by Tessa Murran
‘Lyall,’ he shouted. A rasping sound ripped from his brother’s throat as he blinked rapidly. His face was ashen, but he was alive at least.
Cormac hauled him up onto his feet. His helm had a dent in it on one side, but there was no blood running out of it.
‘Are you hurt Lyall?’
A shake of the head and then Lyall doubled over and spewed his guts out. ‘Winded,’ he gasped, ‘knocked the breath out of me when he hit me...stars in front of my eyes.’
‘Can you see well enough to fight?’
‘Aye. My horse?’
‘Gone,’ said Cormac, grabbing his brother’s tunic and hauling him into the pack of pikemen. ‘Just push forwards and kill something. We fight on foot now, together, stay close.’
Cormac heaved himself into the schiltron, and headed for the front.
***
Hours later, exhausted and disorganised, their ranks depleted by the Scots ferocity and determination to hold their ground, the English cavalry made a disorderly retreat from the field.
Cormac watched them disappear towards the Bannockburn. Screams of the dead and dying echoed across the Dryfield, as dusk closed in. He took off his helm, its metal gleam now dulled by mud and blood, and looked out at the dark corpses sprawled on the grass. So many men dead on both sides and that was not even the full English force.
Today’s fight had been a skirmish, a rash and undisciplined action by the English cavalry at the death of one of their finest Lords. Next time, he would have to face the full weight of the English army, its entire cavalry force, infantry, archers, all well-armed, veterans of countless battles and outnumbering the Scots army many times over. He may have survived this day, and so had Lyall, collapsed on his knees beside him, but Cormac knew that he would have to do it all again when the sun came up.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Cormac made his way through the campfires to the King’s tent. It was almost dark outside, and Cormac hoped to God the sentries stayed alert. He hadn’t ruled out an ambush in the night by English forces, no matter that the King insisted they preferred a head-on, out in the open assault, over tactics and clever schemes.
The English army had headed east along the Bannockburn, in search of water for their horses and men, avoiding the treacherous ground around the pits. They had taken up position on the Carse, an area of stagnant, boggy ground, down the hill from the wood and bordered by the Bannockburn, which ran through a deep ditch to their back. They would be in for an uncomfortable night on the damp ground and were probably still smarting from the day’s defeat. Their pride had taken a bashing, but not enough to make them give up. Edward was no warrior King, but from his camp, he could see the prize, Stirling Castle, gateway to the Highlands. He was, no doubt, feeling the weight of his father’s legacy of conquest and victory.
When Cormac entered the tent, he caught the King’s eye where he sat, surrounded by his knights. Cormac spotted Baodan Gowan in the throng of men, and something cold slid down his spine. He had not seen him in the day’s fighting, perhaps he had been observing from the safety of the trees. He was not likely to risk his own neck when he had two sons to sacrifice to the war effort. As Cormac awaited the King’s pleasure, Baodan sidled up to him. It was the first time they had come face to face since his wedding day, and time had not lessened his hate for the older man.
‘How fares my daughter? Does she please you, Buchanan?’
‘A deal more than you do.’
‘You are happy with your bride?
‘Aye, she suits me well enough, even if she is your bastard. She has all your strength without the malice.’
‘Good, I am glad to hear she is putting her considerable charms to good use. I do hope you don’t hold a grudge against me for my little deception at the wedding, for tomorrow, we fight side by side. We are for the same cause now, are we not, and we must be unified?’
‘Aye, and I believe in that every bit as much as you do.’
‘Come, Buchanan, with your father gone we should bury old grudges, for tomorrow the English charge at us full force, and we could all end up as corpses for the crows to pick at.’
‘Not you, for I am sure you will find a way to slither out of the fighting, just as you did today.’
‘Buchanan, walk with me a while,’ shouted the King, coming over and clapping a heavy hand on his shoulder, putting an abrupt end to an uncomfortable conversation. Cormac had no way of knowing just how much Baodan had discovered about Ravenna’s near-lynching and her switching allegiance to the Buchanan cause. The man had obviously come over and talked to him to probe for information.
‘A good day’s fight, don’t you think, Buchanan?’ said the King, when they were outside.
‘Aye, but you almost lost your life, Your Grace.’
Robert gave him a hard look. ‘You think I risked myself needlessly. I got them to charge, didn’t I?
‘Aye, but if you had fallen, our cause would have been lost. Men rally to you, not MacDonald, not Black Douglas, and not the Earl of Moray. Without you to lead us, we are all dead men, and the army will fall apart.’
‘You speak your mind, Buchanan. That is what I like about you.’
The King was smiling, but Cormac was on his guard. He knew this man had executed men for much less than speaking their mind, better men than him as well.
When they got further away from the tent, Robert whispered, ‘Buchanan, the pits, can we rely on them?’
‘Aye, your Grace, they’re dug deep. All it takes is for a few of the English cavalry to fall into them and get impaled, and then they will avoid them at all costs, and it will force them to use the narrow bit of ground down on the Carse. They will be hemmed in, and it will hopefully blunt the English attack...if we are lucky.’
‘And if we are not?’
Cormac smiled. ‘Then we will have a dirty fight on our hands, Your Grace, something you have relished these many years.’
‘Aye, I have that. Buchanan, I want you in the vanguard, in the middle schiltron, when we take the English cavalry charge, your brother also.’
‘Your Grace, Lyall is a good fighter, but he has little experience of a full-blown battle. Surely he would be better off in the ranks behind, or guarding our flanks.’
‘He can learn how to face an enemy without shitting his braies, by seeing how his King fights, and how his brother, one of the finest warriors in my army, cuts down his foes. It’s a chance for him to prove his mettle. No ground will be sacrificed, and we fall back for nothing and no one. We stand, no matter what they throw at us.’
‘And Gowan? Will he be in the vanguard, or will he be hiding in the trees, cowering behind the women’s skirts.’
‘Ah, I see your old enmity still remains. Gowan requested the honour of leading the schiltron on our east flank, but I am not inclined to give it to him. It is the most vulnerable. The English will try to outflank us by breaking it.’
‘As long as he is not standing behind me,’ said Cormac.
‘In case he puts a knife in your back, eh? Did I not command you two to heal the rift?’
‘Your Grace, I did what you asked, I healed the rift by marrying his daughter.’
‘Don’t take me for a fool Buchanan, you covered up the rift as I have done with my pits, and it is still a trap to fall into. It was necessary, that marriage, to bring unity, for this is where we stand or fall, this point, this road to Stirling. What we face tomorrow will either be the death of us or our finest hour. I will have all my clans stand united, and whatever happens afterwards is between you two. So, in answer to the question you are trying not to ask, no, it is not Gowan’s idea to put you and your brother in the vanguard. I want you there because you are ferocious and unstoppable in battle.’
‘So, you do not trust him.’
‘I trust each and every man who fights for Scotland,’ said the King.
It was no kind of answer, but it was the best he was going to get. Cormac was on his guard and resolved to watch his back come morning.
‘Gowan will fight in the east schiltron, but he will not command it,’ continued the King. He will be where I tell him to be, and woe betide him if he gives any ground to the English.’ The King was quiet for a moment. ‘Buchanan, I hear Gowan got you to marry his bastard.’ He was smirking, no doubt trying to take his mind off what was to come by teasing others.
‘He did, Your Grace, it was either take the bastard girl or break my oath to you.’
‘That was clever of him, and a little spiteful, wouldn’t you say.’
‘Aye, ‘twas.’
‘What is she like, this bastard daughter?’
Cormac’s heart ached at talking of her. ‘Ravenna is strong, beautiful, passionate and brave and…I truly love her.’
‘Then Gowan’s not so clever after all, is he?’
‘No, Your Grace, he isn’t.’ Cormac laughed to relieve the tension inside him.
‘Go on now, try to get some sleep, for you will need your wits about you come morning, and Cormac…God bless you for your loyalty.’
Chapter Twenty-Six
Ravenna woke to someone shaking her and calling her name. She felt wet and cold, and when she opened her eyes, he was still there, not a ghost after all, but living and breathing. There was concern in his green eyes.
‘You don’t seem very pleased to see me, Venna.’
‘Brandan?’ Her voice was a squeak as she tore free and scrambled away over the rocks on her bottom. ‘You are supposed to be dead. They told me you were dead.’
‘I am happy to say that I am very much alive and well. Don’t be frightened, Venna. I mean you no harm.’
‘Don’t call me that,’ she said, rising slowly as the world swam about her.
He put his hand on her arm to steady her, and Ravenna lashed out, smacking it away. ‘Get your hands off me,’ she spat. She heard sniggering. His companions were watching them with interest.
‘Why did you do that?’ said Brandan.
‘I thought you were dead. All these years, all those tears I shed for you.’
He looked away from her and did not speak.
‘How could you? I grieved for you, Brandan.’
‘Ravenna, I…’
She heard shouting behind her, and a young man appeared around the bend in the river clutching Morna by the arm with one hand and carrying her tunic in the other. She was dressed only in her kirtle, and she was twisting and turning to get free of him.
‘I found this one washing in the river, yonder,’ he shouted at Brandan and then turned back to Morna. ‘Stop wriggling, will you.’
Morna’s hand caught him square across the face with a loud slap, and he recoiled and then pulled her against him roughly.
‘Let her go,’ screamed Ravenna, but Brandan caught hold of her.
‘You both need to calm down,’ he said. He shouted over to his companions, who were now eyeing Morna with undisguised lust. ‘We’ll stop here and make camp for the night, that’s an order.’ From the authority in his voice, it appeared Brandan was the leader of this rabble.
‘But what about the battle?’ said the young man holding Morna.
‘The fighting will wait for us, Will. Time to die will come soon enough, no need to run towards it. Let the girl go.’
The young man thrust Morna away from him, and she rushed into Ravenna’s arms. Clutching her tightly, Ravenna whispered, ‘Don’t say anything, don’t tell them who your brother is, Morna. Be silent and put your tunic back on, quickly, they are staring.’
Ravenna and Morna clung to each other in silence while the horses were secured and a fire was built. Brandan and the other men stood some way off, talking in hushed voices. Will had been left to keep an eye on them and stared at them with unnerving intensity, as he sharpened a knife on a whetstone.
Will was youngish, Ravenna guessed his age at about twenty, but he could be older. He was burly, with tawny hair, big hands, muscular shoulders. His eyes burned with anger, just on the edge of violence and his face, though striking, wore a fierce scowl. The others in the group had the look of thugs or cutpurses, and judging from their voices, were mostly English, where Will was clearly a Scot.
Will did not take his eyes off Morna, who glowered back at him. ‘No need to look at me like that, girl. I didn’t mean to see you half-naked, and I’m not sorry I did either.’
‘You were spying on me. You are nothing but a filthy lecher.’
‘If you carry on flapping that mouth of yours, I will show you just how filthy I can be. I owe you a slap, remember.’
‘Touch her, and I will kill you,’ said Ravenna, with ice in her voice.
‘Take your chance then, before King Edward or the Bruce does it first.’
Ravenna wondered at the bitterness in his voice. ‘Why are you here with these men, Will?’
‘I’ve been outlawed, living beyond God’s law and the King’s, English or Scots, whichever one you kneel down before.’
‘Where are your family?’
‘Dead, most of them anyway, wiped out root and stem, first by the English years ago, for supporting Wallace’s rebellion, and then by the Bruce, for refusing to pledge to him. My father did not want his people to suffer the carnage the English loosed upon us again, so he stood firm and told the Bruce he would not enter a war that could not be won. It cost him his life, and our clan’s home, burnt to the ground, just rubble now. Lost most of my family too, scattered to the wind, so here I am, William O’Neill of Balladour, a Laird’s son, scrounging a living through thievery and soldiering.’
‘Do you have no one left at all?’ asked Morna hesitantly.
‘Some distant cousins in the far north, but they are little better than outlaws themselves. It’s cold comfort I’ll get there.’
‘Are you going to fight in this battle?’
‘Seems like it. But if you think it is an honourable thing I do, you are deceived as…’
‘That’s enough, Will,’ snapped Brandan. ‘Let the girl rest now, but keep a close eye on her.’ He turned to Ravenna, holding out his hand. ‘Come, I need to talk to you.’
‘I’ve nothing to say to you.’
Will narrowed his eyes and looked from one to the other of them. Brandan grabbed Ravenna’s arm and hauled her to her feet and dragged her some way off, out of earshot of the others.
‘Don’t you at least want to hear me out, as I grovel for forgiveness?’
‘Speak then. Explain yourself.’
Brandan’s eyes had the same tortured sadness as they had all those years ago. But now, as he began to speak, she wondered if it had all just been a dream, what she had once felt for him.
‘Aye, well, I survived the fight with the Buchanan’s, but I couldn’t kill Cormac Buchanan. My God, no one could, the man is enormous, he fights like a demon. We far outnumbered them, and we should have wiped them out, but a storm came in, and they scattered. We searched for hours, finding some of the Buchanans and cutting them down, but not him, not the one man I had to kill to win you. As I searched into the night, I knew it was over, and I knew I was doomed if I came back. Cormac Buchanan’s head was the price of my survival, and if I failed to bring it to your father, I had no chance.’
‘You could at least have come back for me, found a way for us to flee together from my father’s wrath.’
‘I could not go back to Mauldsmyre, Venna. Your father would have had me killed, you know that. When has he ever made an empty threat? Besides, I began to think that perhaps you were better off without me. So, I rode south to England.’
‘So, you just ran like a coward and left me behind, to suffer whatever punishment my father saw fit.’
‘Call me a coward if you like, Venna, if it eases you. I ran because I was eighteen, and I didn’t want to die.’
Ravenna shook her head in disbelief.
‘What if I had come back, Venna, and taken you from your home, with nothing to live on. I would only have been dragging you into poverty. What kind of life could I give you, starving in the hedgerows u
ntil the winter cold took us, or your father caught up with us?’
‘They locked me up in a convent, to rot my life away. It was a kind of prison, Brandan, but that was not even the worst of it. I have grieved for you every day since I heard you were dead, and it was all a lie.’
‘Your father’s lie, Ravenna. It was him told you I was dead, wasn’t it?’
‘Aye, and because you didn’t come back, I swallowed it. If I had known you were alive, I would have waited for you, no matter how long it took. And you could have found me if you’d wanted, my father made no secret of where he was sending me. You didn’t even take the trouble to ask after my fate, did you?
‘For that, forgive me. I did not do it lightly, for I loved you to distraction, Venna. Giving you up was the biggest mistake of my life. I’ve never found that kind of love again.’ He came over and took her hand in his. ‘Now I have found you again, you are more beautiful than I remembered. Venna, what we had between us...’
‘It was a lie, a passing fancy on your part.’ Ravenna snatched her hand away. ‘We were children, playing at love. We had no idea, back then, what it cost.’
‘I was no child, I was a man, and I loved you with all my heart.’
‘But only when it was easy. If you had really loved me, you would never have abandoned me, not for anything.’
Brandan had been the first man to notice her, to make her feel worthy and for that, a part of Ravenna would always care for him. But whatever Brandan had been to her before, he was now a stranger, and she had to be careful.
‘How bitter you sound, Venna,’ he snarled.
‘With good reason. While you were free in England, my father forced me to wed someone else.’
‘Who?’ His face was stricken.
‘My father threw me away on the first man who would take me. My husband is not a Laird, not wealthy, he is low-born, but he is kind to me, and I truly care for him. He is a soldier, in the Bruce’s army.’
‘And the girl?’
‘His sister. We are travelling to the camp to see him one last time. I want to tell him that I am carrying his child.’