir up such widespread rebellion so quickly on his own, can you?’ Lady Douglas smiled slightly. ‘My brave husband is not his only ally.’