Candace Robb - The Fire In The Flint

‘They’ve gone,’ said James.

MacLaren grunted. ‘And left their fires burning, their horses feeding? You’re too much in the towns, Jamie, your ears and nose are numb.’

Angus moved to the head of the party and led them slowly across a stream, over a small rise, and into a circle of wary-eyed guards with daggers and bows drawn. The encampment was not yet visible, but James now detected the smoke that MacLaren had smelled much further away.

One of the men recognised James. ‘It is James Comyn, kinsman of our king,’ he told the others, ‘and friend of the Wallace.’

When the weapons were lowered, James and the rest of the party dismounted and followed one of the men over another hill and round a bend, where the size of the encampment brought a cry of surprise from Hal.

James fell back to reassure him. ‘You’ll find few of high birth here, my friend. It is the men who work the land and tend the herds who fight for our land under the Wallace.’

‘So many.’

‘Christ, we’d hoped for twice as many — several hundred. But come, we’re all the more critical to our king’s welfare when we count for so goodly a portion.’

James, his servant, Angus MacLaren, Hal, and Will, the messenger, were greeted with good cheer and welcomed at one of the fires. But soon James was called to the fireside of William Wallace.

‘Come along with me, Hal. I promised you would meet the Wallace, and it shall be so.’ Regarding the young man as he rose, James nodded with satisfaction at the fair hair trimmed to reveal the strong-boned features, only slightly hidden by a pale, dusty beard that bespoke their haste in travel. ‘Remember to look the Wallace and all his men in the eyes,’ James said. ‘In this place a man watches his feet only when he has something to hide.’

Hal lifted his chin and then his gaze to James’s. ‘What do I say to such a man?’

‘What you might say to any of your brave comrades. William Wallace expects no more.’

They were guided through the trees to a fire circle like all the others. William Wallace came forward to welcome James. Tall and muscular, he always made James feel like a lad. But James never doubted that the Wallace had need of him. James was the shrewd one with strong ties to the Comyns and Balliols, and other great families of the land. And he had met Longshanks when he was yet a young squire to an English lord.

Wallace nodded towards Hal. ‘Who is this fine young man?’ ‘Hal of Edinburgh, a groom at Murdoch Kerr’s inn whom I’ve known a long while. He has a way with horses and asses, keeps his head in dangerous encounters, and can hold a secret closer to himself than his own skin.’

Hal stepped forward. ‘I am yours to command, my lord.’

Wallace grasped Hal’s arm. ‘I’m no lord, Hal. Just a loyal subject of King John who means to return him to the throne. You are welcome, sir. I have need of you.’

Hal bowed his head, and when he raised his eyes they shone with emotion.

James himself was not unaffected. He cleared his throat and suggested that Hal return to his companions. ‘I must tell our commander all the news. You need not hear it again — what you need is rest.’

Hal nodded and withdrew, the guide joining him to take him back to the others.

Wallace motioned James to a log spread with a skin, then eased down on a similar seat at an angle.

‘You have not brought the woman of whom you spoke — Margaret Kerr?’ Wallace asked.

‘I could not.’ James explained the unfortunate timing of her wayward husband’s return.

Elbows on knees, Wallace opened his hands, studying his dirt-encrusted palms. Someone added a log to the fire and the light flared, revealing new lines on Wallace’s face.

‘Unfortunate or canny, I wonder.’ He looked enquiringly at James.

That was the question. ‘Either is possible,’ said James. ‘She does not believe her husband knows that her allegiance lies not with Robert Bruce, but it is clear that she is poorly acquainted with Roger Sinclair.’ James spoke slowly, choosing his words with care, keenly aware of his own ambivalent relationship with Margaret. Though some ineffable quality in her convinced him that she was solidly loyal to Balliol, her marital situation gave him pause. Yet he had recommended her to Wallace as a spy.

‘Let us put her aside for now,’ Wallace said. His face had angles James did not remember from previous meetings, but he had grown brown in the summer sun, so it was difficult to judge. ‘Longshanks’s mission to Flanders is much on my mind. What is he up to?’

‘I can but guess,’ James said. ‘King Philip of France convinced Edward that he would honour a secret agreement between them, then publicly revealed the agreement as Edward’s treachery. Longshanks has lost what he gave up in the feigned agreement and gained not a whit, nothing that he’d been led to expect. The worst of it is the public humiliation. Edward of England will not rest until his reputation is restored, until all fear him once more. I pity the Flemish.’

‘Damn the Flemish with their duke who is so easily bought,’ Wallace growled. ‘Pity us if Longshanks arrives in Flanders to find the rebellion over.’ He ran his hands through his thick red hair and stretched out his legs with a groan. ‘We must strike before Edward comes west to Scotland again. Murray and I are agreed in that.’

‘I’ve heard something of your plan. A sudden rush southwards to recapture Stirling Bridge.’

Wallace tossed a stick into the fire with wrist-snapping energy. ‘God’s blood, can no Scot keep a secret?’ he shouted, hauling in his legs and rising. ‘We’ve no chance if we cannot stand together.’

Men at the far end of the fire looked their way, one rising and drawing his dagger.

James hastened to reassure Wallace. ‘My cousin had it from you, my friend, he knew he could trust me with the information.’

Wallace grunted and turned to those on alert. ‘It is nothing,’ he said to them. ‘Rest easy.’

The dagger disappeared, but the men were more attentive now.

Wallace had dropped his head and now sat very still. He seemed able to withdraw in company, turn inward and study his thoughts in quiet. James believed it was this ability even more than his fierce energy in battle that made Wallace a consummate warrior. Any ploughman might fight with wild abandon for a cause he believed in. But when necessary Wallace could shut out the clamour of men in order to consider his moves. James did not always agree with Wallace’s conclusions, but he was confident they were well considered.

In a while, Wallace raised his head. ‘We traverse treacherous sands, James. They blind us and threaten to swallow us. But temper must be saved for the battle. Tell me the rest of your news.’

‘Some of our wealthier merchants living in Bruges are back among us, anxious to avoid Longshanks. They talk of growing discontent amongst the townspeople, a rebellion brewing against the Duke of Flanders.’

‘We must move before Longshanks returns.’

‘You know about the discontent among his nobles.’

‘And here as well. All this works for us, but only if we can convince the arrogant that our only hope is union.’

‘Tell that to the Bruce.’

‘He’s the worst of them,’ said Wallace. He flung another twig at the fire.

In the morning Margaret attended Mass in Elcho’s chapel before returning to her mother’s chamber. Kneeling on a cushion borrowed from Dame Katrina, she said countless rounds on her beads, praying for her mother’s cooperation and for guidance in her feelings about Roger. About the latter, she was increasingly confused. When love-making, and when talking of their lives, truly anything that did not touch on the Bruce, King John, or Longshanks, she believed herself still in love with him. And yet when the issues concerning the kingship were in play, she distanced herself from him. Last night, Marion’s appearance in the hall had excited her, affording a chance to speak with the maid about the intruders who had come upon her in Christiana’s chamber. But before Margaret had a chance to ask the maid anything, Roger had joined them. Margaret had swallowed the questions and merely listened to Marion’s message and assured her that she would attend her mother in the morning. Afterwards, she felt shaken, as if Roger had almost caught her in the act of something forbidden. Was she afraid of him, or did she distrust him, or both? Until recently one of her dearest hopes had been to bear Roger’s children. She still wished for them, but it frightened her to think how much more dependent on Roger she would be as a mother. She had hoped to gain some insight into her doubts through prayer; but God was silent on the matter this day. Margaret hoped He would at least encourage her mother to help her. If He spoke to her through her mother, Margaret would willingly embrace her mother’s visions.