south, almost sheer cliff overhung the loch shore which would have
forced anybody travelling down it to traverse a very narrow strip
between water and cliff, providing a perfect site for an ambush If
their enemies suspected that the fugitives were on this side of the loch, that corridor would be closely watched.
At length they reached a long ridge, about 600 feet above the water. It seemed much lighter up here, and the sense of constriction which had oppressed them for days lifted somewhat Along this bare ridge they moved, for about two miles, before they began to slant down half-left over smoother grassy slopes into a parallel valley formed by the Snaid Burn. Here cattle grazed, and it was a strange sensation for the fugitives to pass close to cot houses without skulking and creeping. Presently they came down to Inversnaid, where a sizeable township clustered round the seat of one of the MacGregor chieftains. Men were astir here, and quiet salutes greeted the chief; but no attention was paid to the others, King or no King.
Turning west again, on a well-trodden track down the steep ravine of the Snaid, here practically a prolonged waterfall, they emerged once more at the loch. But it was a very different beach.
Here were more houses, and from them a stone jetty thrust out into the dark waters. Not a few boats were moored or drawn up thereabouts;
but tied to the jetty was one the like of which the visitors had never seen-save only Campbell. It was long and narrow, high of prow and stern, with a single central mast on which hung a great boom with furled sail. At bows and stern were raised platforms and double-banked along each side were the black ports for.
many oars.
A galley! Bruce exclaimed.
A chiefs galley! Yours, MacGregor?
Mine.
But how, a Gods name, comes a galley on Loch Lomond? A sea craft. On an inland water?
Where MacGregor goes, there goes his galley.
But how, man? You come from Glenorchy, in the north, do you not?
Above Lorn.
My galleys ride on Loch Etive, of the Western Sea, he said.
When I would come to these southern lands of Clan Alpine, I sail out into that sea, and down through the isles, to Tarbert at the head of Kintyre. There my Gregorach draw my galley out, set it on round tree-trunks, and pull it across the low neck of land one mile to Loch Fyne. I sail down that loch, to Bute Kyle, and then up Loch Long. Only two miles divide the head of Long from this Lomond. Again my oarsmen draw the galley across the land. On this Lomond, then, my galley is supreme.
I faith heres a wonder…!
You learned that trick from the Northmens king, Neil Campbell observed sourly.
Magnus, Hakons good son did the same, before Largs fight. When he burned the Lennox.
You mistake, Wry-mouth, the other gave back.
Hakon learned it from MacGregor. Clan Alpine has been so doing since before there was ever a Campbell to defile Argyll!
Gods patience …!
And we sail in your galley? the King intervened.
What else? When you sail with MacGregor.
Now there were men all round them, fierce-looking- but no fiercer than themselves-bristling with arms. To one, MacGregor gave a command. He blew loud and long on a great curling cattle horn, the whooping, moaning ululations echoing and reechoing amongst all the enclosing hills. Bruce and his companions, after weeks of hiding, could scarcely forbear to demand quiet, secrecy, abashed at this blatant drawing of attention to themselves. But clearly they were now in the company of no skulkers. MacGregor of MacGregor, on his own heather, was not the man on whom to urge discretion.
The horn had been the signal for the galley to be manned. Men poured aboard in surprising numbers, equipped with their great rawhide and studded targes, circular shields, which they proceeded to hang over the sides of the vessel, forming a sort of armour plating thereon.
Where were all these when we needed them? Edward Bruce growled.
These past days, when we were hunted like beasts, just across this loch! The MacGregor is something tardy in his duty, aye!
Better tardy than never. Or against us, the King murmured, lower-voiced.
Indeed, I think he is not here for my sake, even now. He is doing this because the Dewars besought him. And for his friend Lennoxs sake. Let us be grateful for such mercies as come our way, brother.
The chief ushered his visitors aboard, the lesser men to the bow platform, the greater, with himself, to the stern. Bruce was surprised to see how many oars the vessel used, twenty on each side, in two banks, long powerful sweeps, each worked by two men seated 00 cross thwarts. With a relay of swordsmen standing by to take their turn at the sweeps. MacGregor must have had nearly 200 men aboard.
They cast off immediately and efficiently, and the huge square sail was
unfurled-with all that oar-power, and since there was little wind,
Bruce imagined more to display the MacGregor arms crossed oak-tree and
sword, painted hugely thereon, than for Propulsion. With surprisingly
little splash and fuss for so multiple amotive-power, they moved out
into the night-bound waters, and swung southwards, down-loch.
It made a very strange sensation for Bruce and his party to be sailing openly, indeed dramatically, on the great sheet of water which had for so long been their bugbear. Especially when, presently, the helmsman began to chant a lilting haunting melody, rhythmic and repetitive, in time with the beat of the oars, which the rowers took up in deep pulsing power-one of the many boat songs of the West. To the surge and thrust and ache of this they thrashed down Loch Lomond, sweeps flashing, spray flying, at a speed which none of the Lowlanders had believed possible on water. Greyhounds of the sea they knew these galleys to be called, but this headlong progress was beyond all their imagining, exhilarating, challenging.
This aspect of challenge preoccupied the fugitives. MacGregor might be puissant and redoubtable, but the MacDougall Lord of Argyll and Lorn was still more powerful. This shouting aloud of their presence might be magnificent, but it was surely foolhardy.
But when Bruce indicated as much to their host, he was met with scorn.
Who will question MacGregors galley? he asked simply.
Besides, there is no other on the loch.
At least they will know where we go.
Where MacGregor goes, the other amended.
Why should they believe King Bruce with him?
Loch Lomond broadens out to the south, and at its foot it is almost five miles wide, and dotted with islands. Ten or so miles down towards this the galley drove. Whether or not the chief was right and none dared to interfere with MacGregors galley, they saw no other boats throughout-although their passage must have been entirely evident to any who watched.
After perhaps an hour, with the widening of the loch, the looming black
shadows of the great mountains drew back and dwindled as they sailed
out of the Highlands and into Lennox. Bruce had quite expected that
they would be conducted to one of the many islands. These, after all,
would in the main belong to the Earl of Lennox, and might provide
refuges. But, no. The galley drove on through the island area without
diminution of speed, MacGregor himself directing the helmsman. The
regular splash of forty blades meeting the water in unison, the
creaking of oars, and the gasping pant of the men, dominated the night
with purpose. The smell of sweat was like a miasma that travelled with
the ship.
The foot of Lomond spreads out into flat level country, ranged only distantly by low hills. The galley, in fact, was making for the very southeast corner, where the River Endrick flowed in through far flung marshland. Now MacGregor slowed his rowers drastically, peering ahead keenly. Soon a leadsman in the bows
was shouting soundings, as the water shoaled.
The chief pointed suddenly, and the helmsman nodded. Posts could be distinguished rising out of the water. Three of them were visible, obviously in a line.
The mouth of the Endrick, MacGregor mentioned.
Deep water channel.
They eased in towards the posts, and soon it was apparent that there was a long line of them. The galley was edging along very slowly now, following the posts closely. It was not long before there was a low black belt at either side of them, darker than the water-reed-beds. The channel, twisting now, was narrowing notably.
At length the chief called a halt and, oars raised upright, they nosed forward to one of the posts. The helmsman used a steering oar to manoeuvre the craft round, across the channel. Two men jumped down into the reeds and shallows. The water came barely to their middles.
MacGregor nodded.
Sir King, he said, Come you. And with no more ceremony than if he were dismounting from the saddle, leapt down into the water.
Bruce could not but follow, and his colleagues after him, with but a word of farewell and thanks to the young Dewar-who apparently was coming no further. The water was not cold, but the muddy bottom was unpleasant.
MacGregor was already wading strongly in an easterly direction, parting the tall reeds and rushes before him as he went. In a stumbling, slaistering, cursing line, the others trailed after.
How far, in actual distance, they went, it was difficult to compute. It seemed a long way in the blanketing, featureless reed-sea, so difficult of passage, with wild-fowl exploding into alarmed flight continually, and somewhat heavier creatures, roe-deer perhaps or even cattle, splashing away into deeper fastnesses. Possibly they covered no more than a mile, however indirect their route-and how the MacGregor knew where he was going was a mystery. But he seemed never at a loss-and none had sufficient breath to question him.
At length a new sound, from the splashing and splatter, the quacking of
ducks and the whistle of pinions, rose from the marshes-the sudden
baying of hounds, and from no great distance ahead. Their guide
halted, and responded promptly with a great hallooing cries of
Gregalach! Gregalach! The dogs continued to bark, and the chief
ploughed on directly towards the sound.
Soon the water began to shallow, and the dark mass of scrub or woodland loomed ahead. Then they were climbing out on to firm grass-grown ground-but now armed men, restraining snarling wolfhounds, were milling around them. MacGregor demanded to be taken to their lord.
They appeared to be on a fair-sized island in the marshes, a hidden place of scrub and bushes and open turf, many acres in extent. There were tents here, camouflaged with fronds and branches, forming quite a large secret encampment.
A man of middle years, slightly built, of narrow head and fine features, was standing before the largest tent, staring. Him MacGregor approached, shaking water off him like a dog.
I disturbed your sleep, friend? he cried.
But you will forgive me. See you whom I have brought you.
I heard your Gregalach. Have you brought me news …? The other was scanning the newcomers in turn, in the gloom of near dawn. He showed no sign of recognition-and little wonder.
Malcolm! the King exclaimed.
My lord!
I am Malcolm of Lennox, yes. Who speaks me so?
Save us-do you not know me?
My lord-is this your greeting to the Kings Grace? young Sir James Douglas reproached.
Grace? The … the King? the Earl faltered, peering.
What mean you? The King is dead …
Not yet, Malcolm, my friend-not yet! Bruce said, and went to him.
Lennox, a curiously sensitive man to be a military leader-though he was that by birth rather than by inclination -was quite overwhelmed. He could find no words; indeed he wept on Bruces shoulder-to the embarrassment of most there.
Not of the King himself, however. Bruce had learned to despise no mans emotions, confronted with the stresses of his own.
My good lord, he said.
I believed … you slain … at Methven, the other got out.
I
have mourned you. Wept for you. Since. Aye, and mourned this Scotland with you!
I was wounded. As I heard were you. Led off the field …
Thank the good God for it! This night I shall for ever praise!
The night my liege lord returned to me. And my hope. Returned.
For I had lost all hope. Here, in this desolation of waters …
Aye, my friend-I also. Almost I lost all hope likewise. Until it, and I, was saved. Saved by my Elizabeth. And the Dewars of Saint Fillan. Now, I think, I shall not again lose my hope. While life is in me. And if I, excommunicate, who spilled blood on Gods altar, can have hope-why then, I say, hope should be lost for none!
To make amends for this display of emotion, Lennox offered his guests food and drink. Despite the remote and primitive nature of his refuge, he appeared to be well supplied, and the fugitives ate well, hugely indeed, for the first time for weeks, wolfing cold meats and fish, oatcakes and heather honey, washing it down with wine and the potent spirits of the country.
Their own spirits rose in consequence, their hosts with them.
It was obvious that Lennox had been very depressed, deeming all his cause lost and himself a broken man, a mere fugitive on his own broad lands. Not that his state had compared in any way with that of the royal party, for though a refugee on this strange secret island in the reeds, he was in the midst of his own people and vassals, and lacked for little. But his castles and houses were denied him, occupied by supporters of the Comyns or the English. Assuming Bruce dead and further resistance useless, and living thus in winter out of the question, he had apparently decided on betaking himself off, first to the Hebrides and thence to Ireland,where he had links, there to await better days.
Bruce took him up on this, over meats. How had he intended to reach the Isles? Or Ireland? For if this had been a suitable progress for Lennox, it was the more so for himself, and urgently so, with his enemies only a jump or two behind him.
The Earl, clearly alarmed at this intimation of imminent pursuit, said that he had made no arrangements as yet-but that his notion had been to sail by small boat from the Clyde to the Isle of Bute, where the High Steward, he hoped, would provide him with a sea-going vessel to reach the Hebrides. They were only a dozen miles from the Clyde coast, at Dumbarton.
The King found no fault with that-except that the Governor of Dumbarton Castle was still the same Sir John Stewart of Menteith who had delivered up William Wallace to the English-and Dumbarton dominated all the upper Clyde estuary. He might well seek to repeat the process with Bruce.
That gave them pause, until Sir Neil Campbell announced that he had a younger brother, Donald, who had married a Lamont heiress and gained a rich property at Ardincaple, farther down the coast from Dumbarton. If they could reach Sir Donald at Ardincaple, he could provide boats for Bute.
We must cross Macfarlane and Colquhoun country to get there, Lennox
pointed out. Where lie Colquhouns sympathies?
Humphrey de Colquhoun is a vassal of my own, Lennox said. ? But he was wounded at Methven, and like me, lurks hiding…
I will get you to Ardincaple, through any beggarly Macfarlanes or Colquhouns whatever! MacGregor interrupted briefly, disdainfully.
So be it you may trust the Campbell when you get there!
I have a higher opinion of my friends than have you, sir, the King declared, before Sir Neil could rise in wrath.
But I thank you for your promise-and trust MacGregor to perform it.
Tomorrow night? It must be done by night.
Tomorrow, yes. Bruce looked at Lennox.
I will be ready, the Earl said.
; To come with you. Tomorrow night.
The King eyed him keenly.
My lord-no need for you to come.
We are hunted men. Dispossessed of our lands. Knowing not where we will next lay our heads. Not so yourself. You have still great possessions. Lord of a whole province. Your castles may be occupied, but you need not become a hunted man. Thousands would take you into their houses…
And think you, Sire, that I could sleep of a night in any house, mine own or other, knowing my liege lord homeless, hunted? No, Your Gracewhere Bruce goes hereafter, there goes Lennox, God willing!
Much affected, Bruce gripped the others hand, wordless. The earl might shed easy tears, but he lacked nothing in manly resolution.
So it was decided, MacGregor would leave for his galley forthwith, and return early after dark the next night. Meanwhile Campbell would slip off alone, like any cateran, with a Lennox guide, to reach his brother at Ardincaple, so that boats could be assembled for the voyage to Bute.
The MacGregor and the Campbell left almost simultaneously -but not together.
Chapter Three
All in that little ship, heaving on the long Atlantic swell, were used to seeing impressive castles. Bruce himself owned a round dozen of them, at least, as Earl of Carrick and Lord of Annandale and Galloway and Garioch -even though all were now in English hands and of no use to him. Lennox had almost as many. But none of the vessels passengers had ever seen the like of this, as, rounding the jutting headland a bare half-mile out from that wicked shore, they stared upwards.
To call the place an eagles nest, a sea-eagles nest, was the feeblest inadequacy. The headland of Dunaverty itself soared sheerly hundreds of feet above the crashing waves, and the thrusting narrow bastion or stack, linked to the main cliff by the merest neck, rose higher, a dizzy pinnacle of rock. And on the very apex of this, a mere extension of the beetling stack, the castle was perched, clinging unbelievably to the uneven summit and precipitous sides, itself tall, narrow, almost incredible, an arrogant challenge not to man but to sea and sky. A great banner flew proudly from the topmost tower, and though this was dwarfed by height and distance, it could be seen to bear a simple device of a single black galley on white, un differenced the emblem of the Isles.
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