Nigel Tranter - The Path of the Hero King

He clearly held the third man by the shoulder-and that man kept his hands behind his back in unnatural fashion, probably tied there. He could be seen to be wearing the short philabeg of the Highlands. Some others of the newcomers have moved a little way out from the trees. Bruce could distinguish only one horse. And no helmets gleamed in the moonlight.

The watcher deduced much from what he saw-and recognised more immediate danger than he had anticipated. These were no English soldiers. Probably Galloway men, under a tall chief. And they had a captive Highlander, which meant probably that they had ambushed Boyd’s little party and taken at least this one prisoner.

And here was the menace of it-this man would know the secret of this ford.

At the waterside it was obvious that the captive was indeed

demonstrating the route across-no doubt it was the price of the poor

devil’s life. The newcomers would be all across the ford long before

Bruce’s people could arrive. How many they might be he could not

tell. But they must be delayed, if at all possible. Nowhere “ else was there such an advantageous place to hold up an enemy.

The King raised hand to mouth.

“Ho, there!” he shouted.

“Stand you! Who comes? Like robbers in the night?”

There was a startled pause. Then a voice answered.

“I am Roland MacDouall of Logan. Brother to Sir Dugald MacDouall, Who challenges MacDouall in these hills?”

A wave of cold fury came over Robert Bruce at the mention of that hated name. Here was the brother of the man who had delivered up Tom and Alex to shameful death. Come seeking hint, now!

“Robert Bruce challenges you, traitor!” he called back, voice quivering.

“The King of Scots. You have come to judgement!”

Again there was a pause, no doubt of surprise-as well there might be, at that answer. The Gallovidians would not, could not, know that he was alone, of course; but they could probably see that no large party awaited them.

No words replied, at any rate. For answer the big man turned with his prisoner and hurried back to the others. There, after a few words to his followers, he mounted the horse, and with two others now gripping the Islesman prisoner, led the way down to the ford, sword drawn. A great surge of men streamed after them, on foot-more than the watcher had anticipated.

The most elementary discretion decreed that Bruce retire hastily after Hay: But he was in no mood for discretion. Longstrided, he went down the bank to the burn again.

“Come, MacDouall!” he cried.

“Come pay for my brothers’ blood!”

King and horseman reached the water’s edge at the same moment, ten yards apart. Bruce had tossed away his plaid, to free his arms. Even in that twilight he could have looked little the monarch.

MacDouall, with the hound-leader to guide him to the exact crossing-place, rode straight in. Bruce, a little downstream because of the dog’s-leg bend in the underwater rock formation, went to meet him. A yard or so short of the actual bend, he halted, the cold water swirling about his knees.

The other was no fool, and the seeming confidence of the single royal defender would give him pause. He had undoubtedly been told of the narrowness of the causeway, and the fierceness of the torrent was obvious. In swordery the mounted man should have the advantage; but if he had no room to manoeuvre and so must make a direct frontal attack, his advantage was much reduced. And no horse is at its best in rushing water.

The chieftain made a hasty reappraisal. He pulled up, switched the sword to his left hand, whipped the short lance that flew his pennon from its socket at the back of his saddle, and almost in the same swift movement hurled it at his opponent.

Bruce, the moment he saw that transfer of the sword, guessed what was coming. He both dodged and ducked, but he had little more room for any change of stance than had the horseman. He all but overbalanced, his left foot actually slipping off the rocky platform.

Staggering, he remained approximately upright only by a fierce effort and the use of his sword dug down as support. The spear-like lance-tip ripped along his right arm, tearing open his doublet sleeve, its pennon actually flicking across his face. With a yell, MacDouall spurred forward.

Bruce had only moments. Though still teetering unsteadily, he twisted round and, following the other’s example, grasped his sword-hilt with his left hand. The lance had plunged into the water, and the current had swung its shaft round against his right leg. Quick as thought he stooped to grab it up and, raising it high, hurled it back-although the effort nearly overturned him again.

He would have had less excuse, even so, for missing his mark than had MacDouall; for it was at the horse that he aimed, and the beast was no more than eight or ten feet from him. The lance-point took the creature in the neck, full in the soft of the gullet, and drove in deep.

With a gasping, bubbling whinny, the brute rose high on its hind legs, spouting blood, forefeet beating the air. Sidestepping away to its left, it toppled over the edge of the causeway into deep water, in thrashing ruin.

MacDouall just managed to throw himself out of the saddle in time. But because of the way his mount collapsed, his leap to clear himself from whose lashing hooves brought him down just beyond the causeway, at the other, downstream, side. Desperately he clutched down at the slippery rock for a grip, in the rushing torrent, weapon relinquished.

Bruce did not hesitate in any chivalric gesture. Sword back in his right hand, he brought it down with all his force on his attacker, where neck joined trunk. MacDouall’s scream choked away to swift silence as his head went under, and the dark current swept him away.

The mass of the enemy had held back at the burnside, while their

mounted leader opened the attack. Now, with yells of rage, they came

on, struggling with each other as to who should be first, unaware of

the full hazards of the crossing, its slippery narrowness. Quickly

they became better Informed, as, right and left, men fell or toppled or were pushed into deep water. There was an interval of complete chaos before the situation became clear, with Bruce, in mocking shouted invitation, urging them on.

Somebody did take charge, ordering all back, and to advance again only two at a time, shoulder to shoulder. So they came on in a long line, not a broad front, feeling their way with their brogans” toes, out towards the defiant lonely figure in midstream.

There a situation had developed calculated both to aid and to hinder them. The horse in its death throes had got itself held across the causeway, its heavy saddle presumably having caught against the upstream edge of the rock. So that there it lay stranded, mostly under water, flailing and churning the stream in foam and spray.

It made it fairly obvious just where the bend in the passage lay; but on the other hand it constituted a distinct barrier for men to advance past.

Bruce did not fail to perceive this last, and moved up as close as he dared to the obstacle.

The first pair reached the other side of the animal, yelling their hate. It is possible that they might have preferred a more wary approach, but they were pressed on by those behind. The leader sought to engage the King with his sword, over the horse’s body, while his colleague scrambled past. Bruce acquiesced in this long’ arm sword-play- but when the climber was almost over, drew swiftly back, and turning, ran the man through with the greatest of ease, heaving his sprawling person off downstream, before returning to the sparring.

Another man quickly took the casualty’s place; and now, with the horse’s struggles dying away, the first swordsman and self appointed leader pressed closer, to give the climber better support But not good enough yet, for no man could effectively get himself over a largely submerged horse in a swift-running torrent and engage someone standing behind it with his sword at the same time. The moment when he must ease himself down, to find a foothold again on the slippery stone beneath, was vital-or fatal. Bruce let this individual get exactly so far, them stepped back, and with a backhand slash sent him sprawling after his predecessor.