The Path of the Hero King bt-2

by Nigel Tranter

  Aye. But much would be lost. All would be the more difficult. The

  English, once warned, could seal off Galloway. The Carrick landing could prevent this. By linking up with those who fight from the mountains, from Ettrick and Merrick. Pray you for Boyd’s signal, then. A good night to you…”

  Bruce had barely seemed to lay his head on his pillow in the small mural chamber that was all this stark hold offered him, when he was awakened by Douglas shaking his shoulder.

  “The signal, Sire! It burns! It burns!” the younger man cried, The watch saw it, from the parapet-walk. It still burns clear.”

  “Eh …? What hour is it, Jamie?”

  ‘”Near to four. Four of the clock.”

  “It is late. Late. To be sending the word …” But Bruce rose, and wrapped his plaid around him again.

  Up at the tower-room window, there was no need for Douglas to point. In the windy dark, apart from the line of phosphorescence from the breaking waves on the beach far below, the only thing to be seen was the bright point of light, reddish-yellow, that grew and contracted, waxed and waned in brilliance, away to the southeast, as they watched. Obviously a fire.

  “It is the right airt?” Douglas asked.

  “Yes. That is just north of Tumberry Head. So be it. Boyd’s signal, yes. But… so late. Why has he delayed?”

  “He could have been prevented, Sire. From reaching the place.

  Forced to a long detour. Hunted by the English. In enemy-held territory, anything may constrain …”

  “Think you I do not know it, man! Have I not spent weeks, months, in enemy-held territory?” That flash of irritation was unusual in the King, who kept a close watch on his tongue.

  “Boyd is an experienced soldier. He knows that it is too late, now, for us to embark our men, win across the firth, and land in Carrick in darkness.

  Four o’clock. It is but four hours to dawn. It will take two hours to cross, in this wind and sea. If not more. Not the galleys, but the small craft.”

  Hay and Campbell had joined them at the open window.

  “And we must have time, over there, for our dispositions,” the latter pointed out.

  “Further darkness.”

  “May not Sir Robert have thought of that, Your Grace, Douglas suggested.

  “And thus be giving us plenty of warning for tomorrow night. Giving us all day to prepare. If he had waited until a safe time after dark tomorrow, it would have cut into that night. And if he had lit his fire earlier, we would have made the crossing tonight. This way he gives us time.”

  “It may be so, Jamie,” the King acceded.

  “We can well use that time, whatever else. To make our preparations. To eat well and sleep well. We sail tomorrow evening, then, at first dark, and shall have a long night of it. Meantime we can sleep again. It may be we shall need it all …!”

  The wind and seas had abated a little, but it was still an unpleasant crossing, the following night, especially for the smaller boats. Bruce had 300 men, 200 of Christina’s Moidartach, granted free and for love, and 100 sent by Mackenzie of Kintail, not so much for love as for hatred-hatred of the Earl of Ross, Mackenzie’s unfriendly neighbour. Christina had provided an extra galley too-indeed she had had to be dissuaded from accompanying the expedition herself; but even so, further transport was necessary, and the smaller, slower craft were scarcely adequate for the winter seas-especially as the incoming tide was racing up the firth from the ocean, south-westerly, the same direction as the prevailing wind, while the flotilla was proceeding on a course at almost right angles, south by east, with consequent rolling beam seas. Fortunately the men were Hebrideans and used to the sea, or they might have made but a doubtful fighting force at the end of it.

  There had been some speculation that Boyd might have lit his beacon again tonight, to guide them in; but as yet there was no sign of it. The night was dull and cold, with occasional slight sleet showers, inclement for sailing in open boats but suitable enough for the activities ashore.

  There.were no stars to navigate by, but three-quarters of the way across Bruce decided that a cluster of lights that showed faintly must be from Turnberry Castle itself. In which case they were too far to the south. He shouted an order to the helmsman, in his leading galley.

  Presently they could hear the thunder of the breakers on the shore, an ominous sound; and after some minutes of anxious peering into the mirk, Bruce thought that he could distinguish the long belt of white that would be the seas disintegrating on the savage reef of skerries that half closed Maidenhead Bay from the south.

  Another half-mile and they ought to be able to turn in, around the north end of the reef, and run into the comparatively sheltered corner of bay behind, the rendezvous where the bale fire had blazed.

  Soon they swung in, tossing violently as they passed the tail-end of the skerries, and thereafter quickly felt the sea’s motion to abate.

  The re-entrant of the bay ahead was dark” under low cliff, giving no

  sign of life. The King remembered two salmon-fishers’ cot houses

  there, where he had played as a lad. Cautiously sail furled, Bruce’s

  galley nosed forward, the sweeps dipping gently. There was no jetty or landing-stage, but an easy boat-strand of sand and pebbles, where three fishing cob les were already drawn up.

  Skilfully manoeuvred, the vessel’s forefoot crunched into the shelving shingle with a minimum of shock, amongst only small waves. Had the wind been northerly, or the landing unprotected from the south, it would have been a very different matter. Bruce himself was one of the first to jump down, caring nothing for the cold splashy shallows, and more affected by this stealthy return to the mainland of his kingdom than he would have been prepared to admit.

  There was no one there to greet them. No movement showed on the dark shore.

  Edward’s galley moved in now, with the smaller craft, like a brood of ducklings, close behind. His brother came striding over the pebbles.

  “Where is Boyd?” he demanded.

  “And Fleming. They should be here.”

  “I had looked for them, yes. Perhaps they do not expect us so early. Have not seen our arrival. They may be waiting in one of those cabins.”

  The King led a group up over the shingle and the sea-grass to where the dark low bulk of the cot-houses loomed. With sword hilts they beat on the closed doors, demanding to open in the name of King Robert.

  Only alarmed fishermen opened to them.

  When these men’s immediate fears were allayed, they declared that only themselves were in the hovels, no lords or great men. Sir Robert the Boyd had been here, yes-but that was four days back.

  He had sworn them to secrecy and had bade them gather driftwood for a great fire. On the beach. Not to be lit until he returned.

  But he had not returned.

  “Not returned, man?” the King burst in.

  “What do you mean?

  You lit the fire, lacking him?”

  “No, lord. The fire is not lit. We await Sir Robert. As he said…”

  “But-by the Rude! The fire was lit. That is why we arc here. It was a signal.”

  “No, lord. Saving your lordship’s presence. The fire is not yet lit.

  The wood still there. Down below the cliff …”

  “Dear God! Then the fire we saw last night…?”

  “Not here, sir. That would be the alehouse up at Shanter. Some drunken English soldier set it afire. Last night. Two of them died in it, they say. And Mother MacWhannel herself. God rest her soul! A great blaze …”

  “Christ’s mercy! We have come then on a wild-goose chase!” Edward cried.

  “A burning alehouse!”

  Appalled, they stared at each other in the darkness.

  “Thank God we have learned it in time, at least!” Lennox said, “We can return to Arran, and little harm done.”

  “Oh, no …!” That was young James Douglas.

  “There speaks a lily-liver. A craven!” Edward accused.

  “We have not come all this way to turn back now.”


  “My lord …!”

  “My friends-peace!” Bruce intervened.

  “Here is matter for better debate than this. My lord of Lennox may be wise. We have made a grave mistake, it seems …”

  “You would not turn tail?” his brother demanded, incredulously.

  “We have successfully landed. Unopposed. Is that not the great thing…?”

  “It is important. But there are greater things. Robert Boyd is the most experienced campaigner we have. And an Ayr man. That is why I sent him. He was to light his fire if he deemed conditions at all possible for our invasion. It seems that he has not done so. Therefore must we not believe that he deems the venture impossible? Or too dangerous?”

  “He may be captured, Sire. Or dead,” Hay put in.

  “It may be. Does that aid our decision?”

  “Save us-we cannot turn back now!” Edward insisted.

  “Without so much as a sight of the enemy. That will not win back your, kingdom for yon!”

  “I have so far shown the Scots people only defeat and disaster, My first attempt in this new campaign must be successful. Or at least no defeat. Or my cause is the worse served, greatly the worse.”

  “Yet, if we go back to Arran now, Sire, with no blow struck, is not your case equally hurt? When it becomes known.” That was Neil Campbell. “I would not turn back to Arran. Not now. I would sail south.

  To Loch Ryan. To join my brothers in Galloway. But …” The King paused. He turned to the fishermen.

  “Have you any notion a% to how many is the English garrison at Turnberry?”

  “Many, lord. Many.”

  “Aye, man-but how many? Are they in scores? Or hundreds?

  Or many hundreds? Only a mile away. Surely you have some notion.”

  ”Hundreds, sir. Many hundreds. I do not know. Four, five hundred it

  may be. So many they cannot mostly lodge in the castle.

  They fill every house in the Castleton. As in the Kirkton. In the kirk itself. And the mills and farm-towns around. So many.”

  “They are scattered, then? Lodged separate? In groups.

  Apart.”

  “Aye, lord. They needs must.”

  “And their masters? The knights and captains? Where are they?”

  “Where but in the castle, sir. Where lords and knights would bide.

  With the great lord, the Percy …”

  “Percy!” Bruce actually gripped the speaker’s arm.

  “Percy, you say, man? Do you mean Henry Percy? The Lord of Northumberland?”

  “The same, yes. He commands here now. As Governor and Sheriff.”

  “Lord save us!” The King swung on the others.

  “You hear?

  Henry Percy it is, who sits in my house. Rules my earldom! That smooth snake!”

  Bruce was not the only one roused at the mention of the Northumbrian’s name. They had scores to settle with the Percy.

  “And his men are scattered!” Edward cried.

  “His captains with him in the castle. If this dolt speaks truth.”

  “As why should he not? Fearing no surprise assault, it is what they would do. And … the Castleton of Turnberry is a quarter mile from the castle, no less!”

  Suddenly there was no more talk of turning back Percy’s hated name, and the thought of his men dispersed, had changed all that, as far as Bruce was concerned.

  “Henry Percy keeps but poor discipline, I think. If his men, drunken, are burning down alehouses at four of a morning!” he said.

  “It may be we could teach him a lesson.”

  That is better talking, by the Mass!” Edward agreed.

  “How do we go about it? Isolate the castle, first?”

  Bruce turned to the fishermen’s spokesman, Cuthbert, by name, it appeared.

  “Friend-these English soldiers? Can you tell us where they are lodged? Besides the Castleton and the Kirkton. Each mill and farm-toun and place. All that you know.”

  There were six men in all, and between them they worked out a list of some eight separate locations where Percy’s troops were billeted around Tumberry, some as much as a mile away from the castle-one indeed only a comparatively short distance inland from this bay, at Maidens Mill, where there was a troop of perhaps thirty hone and some archers. Practically all the locations the King and Edward knew, so that they could visualise the terrain and layout.

  Bruce led his group back to their 300 Highlanders, who were now all disembarked and waiting on the shingle. He called for quiet, and spoke to them in their own tongue, his own mother’s tongue.

  “I have work for you, after your own hearts,” he told them.

  “Quiet, deadly work. Not open battle, you understand, but quiet effective killing. Surprise. There are more of these Englishmen than there are of us, but they are lodged in small numbers, fifty here, seventy there. I need not tell you, surprise, quiet, speed-this is the heart of the matter. None must give warning to other. None must escape to raise any general alarm. Above all, no hint of it must reach the castle, where trumpets could sound to rouse the whole country. So, no fires. Is it understood?”

  A fierce elated murmur rose from the Islesmen’s ranks.

  “Our first is a mill, quite near, where fifty or so sleep. We will surround it, closely, that none may break out. Then the killers will move in.”

  “Prisoners, Sir King?” somebody asked.

  “We can afford no men to guard prisoners,” Bruce answered evenly.

  There was a sort of rumble from deep throats.

  “After that, we divide into three companies. Under myself, the Earl of Carrick, and the Earl of Lennox. One will watch the castle.

  The others will find the rest of the soldiers’ lodgings, and deal with them. If we lack success, if the alarm is given, we all come together it the Kirkton. The church stands on a grass mound midway to the point and the castle, and is easy found. Is all understood? Good.

  Come, then and quietly.”

  With one or two guards left On the boats, Bruce and his brother led the way inland. They followed the course of a stream in its ravine, the Maidens Burn, almost up a waterfall at first, and men, away from the shore, through a winding tree-grown clean, where they must go single file, frequently leaping or splashing through the water. At length, they came to a widening of the little dell. And here, beside a dark mill-pond and swirling lade, were grouped four buildings-Maidens Mill itself, a tall granary, the miller’s house and a double cottage with range of stabling. Silently Bruce motioned his followers to encircle all this.

  There was no light or sign of guard or sentry. A faint stirring of horseflesh came from granary and stabling.

  The 300 started to close in. Bruce had feared barking dogs, but none

  such sounded. The miller undoubtedly would have kept dog sing such a

  lonely place; therefore, either the soldiers had got rid of them, or the miller was no longer here.

  When the ring was sufficiently tight, Bruce passed the whispered word round to halt, and the assault parties to move in. And to remember that the miller and his people were to be spared, if at all possible. About one third of the force soundlessly detached itself, forming four groups, two larger parties for the mill and the granary, two smaller for the mill house and the cottages. At a given signal, they all advanced on their objectives together.

  Bruce and his companions waited outside with the main body.

  By common consent this was accepted as no work for kings or those of knightly quality-and admittedly they would be less efficient at it than the Highland cater ans Tensely they stood, and the King, for one, had to steel himself to an acceptance of what he had ordained.

  In fact, as a horror, it was less harrowing than anticipated, for gently-born watchers. The Islesmen were indeed experts. There was remarkably little fuss and noise. Only one actual scream rang out, high-pitched- and it was swiftly choked off. There was a certain amount of groaning, gasping, bubbling, some thuds and scuffling, the clatter of steel on stone flags, and a succession of bumps which was almost certainly a body falling
down the granary stairs. Otherwise, apart from the sid lings and whinnyings of frightened horses smelling blood, there was little or nothing to intimate massacre to uninitiated watchers. No single refugee burst out from any of the buildings. In a remarkably short space of time, the shadowy Highlanders began to emerge, wiping their dirks and murmuring chuckled pleasantries to one another.

  They left a strange sort of muffled and jerky stirring behind them, nevertheless, more seemingly evident of life than heretofore. Dead men lie less quiet, for a while, than do mere sleepers.

  The Islesmen’s leaders reported all done thoroughly, decently and in order. There had been no sign of anybody that had looked like a miller or member of his household-certainly no women; all appeared to be just Southron soldiery. There would be considerable pickings?

  Bruce said that they must wait for that until the night’s work was done. He did not question whether all were dead within, nor did he venture inside to see.

  Forming up, they moved on up the burnside, with a new and feral menace about the Hebrideans that somehow communicated itself to the others, a sort of lip-licking anticipation and relish.

  Even the King felt it, and tried to put it from him.

  Upon the grassy rabbit-cropped links, amongst the shadowy gorse-bushes, they came to their next objective, a small farmery. Considerably before they reached it they perceived that this would be a less simple proposition. For here lights burned, and as they drew stealthily closer, the sound of uncouth singing, and a thumping beating of time thereto, reached them. It was not yet midnight, of course.

  Bruce called a halt, while he considered. Caution suggested that they should perhaps leave this lively billet until later, in the hope that the Englishmen would quieten down and retire to sleep shortly, as was suitable. On the other hand, it would delay the programme to come back here, and this farm of Auchenduin lay between the Kirkton and the sea, so that its people, if roused, would be in a position to interfere with any enforced retiral on the boats.

  Moreover, the singing sounded distinctly slurred, and punctuated with raucous shouts, which seemed to indicate a fair degree of intoxication. Bruce decided to risk an assault. After all, making all that noise anyway, a few more shouts and screams would not be apt to be noticeable.