Aye. Well, come you. We shall go see Wishart, my lord Bishop. Like myself, he stood your grandsires friend. When Edward Plantagenet chose the wrong king for Scotland ...
Chapter Five
That night, in the hall of Eglintons Seagate Castle at Irvine, Bruce sat at ease, as he had not done for many a day. With him, at the long table, lounged a goodly companybetter than he had known or anticipated. As well as the deceptively gentle-seeming and almost diffident Robert Wishart, Bishop of Glasgow, the Steward, and Douglas, were the Stewards brother, Sir John Stewart of Bonkill; Sir Alexander Lindsay, Lord of Crawford;
Andrew Moray, Lord of Bothwell, heir of the great de Moravia family of the North; Sir John the Graham, of Dundaff; Sir Robert Boyd of Cunninghame; Thomas Dalton, Bishop of Galloway;
and Sir Richard Lundin, as well as other knights and barons of less renown. This revolt, it seemed, was no flicker of a candle-end.
The new recruit was comforted, the more so as, after an initial hesitation, almost all had accepted him warmly enough. As the only earl present, of course, though the youngest save for the Graham, he outranked all.
The discussion of future strategy inevitably dominated the evenings talk. Bishop Wishart was for moving on Glasgow, from which bishops burgh he could assure them of much support; the Steward, whose lands of Renfrew and Bute were in that direction, inclining to agree. Moray of Bothwell, however, declared that this would be a waste of time and strength, at this stage.
They should make for the North. All Scotland north of Forth and Clyde could be theirs, with but little effort. That was where the English were weakest. His own uncle had risen, in Ross and Aberdeenshire. And the Comyns, the most powerful house in all Scotland, were thereand hated Edward. They must link up.
Graham, whose lands were in Perthshire, supported him; but Douglas declared that they must hold the West March of the Border, above all, and so prevent Edward reinforcing in the west.
Then attack across country to Berwick itself, the headquarters of the English dominance. Cut that trunk, and the branches would wither away.
Back and forth went the argument. With the two senior leaders advocating Glasgow, of course, there was most weight in that direction; but on the other hand, Sir William Douglas was the most experienced soldier present, and his views, forcefully given, carried conviction-at least to Bruce, though he could not like the man. Morays scheme won least backing. It seemed to Bruce a longer-term projectand any talk of linking with his familys enemies, the Comyns, raised his hackles.
He had listened, hitherto, silent save for a brief question or two.
Now, he spoke.
You each near convince me that all are right, all best, my lords, he said, with what he hoped would sound like diffidence.
I am young, and little experienced in war. But I would think that our first concern is not Glasgow or the North.
Even the Border, though that should take precedence, I think. It is here, on our own doorstep. Ayr. Here we sit, with an English garrison but a dozen miles away. Should we not deal with these, before all else?
It was Wishart, in his mildly hesitant voice, who answered that.
We have not failed to consider this, and the like questions, my son. But we have decided that the taking of strong castles is not our first task. We must seek to contain such as come in our way, yes. But to use up our strength and precious time on the slow business of besieging such holds would De unwise. We could waste all our forces, sitting outside a few such castles.
Aye, my lord Bishop. Having just come from sitting outside Douglas castle, Bruce scarcely required this to be pointed out.
But Ayr is no great fortress. Its old castle was smallone of my
mothers fathers houses. The English have built a new castle there, I
am told. But it is not yet finished and not large. The garrison can
be no more than a couple of score. The five hundred men they say are
at Ayr are the force from Lanark. Hazelrigs men. They cannot all be cooped up in the castle.
They built a great barn. A barracks, their host, de Eglinton, told them.
To house the men while the new castle was building.
And to hold the Sheriffs stores. The Lanark men lodge in this.
Is the castle finished?
Yes, this month past.
Nevertheless, they will not crowd five hundred men into it, I wager.
You know not what you say, Bruce. That was Douglas, harshly.
They do not have to be in the castle to defy us, hold us off. Under its walls and within its baileys, five hundred men could laugh at a great army. If it lacks siegery engines. Their archers, close packed along the castle walls, could keep us at a distance-their damned English archers I If you do not know them, I do!
With longbows on their parapet-walls, we could not get near them.
By night…?
By night, man I Think you these English are fools? Douglas, who gloried in being no respecter of persons, undoubtedly had his reservations about the service Bruce had done him.
They will have beacons blazing on every tower and wall head Turning
night into day. Had you fought English veterans, you would know better
than to talk such ha vers
Frowning darkly, Bruce clenched his fists The man Wallace, whoever he is, would seem to think differently from you, sir! he gave back warmly.
Or he would not have won Lanark!
At mention of the name, silence fell on that room, sudden, noticeable. Bruce looked round at all the different faces and saw reserve, stiffness, now masking them all.
After a pause, it was the Bishop who spoke.
Your spirit, my lord of Carrick, is praiseworthy. We all welcome it, I am sure.
But we must be guided by the voices of experience. Fervour is not sufficient. My lord of Douglas is right. We must not squander our resources. These English at Ayr, though too many to assail, under the protection of their castle, are not of numbers large enough to menace our rear. We shall leave them.
Aye, by Godbut I am right in the other also! Douglas cried, banging the table with his fist.
That we should turn south.
To the Border. Leave your Glasgow and north of Forth. They will wait. Make the West March secure, and then turn on Her wick, I say. That is where we may hit the English where it hurts them most …
My lord of Douglas has large lands in the West Borders!
Moray interrupted tersely.
What of it, man? From those lands we shall win many men.
Sir William would avenge his defeat at Berwick, I swear!
the Graham put in.
But we have more to do than restore his honour! We have all Scotland to win.
You know not what you say, sir …!
Still they argued, loudly, acrimoniously, with the Bishop and the Steward seeking to calm, soothe and guide. Here were divided counsels, with a vengeance.
Douglas was still holding forth, seeking to carry the day by main force, when the door was thrown open and three newcomers entered. And, strangely, even Douglass forceful eloquence died on his lips.
Perhaps it was not so strange, for the visitors presented no ordinary sight; or, at least, one of them did not. Quite the largest man that Bruce had ever set eyes upon stood there, a young giant of nearer seven than six feet, of a width of shoulder and length of arm that would have been gross deformity in anyone less tall.
Bareheaded, with a wealth of curling auburn hair and a bushy beard, this extraordinary individual had a smiling open face, high complexion and intensely bright blue eyes. He wore a sort of long tunic of rusty and battered ring-mail, with boiled leather guards bound on both arms and legs, making these enormous limbs look even larger. A huge two-handed sword, quite the mightiest weapon Bruce had ever seen, was sheathed down his back so that its great hilt stuck up behind the man
s head. He was probably four or five years older than Bruce himselfcertainly under thirty. His companions scarcely merited a glance in comparison.
One was a ragged priest, half in armour; the other little more than a youth, though armed to the teeth.
I greet you all, my lords and gentles, the giant said, deep voiced but genial.
It is a fine night. To be up and doing!
Sir John the Graham alone of the company got to his feet and strode to welcome the newcomers. Douglas raised his voice.
Who … who, a Gods name is this?
Wallace. Wallace of Elderslie, somebody told him.
Exclamation, comment, remark rose from the company as Wallace clasped
the Graham to him affectionately-and beside him that well-built young
knight looked a stunted stripling. Bruce turned to his nearest neighbour, the Lord of Crawford, though his eyes remained fixed on the newcomer.
This man? This Wallace. Who is he? he asked.
You do not know, my lord? You have not heard of the Wallace?
Lindsay said, surprised.
When all Scotland rings with his deeds. He corrected himself.
All Scotland of the baser sort, that is!
I have heard of Wallace of Riccarton. A small knight, nearby here somewhere. Vassal of my grandsire.
This is nephew to him. His father, Sir Malcolm, younger brother to Riccarton, got Elderslie, at Renfrew. A mean enough place, of the Stewards. This is the second son. His brother will laird it there now, since their father was slain by the English at Loudoun Hill.
Haslain? And did I not hear that this mans wife was slain, also?
At Lanark. For which he slew Hazelrig?
Aye. So you are not entirely ignorant of the Wallace, then, my lord!
I heard his name only yesterday. For the first time. As an outlaw, a brigand.
Aye, that is the style of him. A man of no breeding. Of the old native stock. Little better than the Irish. De Lindsay, of good Norman blood, coughed a little, recollecting that Bruces own mother, and his Carrick earldom, were of the same Celtic origin, however respectable was his fathers line.
He impudently be labours the English. They say that he has slain a round hundred of them himself, with that ox-shaft of a sword!
He is a skilled warrior, then? A champion?
Skilled no! He fights, they say, like a brute-beast. Without regard to the knightly code.
But you say he is the son and nephew of knights …?
The object of this dialogue had stalked across the hall, to bow briefly in front of the Steward, whose vassal he was. Now he interrupted all talk with his deep rumbling voice.
My friends, I am new come from the Forest. From Ettrick.
With news. From the East March. From Berwick. The English are on the move. Surrey, they tell me, has dispatched an army north, from Newcastle. A great army. Forty thousand foot, no less.
Though bare a thousand horse. Under command of Surreys grandson, Henry Percy. To deal with your rising, my lords.
Forty thousand …! Bishop Wishart could not keep the quaver out of his voice.
Men stared at each other, appalled.
Aye. So it is time to be up and doing, is it not, my friends? Not sitting here, at table! Wallace laughed as he said it, however, and reached out a huge hand to grasp and tear off a foreleg of mutton from a roasted carcase on the table. He bit into it there and then, standing there.
Forty thousand foot will move but slowly, Douglas declared heavily.
Ten miles a day, no more. No need to spoil our dinner!
Sir Robert de Clifford has three thousand at Berwick. Half cavalry.
They will be on their way now. In advance of the greater host.
You are well-informed, fellow!
I make it my business to be, my lord. Since my life could depend on it. Captured, lords are ransomed. I would hang!
That is true, at least!
Certainly these tidings force us to a swift decision, the Steward intervened.
And since this great host comes from the south, it would be folly, with our small numbers, to go meet it.
We must move north, then. Seek to raise more men in the North.
I shall rest happier behind the walls of Glasgow town …
Rest, my lord Bishop? Wallace took him up, chuckling.
Rest, I swear, is no word for use this night. With much to do.
Tonight, man? You would have us go tonight? It is not possible.
Such haste would be unseemly. Besides, most of the men will be asleep
…
So, I think, may be the English.
English? What English? What mean you?
The English in Ayr, my lord. But a few miles away. We must smite them. Before it is too late.
Attack Ayr? Tonight?
What folly is this?
Is the man mad?
Everywhere voices were raised in protest.
That is why I came to Irvine, my friends, the big man asserted, when he could make himself heard.
To take Ayr.
The more fool you, then! Douglas cried.
Away with you, and take it, then! If you can. Me, I shall finish my dinner.
Douglas does not skulk by night, like some thief or cutpurse!
Ayeenough of this. Have done with such talk.
You will not take a strong castle by night, man. That was Lindsay speaking.
Think you its walls will be unmanned, its bridge down, its gates open? These English are not as they were at Lanarkunawares. These know we are here, and will be on their guard. You will not take another castle by surprise.
No? That is my lord of Crawford, is it not? Then hear this, Sir Alexander. Last night, from Ettrick, I came by Tweedsmuir and over into upper Clydesdale. By Crawford, indeed And took your Tower Lindsay, in the bygoing! Around midnight. Thirty Englishmen now hang from its parapets. That is all its garrison today. It is your house again, my lord-cleansed of the English who held it. You may possess yourself of it, at will. As I did, last night!
Not only Lindsay stared at the giant now, speechless.
So, my lords, let us to Ayr, Wallace said smiling.
Men eyed each other, ill at ease.
This … this was a notable feat, Wallace, the Steward got out, sucking his spittle. And Tower Lindsay is a fine house. But Ayr is quite other. A town. With a great garrison. Five hundred men.
Nor do we go skulking and creeping in darkness. Like broken men and outlaws, somebody said significantly.
The Bishop coughed.
Besides, my son, it is against our policy.
To waste our precious strength on reducing fortresses and castles.
These can wait. When the land itself is ours, they will drop off like over-ripe fruit.
You think so? Then you will give me no men, my lords? For this attempt, I have but fifty of my own band, Wallace said, quietly now.
Fifty or five hundredit would make no difference, Douglas snorted.
Bruce was moved to speak.
My lords, I think that we should consider this more. I believe that Ayr should not be left behind us, untouched. It could endanger us. Moreover, its fall, after Lanark, would be great cheer, encouragement, for all Scotland. I do not know about attacking it by night. Here I have no experience. But assault there should be.
The big man was looking at him keenly.
Who speaks so, my friends? he asked.
I do not know this lord, I think.
It is the Earl of Carrick, man, the Steward said shortly.
Carrick! Bruce? The young Lord Robert? Edwards lordling -here?
There were gasps, murmurs, a snigger or two. Bruce set his but did not answer.
My lord of Carrick has joined us, Wishart ex
plained.
With three hundred men.
Wallace had not taken his eyes off the younger man.
Scotlands case must be better than I had known, then! he commented carefully.
But … He shrugged great shoulders.
King Edward, it seems, is a good teacher. In war. He would not leave Ayr unassailed. The Lord of Carrick is right in this …
No! Douglas roared.
Failure at Ayr would not only tie us down. It would spell the end of this rising. Until we have mustered a great force, we must keep moving…
Is not what I urge on you, my lords? To move! Now!
Wallace demanded.
I shall move, at least. Here and now. For that I came. Alone if need be. I go to Ayr. Who comes with me?
Only Graham, who was already standing, nodded his head.
There was some shuffling of feet under the table, but no man rose.
Very well. A good night to you, my lords. God be with you -and God help this poor Scotland! Wallace threw down the gnawed leg of lamb and strode for the door, his two companions almost running at his heels. Sir John the Graham looked round the company, shrugged, and went after the trio.
After a moment or two, Robert Bruce pushed back his chair.
You will bear with me if I take my leave, he said, to them all.
I think that there may be something to see, tonight. Fifty men against five hundred should show some sport, at the least! I go watch it.
In silence he left the hall. At the door, he found Andrew Moray of Bothwell at his side.
Out in the Seagate of Irvine, by a slender sliver of horned moon they found Wallaces men already mounting their shaggy garronsand a ruffianly crew they seemed, though heavily armed. At sight of the two noblemen, Wallace, not yet mounted, paused.
Who is this? he demanded, peering.
Hamy lord of Bothwell.
And, yesit is the Bruce! What would you, sirs?
I would come with you. To see what fifty men may do,
Bruce jerked stiffly.
If you will so much trust Edwards lord Trust? I trust my eye, my arm and sword, and Gods good mercy my lord. Little else. But come if you will.
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