She has more than that to commend her. She is kind, strongnot like Isabella Mar, a weakling. And she is taken with you, I can see. And mind, Robthere are not so many women the Earl of Carrick might wed. You could not wed less than an earls daughterand there is no routh of such to choose from.
Even so, I shall wait awhile, lass. My wife, see. you, should I marry again, might need even greater qualities than you give Mary Strathbogie.
You mean … you mean…? Nigel thinks that you might one day try for the throne. Is that so, Rob?
Has any greater right? After our father?
Right, no. But is that what matters, Rob? What good would the uneasy crown of Scotland do you? Even if Edward of England let you, or any, have it. You would have to fight long and hard to gain it. And fight as hard to keep it. Does that tempt you? A lifetime of fighting. For what? The empty, barren name of King!
Need it be so empty? Barren? Does not this realm require a king?
Grievously.
Need that unfortunate be Robert Bruce?
He shrugged.
So… you look for a queen, as well as a wife?
Did I say I looked for any woman?
No. But you are sure that Mary will not serve, it seems. So you have thought of it. Christian leaned forward to scratch her mare between the ears.
Nigel thinks that you are … concerned with another. An Irishwoman.
The Lady Elizabeth de Burgh. Is it so, Rob?
It seems that Nigel thinks too much. Talks too much!
So it is true? There is something in this?
Nothing, he said shortly.
Yet you have seen much of this Ulsterwoman? Found her to your taste?
Edward once thought to have me wed her. To bind me closer to him, no doubt. But she liked the notion as little as did I!
Yet you still see her?
Not by our own seeking. She lodged with Percy, while her father was with Edward, in France. Percy sought to use her, to work on me. Not knowing.
Not knowing what?
That we battle together as soon as we see each other. That there is only strife between us.
She considered him thoughtfully.
Strife? Battle? It is thus between you? Then, Nigel has cause for his fears, perhaps!
Damn Nigel! He has no more cause to fear than he has to talk. What has he got to fear?
An entanglement with one so close to Edward She approves of rebellionthat is how close to Edward she is! But what of it? I am not like to see her again.
I wonder I Since you both esteem each other so ill, I think that you will! Christian smiled a little.
This Elizabeth de Burgh-what is the style of her?
She is proud. And lovely. And believes me two-faced, he jerked.
That is all. Enough of this, of a mercy I Where is Nigel?
Where do you think? He makes excuse to fall behind. With Isabel. She nothing loth. But you leave Mary with Gartnait! You could be more the man than that!
Very well. I will co to her. But … let her not hope for too much.
Bruce was spared any prolonged skirmishing with the friendly Lady Mary.
Two days later the messenger arrived from Wallace.
He requested that the Earl of Carrick hasten south, with all the force at his command and at all speed. Edward was moving fast, was in great strength, had already taken Berwick, burned the abbeys of Kelso, Dryburgh and Melrose, and was marching on Edinburgh up Lauderdale. Wallace would require all the help he could muster, to halt him, preferably at Stirling. Once the English were beyond Forth, there would be no holding them, in their present numbers. This message was not to go on to the Comyn host, in Moray. They would hear, no doubtbut, it was hoped, not in time to affect the issue.
The intermission was at an end.
Bruce, Nigel and young Alan de Moray of CulbinMar stayed at homeled their combined host of about 3,500 southwards as fast as they could.
But Mar and Moray were not Annandale, a great horse-breeding area, and
the vast mass of their men were not mounted. They had 170 miles and
more, to reach Stirling, and though the men were in the main tough, wiry hill men their very numbers, and the need to forage for food, precluded any phenomenal rate of travel. Twelve miles a day, over mainly mountain country, was quite as much as they could manage.
Two more of Wallaces messengers reached them during the journey southwards, urging haste. Edward had surprised all by circling Edinburgh, not waiting to take it as expected, contenting himself with taking its port of Leith, as a haven for his anxiously awaited supply ships. Wallace had been falling back before him, deliberately devastating the land in the English path, a land already all but famine-stricken, ordering the folk away with their remaining cattle and destroying all grain, hay and fodder that might remain. Edwards invaders were said to be starving, and his ships delayed, so that there were troubles, the Welsh archers mutinying and eighty had been slain, it was said. Wallaces tactics were to lure the enemy back and back, over devastated land, right to Stirling and the Forth crossing, the most strategic point in all Scotland to hold a great army; but, perceiving it, Edward was pressing after the Scots at whatever the cost, before Wallace could properly clear the land in front. It had become a race for the narrows of the Forth.
Bruces host had just left Dunblane, between Perth and Stirling, in the early morning of 23rd of July, when Wallaces next courier came up with grim tidings. The Guardians army could not reach Stirling in timethat was clear. The huge majority of his force was infantry, the common people; and Edwards cavalry, in their vast numbers, were pressing them hard. He would try to hold them somewhere in the Falkirk vicinity, a dozen miles south of Stirling. And though cavalry was what Wallace most required, he had been only doubtful in his welcome to an unlooked for reinforcement which had just arrived, even though led by the High Constable of Scotland. The Earl of Buchan had put in an appearance with some hundreds of Comyn horse; he had evidently heard the news, up in the Laigh of Moray, and leaving behind his great array of foot, had raced south with his horsemen, by the coast route, while Bruce had been so much more slowly marching his combined host through the mountains. Buchan was allegedly hastening to Wallaces rescue; but the latter was uneasy and urged Bruce to do likewise, to leave his foot behind and ride with all haste for Falkirk.
It was about twenty miles from Dunblane, by Stirling Bridge, to Falkirk. Bruce did not delay. He had nearly 700 horse, mounted hill men on short-legged Highland shelts, in the main.
Leaving Alan Moray to bring on the thousands of foot, he and Nigel spurred ahead with this company, unhampered.
At Stirling Bridge they found Wallaces advance party preparing to hold it, if need be. They urged on the northerners anxiously. The English were in greater numbers than anything known before, they said; the plain of Lothian was black with them. Wallace was standing at Callendar Wood, just east of Falkirkbut it was no site to compare with this Stirling. These men were clearly in a state of alarm.
It was afternoon before they rode out from the dark glades of the great Tor Wood above Falkirk, to look down over the swiftly dropping land eastwards towards Lothian, with the grey town nestling below, at the west end of the wooded spine of Callendar Hill. At the other end of that long spine, no doubt, was the battle.
But none of the newcomers tested their eyes or wits seeking for signs of it there. They did not have to. For below them, on the wide spread of green brae sides between the town and this Tor Wood, was sufficient to take their attention. Scattered all over it were parties of horsemen, in small groups and large, all riding fast and all riding westwards, away from the battle area. Of foot there was no signsave for the stream of refugees beginning to leave Falkirk, with their pathetic baggage, making uphill, like the cavalry, for the deep recesses of the Tor Wood.
There could be little doubt what it a
ll meant.
Grimly Bruce jutted his jaw.
We are too late, I fear, he said to his brother.
Too late. Cavalry was Wallaces need-and there is his cavalry!
Fleeing …!
They hurried on downhill. The first batch of horsemen they came up with, about a dozen, wore the colours of Lennox. Bruce halted them, demanding news.
All is by wi, their leader called, scarcely reining in, obviously reluctant to stop.
They were ower many. Armoured knights. A sea of them. And arrows. Like hailstanes! Its all by wiThe battle? All lost? What of Wallace?
God kens! He was withe foot.
And they?
The man shrugged. None of his colleagues, anxious to be elsewhere, amplified. Already they were urging their spume-flecked horses onwards.
Stay, you! Bruce cried authoritatively. He pointed.
I see no blood. No single wound amongst you. What sort of battle was this?
Scowls greeted that, and angry words. Men pointed backwards, in protest, outrage. But they were edging onwards.
You are Lennoxs men, are you not? Where is your lord?
Some shook their heads. Some pointed on, up the hill, some back.
Clearly none knew.
Unhappily the Bruces rode on, the seven hundred doubtful behind them.
The next group they encountered wore the blue-and-gold of Stewart, led by a knight in armour.
You are Stewarts, Bruce challenged him.
Who are you?
And where is the Steward?
We are of Menteith. I am Sir John Stewart of Cardross. I know not
where the Steward is. Or my lord of Menteith. All the lords have gone
…
Gone where, man? Is all over? The battle?
God knows! There may be fighting still. The foot. Wallaces rabble. In their schiltroms of spears. Since they cannot flee. But all else is finished.
You … you deserted Wallace and the foot?
Deserted! Who are you to talk of deserting? You were not there.
They hurled all their strength at us. Between the schiltroms.
Their cavalry and bowmen both. Thousands on thousands of them. The Constables array broke first. In the centre. Then they were in amongst us. Behind us. We had no choice …
The Constable, you say? The Comynsthey gave way first?
But there were no great number of them …?
The Constable took command of the centre cavalry. As was his right.
The English threw all their strength at him …
Aye. Enough … Without waiting to hear more, Bruce waved on his company.
The long but fairly low and gentle hogs-back of open woodland that was Callendar Hill sank at its east end to the valley of the Westquarter Burn. Where a tributary stream joined this below the south-east face of the hill was an area of marshland surrounding a small reedy loch. On the open slopes above this, Wallace had drawn up his army to make its stand. It was a reasonably good defensive position, the best that the Falkirk vicinity had to offer probably; but it was all on a comparatively small scale, and the water barrier only a minor one. The loch marsh itself would not take cavalry, but the burn that flowed either end of it could be splashed through. As an impediment a vast army, therefore, it was inadequate. And worst of all, the relatively short distances involved meant that the long-range English and Welsh archers could remain drawn up on the east side of the loch and still pour their arrows into the Scots ranks beyond.
Bruce and his people, their formation somewhat broken up by negotiating the woodland and the streams of fleeing wounded, reached the last of the trees. They saw the land across the valley as literally black with men and horses and all the paraphernalia of war, stretching almost as far as eye could see, a dire sight.
Though this enormous concourse was not in fact engaged, too great to be marshalled and brought to bear on Wallaces chosen ground. Only the cavalry and the archers were involved, as yetto the Scots downfall.
For, of course, it was in these two arms that Wallace was weak.
His great mass of spearmen and sworders, however nimble and tough, were of little avail against these. The Guardian had drawn up his host in four great schiltroms, square phalanxes of spearmen, densely packed, facing out in all directions, bristling hedgehogs of pikes and lances and halberds, on which an enemy would throw himself with but little effect. Between these he had set his comparatively few bowmen, backed by the cavalry of the lords.
And thus awaited the onslaught.
But unhappily all was within range of the massed thousands of Edwards long-bowmen, who with a methodical, disciplined expertise poured in a continuous stream, a flood-, of their deadly yard-long shafts. Against these the Scots were helpless, their own few archers hopelessly outranged, and indeed the first to fall, as primary targets of the enemy. Thereafter the hissing murderous hail had been raised to fall mainly upon the cavalry behind. Here the execution was less lethal, because of breastplates, helmets, chain mail and toughened leather; but even so there was much havoc, especially amongst the horses.
Under cover of this fatal deluge, Edwards pride, his heavy chivalry
had swept round the loch and crossed the burns, in two horns; the left
under Roger de Bigod, Earl of Norfolk, and Humphrey de Bohun, Earl of
Hereford; the right under Bishop Beck of Durham and no less man
thirty-six senior captains. These both drove uphill, and as the bowmen
ceased to shoot at a given signal, bore in in five great prongs of
perhaps a thousand each, ignoring the squares of spearmen and
concentrating all on the lines of cavalry ranked between the schiltroms. It was then that High Constable Buchan signalled in turn, and at it the Scots nobility broke and turned back. The command was to reform in one mass up the hill, to put in a powerful counter-attack downhill;
but this never materialised. The protective shelter of the wood was too great a temptation, and the Comyns example infectious.
The Scots chivalry rode off the field of Falkirk, to fight, perhaps, another day.
This had left Wallace and his foot in four isolated groups, round which Edwards armoured horse eddied and circled unhindered.
Not all of the Scots nobility and gentry had bolted with the cavalry of course. Many had gone to join Wallace, on foot.
But these found themselves on the outside of the bristling walls of
spears, with the grim-vis aged angry spearmen in no mood to open and
break their tight ranks to let them in. Mostly they died there under
the trampling hooves of the English des triers
By the time that Bruce and his seven hundred arrived on the scene of carnage, all this was a thing of the past. There were only the two schiltroms now, the debris of the others making a trampled bloody chaos of the long slope. These two that were left had lost much of their shape and were tending to coalesce;
but they were still fighting, doggedly, their perimeter dead being swiftly and steadily replaced by men from within the squares, to die in their turn as the massed horsemen raged round and round, driving in -with lance and sword, battle-axe and heavy mace.
Many of Edwards proud chivalry littered the slopes of Callendar Hill, also, the horses in particular skewered, hamstrung and disembowelled by those deadly spears. The heaps and piles of slain, of both sides, grew thicker and thicker towards the foot of the slopefor this was the way that the battle moved, not uphill towards the wood and escape. The English cavalry were exploiting the advantage of site that should have belonged to their Scots counterparts; downhill. They were thundering in charges time and again down the slope, to overwhelm the schiltroms by sheer weight and impetus, in a trampling, screaming avalanche of horseflesh and armoured humanity. Already the lowermost Scottish spearmen were up to their knees in the mire and water of the valley-floor. Perhaps Wallace was
deliberately allowing this to happen, for in the soft ground the heavy cavalry would be unable to come in at them. But then, there was still the serried ranks of the waiting archers, not to mention the vast mass of the so-far uncommitted English foot.
For desperate moments Bruce sat his mount, eyeing that scene.
What could he do? Nothing that he might attempt could possibly turn the tide of battle now. To stand still was inglorious, useless.
To turn and flee like the others was unthinkable. His men were not armoured. He himself, like Nigel, was in travelling clothes, not full mail. Most of them bestrode Highland shelts. They were the lightest of light horse. Against some of the best heavy chivalry in all Christendom, battle-trained veteransand outnumbered six or eight to one.
There was only the one condition in their favour, and one thing that they might attempt. The element of surprise would be theirsfor none of the English would look for a return of the Scots horse now. And Wallace himself might yet be saved. They could all see him, unmistakable, in the upper front rank of one of the schiltroms, towering over all, his great brand whirling and slicing. Fighting like a hero, yesbut not like a general.
Bruce made up his mind. He turned to his men of Mar, Garioch and Moray.
My friendsyou sec it! See it all. We can save Wallace. That is all. Drive down after me. In a wedge. A spearhead. No halting. No fighting. Straight through. If I fall, or my brother, keep on. Drive down through all. To Wallace.
Scotland depends on Wallace. Mount him, and as many as you may. Behind you. Then round and back for these woods. Do not wait. Our beasts are lighter, more swift, surefooted. Come. And shout slogans. He whipped out his sword.
On, then! A Bruce!
A Bruce!
Scarcely enthusiastic as his North-countrymen could have been, they followed, without demur or hesitation.
The Bruce brothers side by side at the apex, they gradually worked themselves into a great arrowhead formation as they thundered down the brae side yelling. It was not perhaps the most exactly disciplined manoeuvre, but they made a dramatic, effective and fast-moving entry on the sceneand one it would be very hard to stop.
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