Nigel Tranter - The Path of the Hero King

Bruce divided his party seventy-thirty this time. With only a third of the former manpower, he could not afford any close-knit outer cordon. Instead, the outside thirty were set to watch windows and doors for possible escapers. The seventy should be sufficient for what was required within.

“Your permission, Sire, to lead the killers,” Douglas requested formally.

“Not so, Sir James. This is my part. You will command out here.” The stiffness went out of Bruce’s voice.

“Though, God knows, I but go in with them-do not lead them. Since they know the task better than I do.”

Accordingly the King did not announce his heading of the pursuit, but merely slipped in amongst the last of the party of thirty or so entering the mal tings drawing his dirk like the rest. He did not know whether or not to wish for some return of the former animal elation that had swept the company after the first bloodletting.

Inside the building it was very dark, making even the outside mirk seem light. At first Bruce could distinguish nothing. But the Moidartach appeared to have cats’ eyes, and moved with entire confidence. Before he began to achieve any real vision, however, he became aware that the Highlandmen were all in fact hurrying past and up a stairway, unseen but sensed, ahead. Making after them, he blundered into a stand of tall yew bows, which he saved from falling with a clatter only by a desperate effort. Evidently this was indeed an archers’ billet, and they used the basement only for then equipment.

A choking, gurgling noise from above indicated that the slaughter had begun. It was followed by a scream quickly muffled. There, after the sounds were more like those of many dogs worrying rats.

The Islesmen used their plaids to smother their victims at the same time as they stabbed and slashed. Reluctantly the King forced himself to climb those stairs.

He was only part way up when the sort of general scuffling above was punctuated by a sudden scrambling and slipping, involved with bitten-off Gaelic cursing. Swift movement, the padding of bare feet, heralded a running man at the st airhead The merest hint of light came from a window up there, and against it Bruce was able to make out a figure, evidently dressed only in a shirt. This came hurtling down upon him in panting panic.

The King acted without hesitation, almost without thought Throwing himself in the path of the escapee, he grabbed the man with an encircling left arm-the formerly damaged arm, now healed-and in the same movement raised the drawn dirk and plunged it deep into the other’s breast. As the shocked gasp began to rise to a shriek, he released his grip on the dagger and raised the hand to clamp it over the open mouth. He was vaguely aware of teeth sinking into his flesh as the man slid down within his grasp and thereafter to the steps. He wrenched his hand free, and his victim rolled away bumping down the stairs.

A little unsteadily Bruce went after him. It was only the second time in his life that he had used a dirk on a man, many as had been his sword-thrusts- and that other had been John Comyn at the Dumfries altar, the deed that came between him and his sleep. The Englishman was twitching and making strange snoring noises, and the King knew that he ought to cut the throat, as his minions above were doing, but jibbed at it. He waited there, instead, retrieving his dirk, for other possible attempts at escape.

None developed. The first Highlandman down the stairs made short work of the King’s victim, without any request. The brewery was won, without casualty to the attackers.

Bruce remained lacking in elation, as they pressed on towards the kennels and falcon-yard, a little way south of the castle walls and ditches.

He had been concerned about this last assault, leaving it late, for

here had been kept his pack of hunting-hounds, and a great hullabaloo

and outcry was possible. But not so much as a single sounded as they

approached, and it looked as though Percy had dispensed with the

brutes, or at least kept them elsewhere. This time, the King allowed

Douglas to go in with the attackers to the silent, unlighted square of

low buildings, without demur. It was soon over, here, with the

smallest number of deepen so far, mainly cooks, grooms and servants apparently. James Douglas looked stiff and, somehow, even in the darkness, gave the impression of being very pale, as he came out He made no comment to Bruce-who indeed sought none.

The programme now called for a return to the Kirkton, and a united assault upon it, with time in hand. But well before the King’s party reached the hamlet they heard noise therefrom, which grew to uproar.

“A plague on it-they are roused! That is an attack,” Bruce exclaimed.

“Whose folly is this…?”

He had no need to ask that, of course. Lennox was not the sort to initiate assaults, out of turn or otherwise. This would be Edward Bruce demonstrating his independence.

At the run now, the King led his men on, with the din ahead continuing. One of the Islesmen’s leaders presently tugged at the royal sleeve, to point away to the left, where he declared two figures had shown briefly, fleeing in the other direction. Even as he spoke, someone else called out that he had seen a man running off on their right.

“Damnation!” Bruce cried.

“Escapers. These will warn the Castleton. The castle itself. Edward is a headstrong fool!” He ordered some of the Moidartach to race after the fleeing men from the Kirkton, to try to prevent them giving the alarm elsewhere.

At least, it meant presumably that Edward’s people were winning in their premature attack. The noise was gradually lessening.

This reading of the situation was confirmed as they came to the Kirkton. There was a certain amount of moaning, and screaming of women, with many dark shapes lying around, but the fighting appeared to be over. The houses clustered round a grassy mound, on the summit of which the church stood, a notable landmark. It was up there that any remaining activity seemed to be concentrated.

Hurrying up the hill, Bruce found his brother inside the church itself which apparently had been used as one more barracks. All seemed to be over here too, though the number of bodies lying scattered amongst the gravestones indicated that it had been a fight, not a massacre of slumberers.

“My lord of Carrick-a word with you,” the King called sternly.

“Over here.”

“Ha-is that you, Rob? You came too late. It is all by with. Hot while it lasted. But more sport than knifing sleepers!”

“We are not here for sport,” the other snapped. He jerked his head.

“Those women skirling? More sport?”

“You would not grudge our cater ans a little play, man…?”

“By the Rude, I would! Any women here are villagers. Our own people. Moreover, they are my subjects. Mine. I have come to free them, not to savage them. Jamie-see you to it. With your sword, if need be. Quickly.” He turned back to his brother.

“As for you, Edward, you are a fool. Witless! And worse. You have disobeyed my commands. I told you to await me here. For a joint attack. I told you plainly…”

“Save us, Rob-what’s to do? We finished these other two billets quickly. They were no trouble. Arrived here early. Why wait, when I could take the place? Save time?”

“Because I said to wait.”

“God in Heaven-I am not a child! Think you I need your guidance, Rob, for all I do …?”

“Enough, my lord! It is the King who speaks-not Rob Bruce!

When I give my royal command you, as all others, will obey. Mind it, hereafter. You have like as not made ruin of this night’s work.

You had not sufficient men to surround all this village. You have taken it, yes. But some escaped. To warn others. We saw them.

They will warn the Castleton. Percy himself, in the castle, it may be. Percy still has men enough to destroy us, probably. Armour Horsed knights. Men-at-arms. You may have won me this Kirkton, but you are like to have lost me the night!”