Nigel Tranter - The Price of the King's Peace

But he was no craven, and of a bull like stubbornness of purpose.Taking all this into account, Bruce had planned the day. He was jerked out of his introspection by the thin high ululation of trumpets blowing up there on the summit ridge, many trumpets, the first peremptory bugling taken up by others right and left along the escarpment. And before these had died away, the entire centre of the steel-clad line seemed to buckle and bend. Instead of a line, a front, it became slowly a moving wide V, as deliberately, without any excited charging, the English mounted chivalry surged forward and over the lip of the escarpment of Roulston Scar, and on down the steep slope, in perfect order. As far as could be discerned from below, not a single arrow had preceded them.

“There rides a confident commander!” Hugh Ross commented, at the King’s side.

“As well he might be. He has all the advantage.

Height. Ground. And four times the number of men. Can Douglas hold him, think you, Sire?”

“Would I have sent him up there if I did not believe so, man?”

Bruce snapped.

“Use your wits!”

Abashed, Ross bit his lip, silent.

The King relented, more on edge than he hoped to appear.

“See you, Hugh-that narrow place hems in Douglas, yes. But it also prevents Richmond from deploying, from bringing his superior force to bear. There is just no room on the floor of the corrie for large numbers. The very ground will force Douglas into a long schiltrom formation, a hedgehog of spears. The English will only be able to attack in any strength at the head of the formation. If they swing round the sides, they will be on steep and difficult ground. And Douglas will retire, slowly. My orders were that he retires down the corrie, drawing Richmond after him. The further the better.”

“It will be strange fighting for the Douglas!”

“Jamie’s turn will come.” Bruce turned.

“Young Campbell there. Colin-your turn now. Off with you! And Ranald MacRuarie.

God speed-and watch for their bowmen.”

Nothing loth, the two young Highland chiefs, impatient this last half-hour, raced off, dismounted and in opposite directions. Right and left, but half a mile apart, their two large groups of clansmen waited, as eager as themselves.

For a little there was nothing to be seen from the King’s position, not only in new developments but in the main cockpit of the corrie.

For now the leading ranks of the English chivalry were low enough therein to be hidden, as were Douglas’s men. Only to be seen were the new and seemingly endless rank of advancing steel-clad horsemen, coming over the skyline and down the slope-a daunting enough sight.

Detachments of enemy infantry were now striking out along the shoulders of both flanking hillsides, to engage the Highlanders already up there. These, their part largely played, were falling back somewhat.

Dependent on their ears now, the King and those around him fretted. It was galling indeed not to be able to see the drama up in the corrie. But at least something of the noise of it came down to them, the shouts and screams, the clash of steel, the whinnying of horses, the trumpeting.

Sir Alexander Fraser, the Chamberlain, an impatient man, stamped about on the fallen leaves of the wood, cursing their inactivity -until Bruce, rounding on him, out cursed him into muttering quiet.

Gilbert Hay, the Constable, touched the King’s arm, and pointed upwards to the left.

“Stones,” he said briefly.

High on the northern of the flanking shoulders, the English infantry, spreading quickly along in the wake of the retiring Highlanders, were beginning to prise loose stones and rocks, large and small, and send them hurtling down into the gut of corrie.

Bruce nodded.

“Campbell and MacRuarie should have been off earlier,” Fraser

growled.

“How could they, man? Seen from up there too early, and Richmond might never have moved. He had to be committed to the descent before I dared send them. Douglas will have to thole the stones meantime. Besidesso long as they roll stones down, it must mean that Richmond is not seeking to attack Douglas’s flanks.

Or the rocks would hit their own men, first.”

With that doubtful consolation they had to be content. They waited.

Presently, again it was Hay who pointed. This time downwards, not up. He pointed at the stream which ran close by, and which came tumbling out of the corrie. It was running red.

None commented.

At last, when inactive watching and waiting and listening had become almost insupportable, there was a diversion. On the same northern shoulder of hill, Campbell’s clansmen came into view, from the far side, in their hundreds, running and leaping and yelling over the skyline-to the obvious alarm of the stone-rollers.

Quickly a new infantry battle developed up on the high ground.

“Thank God for that!” Fraser jerked.

It was less easy to see to the top of the right-hand and southern

shoulder, from here; but within minutes noise was coming from up there

also. Presumably there was less available loose stone there, for the

fighting seemed to be taking place on the crest of the hill, as

Christina MacRuarie’s nephew attacked.

Now trumpets were blowing again, up on the main escarpment, in a crescendo, as the English rear saw a new and utterly unanticipated menace developing. Bruce sighed his relief.

The trumpeting continued. Somebody in command was in major alarm Richmond himself perhaps, if he had not ventured down into the corrie personally. Thereafter a novel feature could be discerned in the confused picture-a distinct trend of some few horsemen spurring uphill out of the corrie again, back to the escarpment, against the stream, as it were-although this itself was now slackening notably. Recalled captains, undoubtedly.

“There!” Bruce cried.

“There is what I looked for, schemed for!

They are confused now. Where have these new Highlandmen come from! More than ever Douglas had, in the vale. We have them in doubt.” He turned.

“Willie Irvine-now!” he ordered, playing his last card in this game of bluff.

“Up there, to Douglas’s aid!”

Thankful for action at last, Irvine, the former royal armour bearer, led his 300 mounted men out of the cover of the woodland, straight uphill towards the corrie, at the canter, yelling as they went. They had been sitting their horses amongst the trees all this time, for this moment. Their own three trumpets brayed their lustiest, to draw attention to themselves.

The braying was more than echoed from above, as this surprising cavalry reinforcement for Douglas appeared on the scene. Indeed the English buglers sounded almost hysterical.

“Pray that is sounding in the Scawton gap,” Gibbie Hay said.

“If it is not, what then?” Fraser demanded.

“Then we move up to rescue Jamie Douglas,” the King answered.

“And say farewell to any chance of capturing Edward Plantagenet Butwait you. Learn what it is to be a King, Sandy!

Who commands-and then waits.”

Even Brace’s apparently steely resolve was wilting before, at last, a young Stewart esquire came crashing his horse through the woodland glades, shouting for the King.

“Sire!” he called, “Sire-word from the Lord Walter! The enemy are riding out of the gap. Back to the east and north. Up the hill. In force. They leave, he says-they leave. They draw out, towards yonder fight, up there …”

“All the saints be praised! My lords-to horse! Our’s the opportunity now …!”

The change from frustrating idleness to hectic movement was crazily dramatic. The entire woodland burst into feverish activity, and in only moments the King was leading the way in a headlong dash by thousands, due southwards along the foothills. Avoiding the thicker cover now, since it delayed them, he accepted the certainty that they would be seen from above, for only a mere haze of smoke remained caught by the trees, and led out by the higher and open brae sides Speed was everything-speed, allied to the effect of appalled surprise and confusion above.