Nigel Tranter - The Path of the Hero King

“It may be so, Jamie,” the King acceded.

“We can well use that time, whatever else. To make our preparations. To eat well and sleep well. We sail tomorrow evening, then, at first dark, and shall have a long night of it. Meantime we can sleep again. It may be we shall need it all …!”

The wind and seas had abated a little, but it was still an unpleasant crossing, the following night, especially for the smaller boats. Bruce had 300 men, 200 of Christina’s Moidartach, granted free and for love, and 100 sent by Mackenzie of Kintail, not so much for love as for hatred-hatred of the Earl of Ross, Mackenzie’s unfriendly neighbour. Christina had provided an extra galley too-indeed she had had to be dissuaded from accompanying the expedition herself; but even so, further transport was necessary, and the smaller, slower craft were scarcely adequate for the winter seas-especially as the incoming tide was racing up the firth from the ocean, south-westerly, the same direction as the prevailing wind, while the flotilla was proceeding on a course at almost right angles, south by east, with consequent rolling beam seas. Fortunately the men were Hebrideans and used to the sea, or they might have made but a doubtful fighting force at the end of it.

There had been some speculation that Boyd might have lit his beacon again tonight, to guide them in; but as yet there was no sign of it. The night was dull and cold, with occasional slight sleet showers, inclement for sailing in open boats but suitable enough for the activities ashore.

There.were no stars to navigate by, but three-quarters of the way across Bruce decided that a cluster of lights that showed faintly must be from Turnberry Castle itself. In which case they were too far to the south. He shouted an order to the helmsman, in his leading galley.

Presently they could hear the thunder of the breakers on the shore, an ominous sound; and after some minutes of anxious peering into the mirk, Bruce thought that he could distinguish the long belt of white that would be the seas disintegrating on the savage reef of skerries that half closed Maidenhead Bay from the south.

Another half-mile and they ought to be able to turn in, around the north end of the reef, and run into the comparatively sheltered corner of bay behind, the rendezvous where the bale fire had blazed.

Soon they swung in, tossing violently as they passed the tail-end of the skerries, and thereafter quickly felt the sea’s motion to abate.

The re-entrant of the bay ahead was dark” under low cliff, giving no

sign of life. The King remembered two salmon-fishers’ cot houses

there, where he had played as a lad. Cautiously sail furled, Bruce’s

galley nosed forward, the sweeps dipping gently. There was no jetty or landing-stage, but an easy boat-strand of sand and pebbles, where three fishing cob les were already drawn up.

Skilfully manoeuvred, the vessel’s forefoot crunched into the shelving shingle with a minimum of shock, amongst only small waves. Had the wind been northerly, or the landing unprotected from the south, it would have been a very different matter. Bruce himself was one of the first to jump down, caring nothing for the cold splashy shallows, and more affected by this stealthy return to the mainland of his kingdom than he would have been prepared to admit.

There was no one there to greet them. No movement showed on the dark shore.

Edward’s galley moved in now, with the smaller craft, like a brood of ducklings, close behind. His brother came striding over the pebbles.

“Where is Boyd?” he demanded.

“And Fleming. They should be here.”

“I had looked for them, yes. Perhaps they do not expect us so early. Have not seen our arrival. They may be waiting in one of those cabins.”

The King led a group up over the shingle and the sea-grass to where the dark low bulk of the cot-houses loomed. With sword hilts they beat on the closed doors, demanding to open in the name of King Robert.

Only alarmed fishermen opened to them.

When these men’s immediate fears were allayed, they declared that only themselves were in the hovels, no lords or great men. Sir Robert the Boyd had been here, yes-but that was four days back.

He had sworn them to secrecy and had bade them gather driftwood for a great fire. On the beach. Not to be lit until he returned.

But he had not returned.

“Not returned, man?” the King burst in.

“What do you mean?

You lit the fire, lacking him?”

“No, lord. The fire is not lit. We await Sir Robert. As he said…”

“But-by the Rude! The fire was lit. That is why we arc here. It was a signal.”

“No, lord. Saving your lordship’s presence. The fire is not yet lit.

The wood still there. Down below the cliff …”

“Dear God! Then the fire we saw last night…?”

“Not here, sir. That would be the alehouse up at Shanter. Some drunken English soldier set it afire. Last night. Two of them died in it, they say. And Mother MacWhannel herself. God rest her soul! A great blaze …”

“Christ’s mercy! We have come then on a wild-goose chase!” Edward cried.

“A burning alehouse!”

Appalled, they stared at each other in the darkness.

“Thank God we have learned it in time, at least!” Lennox said, “We can return to Arran, and little harm done.”

“Oh, no …!” That was young James Douglas.

“There speaks a lily-liver. A craven!” Edward accused.

“We have not come all this way to turn back now.”

“My lord …!”

“My friends-peace!” Bruce intervened.

“Here is matter for better debate than this. My lord of Lennox may be wise. We have made a grave mistake, it seems …”

“You would not turn tail?” his brother demanded, incredulously.

“We have successfully landed. Unopposed. Is that not the great thing…?”

“It is important. But there are greater things. Robert Boyd is the most experienced campaigner we have. And an Ayr man. That is why I sent him. He was to light his fire if he deemed conditions at all possible for our invasion. It seems that he has not done so. Therefore must we not believe that he deems the venture impossible? Or too dangerous?”

“He may be captured, Sire. Or dead,” Hay put in.

“It may be. Does that aid our decision?”

“Save us-we cannot turn back now!” Edward insisted.

“Without so much as a sight of the enemy. That will not win back your, kingdom for yon!”

“I have so far shown the Scots people only defeat and disaster, My first attempt in this new campaign must be successful. Or at least no defeat. Or my cause is the worse served, greatly the worse.”

“Yet, if we go back to Arran now, Sire, with no blow struck, is not your case equally hurt? When it becomes known.” That was Neil Campbell. “I would not turn back to Arran. Not now. I would sail south.

To Loch Ryan. To join my brothers in Galloway. But …” The King paused. He turned to the fishermen.

“Have you any notion a% to how many is the English garrison at Turnberry?”

“Many, lord. Many.”

“Aye, man-but how many? Are they in scores? Or hundreds?

Or many hundreds? Only a mile away. Surely you have some notion.”

”Hundreds, sir. Many hundreds. I do not know. Four, five hundred it

may be. So many they cannot mostly lodge in the castle.

They fill every house in the Castleton. As in the Kirkton. In the kirk itself. And the mills and farm-towns around. So many.”

“They are scattered, then? Lodged separate? In groups.

Apart.”

“Aye, lord. They needs must.”

“And their masters? The knights and captains? Where are they?”

“Where but in the castle, sir. Where lords and knights would bide.

With the great lord, the Percy …”

“Percy!” Bruce actually gripped the speaker’s arm.