Gut in between those two, the King jerked.
Can we do it? A last spurring of speed. Are they able? The
rowers?
Clan Donald are always able! Most of all against MacDougall.
Murtach -the pipes!
So, with the bagpipes screaming and sobbing their high challenge and the oarsmen miraculously redoubling their huge efforts-aided undoubtedly by the High Steward of Scotland who went along the benches with a great flagon of the islanders whisky, proffering each open, gasping mouth a swallow-the Kings galley swung to port and hurled itself across the intervening quarter-mile of sea, at a steepening angle, to head in between the two fleeing be flagged craft in a burst of speed that had to be experienced to be believed.
Now it was possible to distinguish banners. Both ships ahead flew the Leopards of England; but, while that in front also flew a blue and white device of three boars heads, two and one, the second flew also the emblem of a galley, not unlike Angus Ogs own. Only this galley was on gold, not silver, and with dragon heads at stern and prow, and a cross at the masthead. It was the Galley of Lorn.
The similarity was not so strange; for Clan Donald and Clan Dougall were descended from brothers, Ranald and Dougall, sons of the mighty Somerled. The fact made their descendants only the more bitter rivals, especially as Dougall had been the elder brother.
There was no need for Bruces command to turn in. The MacDonald
skipper was already steering a collision course, and every man not at
the oars, save those who had grabbed grapnels and ropes had swords,
dirks, or axes in hand. The piper, Murtach, blew his lustiest.
The oarsmen on both vessels were equally expert. They kept up their deep driving strokes until the very last moment, when another seconds delay would have meant rending chaos, the snapping of long shafts, men broken as well as oars. Up in the air the inner teams of each raised the sweeps, in a rippling progress. Then the two galleys crashed together.
Instants before that even, the grapnels were flying, with their snaking cables to warp the craft securely. Men were leaping, from the moment of impact.
Walter Stewart was one of the first over the side, sword held high.
Bruce touched Hays arm.
After him, Gibbie. See that he comes to no harm. He is keen-but I do not want to lose a good-son so soon!
The King himself waited, however contrary to inclination.
Indeed, when at length he leapt, battle-axe in hand, he was one of the last to leave the galley. But he was able to jump straight on to the other vessels high poop, from his own. And it was on that poop that John MacDougall was likely to be found.
This manoeuvre, although logical, had its own danger. For it ensured that the King stepped almost alone into the thick of the enemy leadership. Sir William Irvine, Bruces armour-bearer, who never left his masters shoulder during active service, was close behind; but nearly all the others had already gone.
In consequence, Bruce found himself hotly engaged from the moment of jumping. Many of the poops former occupants had already leapt down into the well of the ship to help repel the mass of the boarders; but half a dozen or so, of chiefly or knightly rank, extra to the shipmaster and helmsman, still remained. These, with one accord, hurled themselves on the royal intruder with eager swords.
Robert Bruce had fought on a galley poop before, and knew its hazards and limitations. Indeed it was on such a constricted, crowded, lofty and slippery platform that he had first made the acquaintance of Christina MacRuarie, amidst flashing steel. He had chosen the battle-axe now, deliberately-and he was a renowned master of that difficult weapon. Irvine, behind him, and lacking the experience, bore the conventional sword-and quickly learned his error.
In the confused melee which immediately followed, three swordsmen vied with each other to strike down the King-and thereby got not a little into each others way. Two others circled, to get behind Bruce, and these Irvine made shift to deal with.
Bruces shield jerked up to take the first clanging sword stroke.
The second, a sideways swipe, he drove down and away with a blow of the axe. The third, impeded by the other two, was off true and slightly short, merely scraping the Kings chain-mail and achieving nothing. Seeing his opportunity, with the three men bunched together and for the moment off guard, Bruce hurled himself bodily at them, using shield as battering-ram. He sent them spinning like ninepins, their long swords a handicap. One crashed all his length, the battle-axe smashed down to fell another, and the third, a knight in full armour, went staggering backwards, retaining his feet on the heaving deck only with difficulty. After him Bruce plunged.
Behind, Will Irvine was discovering the disadvantages of a full length sword in a confined space. Admittedly his two opponents were similarly handicapped; but even so he had not space to wield the weapon effectively. Bruces lunge forward had left his back unprotected. Irvine had to keep close. After a couple of abortive thrusts in the general direction of the assailants, he foreshortened his weapon by grasping it one-third of the way down the blade, and flung himself after his master, turning so that they were approximately back to back. Only just in time. As one sword came jabbing viciously, he beat down on it blindly with all his strength, using his weapon purely as a weight. Both swords clattered to the deck.
The hapless armour-bearer snatched out his dirk, all he had now to face the other two.
Sire! Sire! he yelled. To give him his due, that was all warning and no cry for help.
Bruce, flinging himself after the staggering knight, had perceived as he did so that, in the limited space of the poop-deck, one of the men dodging aside to avoid the rush did so with a limp.
Immediately the King changed direction. Lame John, for a wager!
It was at that moment that Irvines cry sounded in his ear. Biting off a curse, he whirled round. He recognised the situation in a moment one man driving in with a sword, another reaching for his dagger, and his armour-bearer sword less He leapt for the first, leaving the other to Irvine.
The swordsman had to change his target and tactics hurriedly -and such
slight hesitation was fatal in face of the Bruce with a battle-axe. The
shorter-handled, more adaptable weapon, which was effective as a blunt
instrument almost any way it might strike, greatly outclassed in speed and wieldiness the long, heavy sword which had to use point or cutting edge. A quick feint with the axe to the thigh area brought the sword sweeping down in a defensive stroke-and a still quicker and explosive upward jerk drove under the mans sword-arm. Though he was armoured in mail, the fierce impact of it cracked the shoulder-blade above with an audible snap. Limply the arm sagged and the sword fell. Bruce, who saw that one of his earlier toppled foes was now on his feet again, dirk in hand, did not waste more time on the shocked swordsman, only using his shield to give the man a violent if contemptuous push that sent him reeling back, while he swung the axe on the dirker. That unfortunate went down for the second time, and stayed down.
The King turned to find Irvine and his original opponent grappling, seeking to invalidate each others daggers. He raised his axe once more-men, ever mindful of other mens amour propre, desisted.
His armour-bearer would not thank him for a rescue in equal combat. Only brief seconds had elapsed, as he swung back on his former objectives.
Four men only remained before him now, clustered around the helmsman the armoured knight, one who was almost certainly the shipmaster, and the limping individual.
John MacDougall -submit you! the King panted.
I, Bruce, demand it.
The Lord of Lorn did not lack courage, but he had been lame from birth and so inhibited from personal armed prowess. He did not fling himself forward, therefore, to contest that challenge, but jerked a word to the others. The knight moved out, but warily.
Then the shipmaster, quick as a flash, drew a dirk and flung it,
It was a wicked, accurate throw, with only two or three yards to cover, and had Bruce not been wearing a chain-mail jerkin he would have been transfixed. As it was, striking him on the chest with considerable force, the weapons impact made him catch his breathing, and he knew a burning pain. But, axe swinging, he came on. And now he was angry.
Almost casually he brushed aside the less than enthusiastic knight, keeping his eye on the skipperfor a man who could throw one knife could throw another.
John MacDougall, he cried again, I am waiting.
There was no reply.
The shipmaster had something else in his hand now. It looked like a spike rather than another dirk. MacDougall also held a sword, but looked not in a posture to use it.
Lord of Lorn, the King barked, do you wish to live? Or die?
Choose quickly. Seeming to look only at the chief, now but a pace or two in front of him, all his attention was nevertheless concentrated on the shipmaster.
On my ship, 7 command, Sir King! the other threw back, in his sibilant West Highland voice, so misleadingly gentle.
Then Irvine was at Bruces side, and sword in hand again.
Let me deal with this dog! he gasped.
Even as the shipmaster hesitated between targets, Bruce leapt. It was a violent sideways jump, like the release of a coiled spring.
And it was at the captain, not at Lame John, that he leapt. Before the others arm could adjust to a jabbing instead of a throwing position, the Kings axe smashed down. The man dropped like a slaughtered stirk.
The helmsman had a dirk, but seemed doubtful about using it-as who would blame him. Bruce gestured his reddened axe round at the chief.
You are my prisoner, MacDougall. Yield you!
For answer, the other made use of his sword, at last, in a savage despairing poke.
Bruce eluded it with ease, and slapped down the flat of the axe on the outstretched sword-arm- which broke like a dead stick.
The man squealed with pain.
Fool! his monarch told him, breathlessly.
You are fool… as well as traitor! I could have slain you. Tell me why … I should not even now?
Nursing his arm, and gritting his teeth, MacDougall found no words.
Walter Stewart came bounding up the poop-steps now, Hay following.
The ship is ours! The ship is ours! he cried excitedly.
We have them. Have you seen MacDougall?
His father-in-law smiled.
He is here. I fear that he has hurt himself a little. We must ensure his comfort, now. His close comfort, see you!
All resistance in this galley was soon over. Bruce took stock of the
wider scene. Pairs of ships seemed to be fighting it out over a wide
area of water, and in the half-light it was almost impossible to decide
which side had the advantage. The only clue was that few vessels
seemed now to be heading westwards. Some of the enemy had undoubtedly
escaped pant Islay. But with the Lord of the Isles fleet now fully
engaged, it seemed improbable that many more would do so. There was no
sign of the be flagged galley which had formerly been so close. It
is enough, the King decided.
Leave the rest to Angus. He would have it so, I swear. Gibbie -find means to find him a message that I have this Lord of Lorn. Walterhave our foolish friend back to our own galley. He is almost the last of my rebels.
Will-see that this craft is taken back to Gigha. Find sufficient rowers. And the wounded seen to. I return there, hereafter. Now, Sir Knight-your name? An Englishman, I think …?
Chapter Seven
The sudden and unexpectedly swift collapse of the MacDougall English naval threat left Bruce, for once in his career, almost at a loose end and in quite the most beautiful part of his kingdom, in high summer and fine weather. All his affairs elsewhere were under control, in the short term, with his disturbing brother away in Ireland, Douglas keeping the English North on the hop, Lamberton and the other churchmen in firm and effective control of the kingdoms essential governance. There was a certain amount of mopping-up and example-making to be done in the Clan Dougall lands, but there was more than sufficient men to see to that. A unique holiday spirit seemed to develop in Argyll and its adjacent isles. Instead of returning forthwith to Ayr or Stirling, therefore, the King decided to send for Elizabeth and the Court to join him in a Hebridean idyll.
Such an expedition, of course, would take a little while to mount, if he knew anything about women folk, and their ideas and priorities.
While he waited, Bruce thought up an interim and more personal design. It was only some seventy or eighty miles north from Gigha, as the crow flies, to Moidart and Castle Tioram, beyond the Ardnamurchan peninsula. He felt that perhaps he owed a visit to Christina MacRuarie -owed it to himself, as well as her. So, one early July morning of blue skies, high fleecy clouds and sparkling waters, a single galley flying no banners, royal or otherwise, slipped out of Ardminish Bay northwards up the amethyst, green and azure Sound of Jura. It left behind the High Steward of Scotland, the High Constable of Scotland, and the Lord High Admiral of Scotland, to see to affairs in Argyll. Surely that should be sufficient.
By the narrows of Craignish, boom now removed, the Isles of the Sea, the Ross of Mull and fabled Iona, the ship threaded the colour-stained Hebridean Sea in as joyous and carefree a voyage at this essentially lonely man had ever known. He decided that he must bring Elizabeth to see Iona, and the tombs of his Celtic ancestors, the semi-legendary royal line of which he was the heir.
Meantime, he had other business.
On he sailed, by pillared Staffa and the Treshnish Isles, up between long Coll and the Cailleach Point of huge Mull, with the thrusting promontory of Ardnamurchan, the most westerly point of the mainland of the British Isles, seeming to bar the way ahead.
Then, beyond its white-fanged snout, with all the spectacular loveliness of the jagged mountains of Rhum, Eigg, Muck and the saw toothed Black Cuillin of Skye, opening before them, they swung in eastwards to a great bay, lined with silver cockle-shell sands, towards the wooded narrow jaws of Loch Moidart. And there, on a rocky half-tide islet in the green throat of the loch, the mighty Castle Tioram rose, aglow with the westering sun, seat of the MacRuaries, the children of Rory or Roderick, another of great Somerleds sons.
Here the dark and fiery Lady Christina ruled supreme. A dozen of her own galleys and birl inns rode at anchor in the loch.
The Kings unheralded arrival created less stir at Castle Tioram than it would have done at most houses. Christina treated it as a perfectly normal development, and with no Court or strangers to consider, behaved towards Bruce as she might have done to a brother-and a younger brother at that. He had spent weeks in this castle when his fortunes were at their lowest ebb, and none were likely to forget.
But after a great meal, with music and saga-telling in the Highland fashion, in the Great Hall, Christina took her guest up to the castle battlements, to watch the blazing spectacle of the sunset over the isle-strewn sea. Eyeing the ever-changing wonder of it, she spoke her mind.
I think you will not come seeking my bed tonight, Robert, she said.
Not now. Why, then, have you come to Moidart? You do not need men.
Nor ships. Nor, I scarce think, counsel. What brings you?
Think you I must only come to you needing something. Tina?
It is the way of men.
You think less than highly of us, if you say so.
I am not a girl, Robert. I was wed at fifteen, near twenty years ago, and widowed three years later. I have had much experience of men.
You have had much experience of me, lass. Yet you still believe I must only come to you in my need? I will tell you that when you tell me why you have come.
Could I not have come
for love of you, Tina?
So it is my body? My bed?
I have not said so. But … if I did come knocking at your door would you accept me? Tonight?
Have I ever turned you away, Robert?
Not yet Nor would I. She looked at him, in that strange painted
light Yet you will not come, I think. Now that you have your
I believe I know my Robert Bruce! That is not why you have come.
No, he admitted.
That is true. Although … I am tempted! But, nor is it true that I
came seeking your aid, your help.
Why, then?
What I said, woman. I came for love of you, he insisted.
Can you not conceive that a man can see a woman as a friend? Not only desire her body? Even when her body is desirable indeed. I came as a friend, Tina. Is it so strange? You are my very good friend. Have been for long years. Is that not sufficient reason to come visiting you?
She reached out to touch his arm.
Robert-I believe that you mean it. That you do not cozen me!
Why should I cozen you? You, of all women. You, who have cherished me, nursed me, sailed with me, fought with me…
And lain with you! There is the heart of the matter, Robert. A man and a woman who have lain together can never be … just friends. It is not possible.
You say so? I do not see why not. They but know each other the better. You are no less my friend, Tina, that we have bedded together.
No less, but more. Different Otherwise.
As you will. Whatever you say, I have come to Castle Tioram kindly affectioned. I never might speak with you fairly, at the Court. Speak as now. Alone, for any time. To thank you for how you were kind with Elizabeth. When you could well have been other. For much patience. Understanding. And you not a patient woman, as I know well! So I came. From Gigha. In friendship.
She smiled, now.
Then I thank you. From my heart. You are a strange man, Robert Bruce. But you are very welcome to Castle Tioram. Whatsoever your reason for coming. And you keep your own chamber, this night?
The Price of the King's Peace bt-3 Page 14