Nigel Tranter - The Price of the King's Peace

“I think it cannot be a great place, in this wretched country. I had never heard its name, never heard my wife speak of it.”

“The Prince of Tyrconnel named it a small place, Sire. Scarce a castle at all, I think, as we Scots would say. A moated manor, rather …”

“Aye. I like this less and less …” Bruce chewed on his thoughts for a while. The swamp on the left was drying up somewhat, with more trees; but the bank on the right was growing ever steeper, taller, almost a cliff. Apart from famous death-traps like the Pass of Brander in Lome, and Glen Trool in Galloway, he had seldom seen territory which he liked less, from a military point of view. He had reduced the pace to a slow trot now. Yet Edward’s force had gone through here, only a short time before. There was no least sign of trouble, only recent horse-droppings.

He took a sudden decision.

“Campbell,” he ordered, “ride you forward, after my brother. Take a small party-a score. My salutations to His Grace-but request him to turn back. Forthwith.

Whatever he is doing, besieging this Ratoath, or other. His host to return. To close up, until we are safely through this evil country.

It may be little necessary-but we could meet disaster here. Weshould

not be more than half a mile apart. Where each could cover the other.

You have it? With my salutations, mind-but it is a firm command.” And

as the other, nodding, turned to collect his twenty or so men from the

first files behind, the King added, “Do not be distracted, left or

right, see you. You are not scouts. Ride fast. Press on to my

brother. If you get hint of trouble, avoid it. I shall have others

out, to scout, behind you.”

“Do you but make sic car Sire?” Fraser asked, as the little party clattered ahead.

“Or have you more reason than we here perceive?”

“I

smell danger, Sandy,” the King answered that implied criticism.

“It stinks in my nostrils. Do not ask me for better reason!”

The words were hardly out of his mouth when a scream from ahead, around a bend in the woodland track, was immediately followed by shouting, confused, urgent.

He dug in his spurs. They all did.

Hurtling round the bend, Bruce saw a scene as confused as the noise.

One man lay spread-eagled on the road, an arrow transfixing his chest. Two horses were down, hooves lashing. Others were milling about, one with a long shaft clearly projecting from its haunch.

Colin Campbell was seeking to marshal his men and lead them off to the left, off the track, down into the boggy woodland.

“Follow me!” he was shouting, “Follow me!”

Cursing furiously, Bruce drove his horse straight for the young knight, shaking a suddenly upraised fist.

Campbell saw him, and mistook the gesture. “I will get them!”

he yelled and spurred on.

After him the King plunged, pushing aside two men-at-arms in the way. Coming up with the eager Highlander, he reached over and struck him a resounding buffet with his steel-gauntleted fist, that sent the other reeling in his saddle.

“Fool!” he cried.

“Back! Back, I say! If your life means nothing to you, think of these others. My subjects! Back, man!”

Shaken, Campbell pulled up, staring as though his monarch had run mad.

“What were my last words? The last I spoke you?”

Appalled, the young man reined round, waving his men back now.

“I … I am sorry, Sire. I did not think. Or … I thought otherwise.

To save Your Grace. The next arrow might have struck you … !”

“When last I struck you a blow, man I said that you should be a true knight until your life’s end!” Bruce panted turning back for the track. The heat was going out of his voice, however.

“You were near your life’s end there I swear! But a true knight obeys his liege lord’s commands. Remember it I said turn aside for nothing.”

Back at the halted column, Fraser called out.

“You have a good nose, Sire! Even for so small a trouble.”

“Small, Sandy? What mean you by small?”

“I count but eight arrows. There may be more in the bushes, missed their mark. But no large force would shoot so few.”

“But they are English cloth yard shafts, see you-not our short Irish or Scots bolts” “Even so, Sire, but few. And now they have seen how large a force we are, they forbear.”

Moray had men dismounted, awaiting his order to slip off into the trees. He looked at his uncle.

“Leave them, Thomas. They will not shoot against us again I think. Not here. Sandy is right-these must be a small party. But English, mark you. They made a mistake, opening up on Campbell’s troop, not knowing that we followed so close. They will have fled now, deep into these fastnesses. Let them go. But-this is not all the danger that I smelt, by the Rude!”

“You think there are more, Sire?” Hay asked.

“Yet they have let the Lord Edward’s force go past, it seems …”

“To be sure there are more. And if my good-father is behind them, many more. A small band of archers would never have risked shooting at Campbell’s score if they had not greater numbers near.

Besides, what are a dozen English archers doing in such a place?

That is not how these fight. They are part of a scouting patrol, I say, sent to watch. Their leader misjudged, that is all. But, if they were sent to watch this road, from these woods, then whoever sent them is expecting us! Yet he has let my brother past. You see the pattern? Remember we are likely dealing with Richard de Burgh, fox as much as lion! I would say that he is waiting for me. In ambush.”

There was silence, as the leaders of the long column eyed the King.

“And the Lord Edward?” somebody asked.

“The Lord Edward no doubt goes on with a blithe heart! He is likely already besetting an empty Ratoath Castle, waiting for him as bait!”

“You conceive the Earl of Ulster as between us and Ratoath, between us and my uncle?” Moray asked.

“I would judge it likely.”

“And we cannot get word to him?”

”We can try. Not along this road. By sending men on foot, back and

up by the high ground, to the right. That way they may win through, unseen. Your Islesmen would be best, Angus. But it cannot be other than slow.”

“And us? While they do it, dare we go on?” Fraser demanded.

“Yet we cannot wait here. As ill a place to defend as any I have seen. And if we retire, will not de Burgh turn on the Lord Edward’s force instead? From behind. Where he will think to be safe, with us at his back.”

“We will not retire, no. Edward apart, I did not bring these thousands to Ireland to retire in the face of die first threat. But-I prefer that I choose the battleground, not my good-sire!”

“How can you do that? Placed as we are?” Angus Og said.

“We dare not retire. There is no good ground to fight on for miles back, as we have seen. Since we cannot stay here, we can only go on, de Burgh or none!”

“Aye, my lord-you are right. But we go on warned. Warned, and dismounted. If there is to be fighting, in such country, I would do it afoot.”

“Aye! Aye!”

“Is that best, Sire?” Hay wondered.

“To throw away our speed.

Should we not remain mounted, and charge our way through.

Many as we are. Using our speed and weight…”

“No, my lord Constable-for that is what de Burgh would expect us to do. If that earl is indeed before us, he will have planned for that, the wrecking of a mounted host. So we go afoot.

Horses, in these bogs, are useless. All horses, therefore, to be sent to die rear. Lest arrows get them. We need them hereafter, if we are to conquer Ireland! But not here and now. If Richard de Burgh is here. If, I say…” The King shrugged.

Metaphorically they all shrugged. It was all supposition, after all. Save for those cloth yard shafts and the one dead man. There was nothing hypothetical about them.