Nigel Tranter - The Path of the Hero King

Angus of the Isles looked as thoughtful as did Robert Bruce, at these tidings.

It seemed as though they had been betrayed again. Treachery haunted Bruce. It had never occurred to the King, even though his enemies discovered where he was, that they would pursue him into these island fastnesses. Edward Plantagenet must be very determined indeed to have him-and very angry. This was grievous, in more than just the renewal of pressure on hunted men; it meant that Angus Og would be forced to come to some sort of decision about his attitude before he was ready. Bruce had hoped to be able to work on the man. This could hardly fail to be to his disadvantage.

It did not take the Lord of the Isles long to make up his mind at to immediate tactics, at least. Eyeing his fierce-looking chiefs, he turned back to Bruce.

“Sir King,” he said, “I fear that you cannot remain at Dunaverty.

My sorrow that it is so-but your Englishry leave me little choice. Either you must go, or I must fight them. And I do not know that I am prepared to go to war with Edward of England!”

“I understand,” Bruce nodded.

“This I feared.”

“Do not mistake me,” the younger man went on.

“It is not that I am afraid to fight Menteith and this Botetourt. They have many more men than I have here present-but my galleys, I swear, would tear their ships apart, like eagles amongst lambs! But that would be to challenge Edward. War. This I may do. One day. But then it will be my war. Not another man’s.”

As men drew breath, the King bowed stiffly, silent Angus Og shrugged.

“I speak plainly, friend-for I am a man of plain speech. But what I say I mean. And I have named you friend. My friend you are. I will not leave you to be taken by your enemies. We sail with tomorrow’s dawn. I return to Rathlin, where I have business to finish. I promised you refuge. You shall sail with me to Rathlin. And from there go whither you please. All my isles are open to you. Or you could go to Antrim. Ireland. The Irish coast is but four miles from Rathlin. I go thither, to Antrim. Yours is the choice. A galley of mine shall carry the King of Scots where he will.” A long speech for Angus Og.

Bruce raised his head.

”For that I thank you, my lord. If Icannot be your suzerain, I can

and do at least accept your friendship!”

Their eyes met, and each smiled slightly. These two at least understood each other, however their respective supporters might glower.

When the Islemen had withdrawn from the King’s apartment, Boyd, grave-faced, asked that he might speak to Bruce privily.

They moved together out on to a parapet-walk that hung vertiginously above the wrinkled sea.

“Your Grace-forgive me,” the knight said, “but I have more grievous tidings for your ear than these you have heard. My sorrow that it is I must bear them.”

“Grievous? What, man? Out with it.”

“Sire-your brother. The Lord Nigel. He is dead. And not only he.

Your good-brother, Sir Christopher Seton. And his brother John …”

“No! Dear God-no! I’ll not believe it…!”

“It is true, Sire, God’s truth. Kildrummy Castle fell. We reached Kildrummy, with her Grace and the ladies. In time. But de Valence, Earl of Pembroke, knew it and was there within a day or two. Besieged us. And the castle was betrayed. Set fire to, from within …”

“Betrayed again! Will it never end?” Suddenly Bruce gripped the other’s wrist.

“Elizabeth? My wife. The Queen. She is …?”

“The Queen, Sire, is escaped. And your daughter. Won safe away. When the Lord Nigel learned that Pembroke approached, he sent them away hastily, secretly. With the Earl of Atholl. For the North Isles ..”

“Thank Christ-God! That Nigel would do. But … Nigel! My brother my dear brother? He died? At Kildrummy?”

“No. Not at Kildrummy. He was captured. Wounded. With the others. As was I. In the burning castle. Traitors set afire the stores of food and grain in the great hall. And then, in the smoke and confusion, opened the postern to the English. We were all captured. But I escaped, on the way south I and Lindsay.

All were taken south to Edward At Berwick. And there they were slain.

As Wallace was slain. Hanged. Cut down while still alive.

Disembowelled. And their entrails burned before their eyes …”

“Ah, no! No!” A sobbing groan escaped from the King’s lips Abruptly he turned away, to stride some way along that dizzy walk and stare out over the isle-dotted vastness of the Western Sea, gripping the stonework of the parapet, knuckles gleaming white.

Of his four brothers. Nigel had always been the favourite.

“Nigel.

Nigel!” he moaned.

“What did I do to you? What did I do to you when I grasped this accursed crown?”

Boyd stood where he was, silent, waiting, askance.

At length the King turned back, his features set.

“Forgive me, friend,” he said.

“You say … Christopher Seton also? My friend.

My sister’s husband …”

“Aye, Sire. Drawn, hanged, and beheaded. At Dumfries. With his brother, Sir John.”

“He … he was the first to swear me fealty! And here is how I rewarded him!”

“The others also. All who were captured at Kildrummy. Sir John de Cambo. Alexander the Scrymgeour. Sir Alan Durward…”

Bruce raised his hands, almost beseechingly.

“Have mercy! Have mercy on me! It is more than I can bear. All my brave, true, leal friends…”

“Leal, Sire-but King Edward hanged and beheaded them as traitors! And the Steward said to mind you-he will do the same to yourself, King or none. And to all with you. His young son-the Steward’s only remaining son, Walter-is with you here. He urges Sire, that you send him home. Then flee the country. Not to Ireland-for Edward’s arm is long. But to the North Isles. Orkney.

Where my lord of Atholl takes the Queen. And thence to Norway, where Your Grace’s sister is queen. This I was to urge on you. The Steward prays you. His prayer and his advice.”

“And yours, my friend?”

The veteran knight looked down.

“Who am I to advise the King?”

“Robert Boyd has more knowledge of war than ever had James the Steward, I think. He is a good man, but no soldier.”

The other nodded.

“Myself, then, I say-do what is in your own mind, Sire. Mind-not heart! For you have a King’s head on your shoulders, I swear. And never did Scotland need it more!”

For a long moment Bruce searched the man’s rugged features.

Then he drew himself up.

“It may be that you are right. God’s will be done, then-for I am God’s anointed, for this Scotland. But God’s will, I say-not Edward Plantagenet’s! I will tell the Steward that…”

Bruce did not, in fact, go to the North Isles, nor yet to Norway, as

was the temptation. That he had the means, in one of “”” Og’s galleys,

and might be with his wife and daughter a few days, all but overbore

him. But he steeled himself with almost the last words Elizabeth had

spoken to him.

“Go, and your duty.” And whatever his heart said, his mind knew where lay his duty.”

So, at Rathlin Island, where Angus of the Isles took him, and they looked across the narrows to the shores of Ulster, Bruce decided that, as King of Scots, however ineffectual, his place was in his own realm of Scotland. He would not even go to Ireland with Angus Og -for it transpired that the real reason for the Lord of the Isles’ presence on Rathlin with almost 2,000 men, was to coordinate, with Malcolm MacQuillan of the Glens of Antrim a great joint raid on the territory of the Bissets, an Anglo-Norman family whom Edward of England had made lords of much of Antrim -and indeed of this Rathlin, also-over the heads of its native chiefs. Such raiding was typical of Isleman employment -but of no interest or use to Bruce. So he would take Angus Og at his word, borrow a galley, and sail northwards through the Isles and along the West Highland seaboard. Who could tell, he might find support up there, as well as refuge. The Earl of Ross, that far-away potentate, was as yet uncommitted in the struggle for Scotland. He might be convinced that the advantage lay with Bruce and independence, in the long run.