Nigel Tranter - The Path of the Hero King

His brother said nothing.

“Enough, then. Get your men assembled. And quickly. We move at once.

For the Castleton. With all speed.”

The Castleton of Tumberry, the main village which had grown up to serve the principal seat of the Carrick earls, lay less close to the castle itself than was usual-this because of the cliff-top position of the fortalice, with no sheltered or convenient area near by.

More than a quarter-mile southeast, and as far from the Kirkton, its village nestled amongst the trees of a shallow valley.

The Bruce brothers’ united company of 200 was left in no doubts but the Castleton had been warned. Lights were glowing and shouts sounding, as they approached; even a trumpet neighed shrilly on the night. That trumpet would be heard in the castle, without any doubt likewise.

Despite Bruce’s lecture to James Douglas, what followed was a much more

acceptable instalment of the night’s work than what had gone before,

though undeniably more expensive and less efficient. Men emerged from

all the houses of the Castleton. Indubitably many were more intent on

flight than fight, while not a few were still bemused by sleep or

drink, but none had left their arms behind them. Two hundred attackers

were insufficient to employ any surrounding tactics, and the resultant

battle, without any real line or focus, was incoherent in the extreme, no more than a confusion of individual tuss els and duels in the darkness, running fights with leadership and direction almost impossible on either side. What advantage there might be was with the attackers, with surprise and the night tending to fight for them;

but on the other hand, the assailed were fighting for their lives, and moreover had the feeling of the great castle’s support near by to sustain them. Neither side knew how many might be arrayed against them.

Bruce suddenly found himself alone, and engaging two men simultaneously, one armed with a halberd and the other with a short cavalry sword. His own longer blade dealt with the halberd effectively, shearing through the wood staff with a single great slash, and then cutting down the bereft wielder with a swift backhanded stroke. But this left him open to the other man’s stabbing rush, and he had to jump backwards and sideways urgently, blindly, to avoid the vicious thrust. There was an unevenness in the ground, only a group of tussocks but enough to send him sprawling -and with the recoil from his own swinging blow, he overbalanced and fell his length.

Possibly that fall saved him, for a stabbing thrust can be quickly extended and realigned. He fell away just in time from that darting point-and his opponent thereupon tripped headlong over the same obstacle and crashed to the ground likewise. Bruce was able to rise first, and though his sword had been jerked from his hand, he was able to whip out his more useful dirk. Still only on his knees, before the other got that far, the King drove his dagger between the bent shoulders.

This was his only contribution to the engagement, though, retrieving his blade, he went in search of further involvement. The fight was so scattered and fluid that he could find nobody he could usefully engage. And he was distracted by coming upon James Douglas standing leaning on his sword, dizzy from a knock on the head received from some sort of club-whose late owner lay near by. By the time that Bruce had ascertained that his young friend was not grievously injured, the battle was, if not over, at least in its final stages, with Highlandmen everywhere pursuing their fleeing foes.

Concerned lest his force become so scattered as to be out of his control, the King sounded the recall, on the fine curling horn of a Moidart bull which Christina had presented to him-even though this must be heard in the castle. It was that castle’s probable reactions that worried him now. Lights were showing from many of its lit windows, but no fighting or uproar was as yet apparent, from that direction.

When at least the majority of his force was reassembled -though with quite a number missing, either casualties or still chasing the fugitives-the King hurried them on towards the cliff-top castle itself. Halfway there they were met by one of Lennox’s men, sent to discover progress and to report that the castle was roused, but that so far its occupants had not attempted to sally forth.

Bruce pressed on, with the sea-wind, laced with sleet, in his face now. Presently he reached the narrows of a promontory crowned by the great soaring fortress which had been his birthplace. The cliffs here were not high, but the castle walls rose tall and sheer, occupying every inch of the mound’s summit. The only landward access was by the narrow neck of the promontory, across which the usual deep and wide ditch had been cut. Massed across this neck of land, just out of arrow-shot from the gatehouse tower, Lennox and Campbell waited, shivering, with their hundred men.

“Here’s a devilish cold vigil, Sire,” Lennox complained.

“They have made no move, no attempt to issue out, as yet. The drawbridge is part-lowered, in readiness. We can hear their horses’ hooves ringing in the courtyard. So they could ride out swiftly and are prepared. But all they have done is shoot a few arrows at us…”

“Percy will not know, in the dark, how many we are,” Campbell put in.

“He is a cautious man.”

“Have you men down on the shore?” the King demanded.

“There is a small jetty there. Boats. And a postern gate, with stairway down.” At the others’ silence, he frowned.

“You have not?

Damnation-then they may have already sent out men. By boat.

To gain information. To seek help.”

“I am sorry, Sire. We did not know …”

“The fault is mine, friends. I should have told you. It may be too late now…”

He directed a picket to make its way down to the beach, nevertheless.

And presently a man came hurrying back, with the word that they had been just in time to glimpse a boat pulling away from the little landing-stage under the cliff. Too late to halt it.

“A curse! So we are too late! Percy may be cautious, but he is no fool. He has got his messengers away.”

“What matters it?” Edward demanded.

“They will but learn, for him, that he has lost his men. All of them fur th of the castle, little joy in that, I say.”

”And I say that is the least of it. Think you that is all Percy will

have ordered? He will have sent for aid. Ayr is but a dozen miles, with its garrison. Irvine and Cumnock have garrisons likewise.

Even Maybole, five miles away. And there are a dozen castles, English-held, no farther. He could have a thousand men here soon after daylight-mounted, armoured men. What use our cater ans and their dirks, then?”

None offered an answer to that “I fear our shaft is shot. For this night,” Bruce decided.

“We cannot take this strength. And if I know Percy, he will not come out. He will wait there, secure, for reinforcement. And for daylight To see our strength. And that we can by no means afford.”

“We go, then?”

“Yes, we go. It must serve. We have struck a blow that all Scotland will hear of. My folk will know that their King is back!”

“We retire on the galleys, Sire?” Lennox asked.

“Back to Arran…?”

“Of a mercy-not that!” Edward protested.

“Not after this.

When we have made our landing, and struck the first blow.”

“No, not back to Arran,” his brother agreed.

“Or, not myself, nor most of you. You, my lord of Lennox, will take the boats, and a small company, to Arran. There to assemble and send on to me the more men that Angus Og and the Lady Christina will provide. The rest of us will make for our Ayrshire hills, around Loch Doon. Base ourselves there, near to Galloway. Make contact with my brothers.