Nigel Tranter - The Path of the Hero King

But he had gathered fewer troops on the way than he had hoped for. The English grip on the centre of the land was strong, with all the great fortresses in their control, with large garrisons at Edinburgh, Glasgow, Stirling, Dunfermline and Dundee. It was no part of the King’s present intention to fight his way northwards county by county, and he and his small mixed force had had to go by devious ways, holding to the high ground, the marshes and empty areas and avoiding centres of population. This had produced very disappointing recruiting, and with a wet summer, very late harvest and winter approaching, the countrymen had shown little enthusiasm for military adventuring. The Lord of the Isles, disgusted, had been sent off on a parallel northerly course up the West Highland side of the land, to prevent any link-up between the forces of Buchan and MacDougall of Lorn, if possible. So, with only small contingents of men joining him in Perthshire and Angus, Bruce had come across Dee, to the Garioch and the start of the true Comyn country, with no more than 700 men-to find his lordship devastated and almost devoid of the manpower he had hoped to raise there. Few English were up here, but many Comyn bands. Fortunately, here Sir Alexander Fraser of Touch, and his brother had joined the royal array with 300 men; but even so it was a tiny force with which to face the Comyn country. But David, Bishop of Moray, had come south from the Black Isle of Ross to his own diocese of Moray, with a force of Orkneymen.

It had been to link up with him that Bruce had pushed on and on,

northwards, ill as he was. With Buchan himself keeping his distance at this stage, and Angus Og still not come over from the difficult mountainous terrain he had to traverse in the West, it had been only tip-and-run warfare hitherto, infuriatingly small-scale, time-wasting, with Edward Bruce making most of the running.

Of Bruce’s band of close companions, only Gilbert Hay remained here with him at Inverurie, captaining a mere 200 men.

Edward, fretting with impatience, had gone with the Frasers to show the King’s banner in the coastal areas of Formartin, north of Aberdeen, as much to try to coax Buchan out of his strongholds as anything else.

Neil Campbell had left them weeks ago, at Perth, with Angus Og, to slip

home to Argyll, to see what the MacDougalls might have done to his

patrimony there, and to try to return with a force of Campbells

* although he was scarcely hopeful in this, for a Highland chief who deserted his clan territories for a long period, as he had done, could seldom count on much loyal support. Boyd was away recruiting in West Garioch, and Robert Fleming sent ahead northwards to make contact with Bishop David.

How to deal with Buchan himself, of course, was the problem which most agitated Bruce’s fevered and at present ineffective mind. John Comyn, Earl of Buchan, in his person, his position and his influence represented the major Scottish threat to the King.

That other John Comyn, Lord of Badenoch, had left a young son, and his kinsman, the High Constable, had assumed guardianship, and with it leadership of the greatest family in the land, a family which could field thirty knights and some 10,000 men, without calling on all the many and powerful allies and connections, such as MacDougalls of Lorn, the Earl of Ross and all the many Baliol branches. He had cooperated with the English, even while hating Edward Longshanks who had so shamefully humiliated him at Stracathro years before; how much more so might he be expected to aid Edward of Carnarvon, of whom he was said to approve?

The King had made little headway in his bed-bound strategy, when there was a further knocking at the door. Once more Gilbert Hay stood there.

“Sire,” he said, “visitors.”

“No.”

“But these Your Grace will wish to see. I swear it.”

“Be off, man! Think you I do not know my own mind?”

Hay was pushed aside, and Neil Campbell entered the cold and shabby room.

“Lord, Sire-here’s a sorry business! I never thought to see you abed at this hour.”

The King eyed him sourly, and offered no welcome.

“This sickness-how bad is it? Your stomach is it?” the other demanded.

“Nothing that a flagon of uisge-be atha will not cure, I vow! Our good Highland spirits. Drive out these vapours, and make you a man again in short time. I have brought many flagons.”

“Fool!” Bruce snarled.

“Spare me your witless chatter, if that’s the style of it! I hope you have brought me more than liquor from Argyll, since you are come? How many men?”

“Four hundred. The most I could raise, in the time. More will follow. MacDougall has borne sorely on my lands, curse him! But I have brought you more than men and uisge-be atha Sire. From the West…”

The invalid was no longer listening to him, nor even looking at him. He was gazing past the man’s shoulder. Christina MacRuarie stood there, behind, smiling at him.

All his resolutions about non-movement and bodily control were forgotten, as he raised himself on an elbow, to stare.

“Christina!” he panted.

“You! How come you here?”

“With Sir Neil, as he says, my lord Robert. Grieving to see you so. I was in Lochaber, where I have lands, when I heard that Sir Neil was back on Lochaweside. I hastened there to gain news of Your Grace, learned that he was returning to your side, and prevailed on him to bring me with him.”

Bruce bit his lip.

“This is no place for a woman,” he muttered.

She looked around her, mouth turning down.

“Nor for a man!

Any man, least of all a King! More meet for cattle.” She came forward to the bedside.

“You are not displeased to see me, Robert?”

He gave a jerk to his head, a gesture which might have been variously interpreted, but did not speak.

“I am sorry indeed to find you in this state,” the woman went on.

“As well that I came, I think. It looks as though I am needed here!”

“I will be well enough. Shortly.”

“That we must ensure. But lying in this cold kennel will not help.”

Christina turned to Hay.

“Is this the best you can do for him, Sir Gilbert?”

“He … His Grace would have it so,” that unfortunate asserted.

“The castle is but a burned shell. The steward’s house likewise.

This mill is the only roofed house left in Inverurie …”

”The more reason for making better of it, sir. Not so much as a

fire.

Let him be,” Bruce intervened.

“I chose this place.”

“Then you must have lost your wits as well as your health!” she returned spiritedly.

“Any hovel of a cot-house, with a fire and a woman’s care, would be better than this. Are you grown men, or bairns?”

The King sank back on his couch, and turned his head away.

“I

would be alone,” he said.

“Yes-leave us alone,” the Isleswoman agreed promptly, “My lords-or your mercy, begone!”

The groan of protest from the bed was wasted on all. The two knightly cravens seized the opportunity to escape without delay.

The woman came round to the other side of the bed, to sit on it.

“What is your trouble, Robert?” she asked in a different voice.

“What has stricken you so? This is not the Robert Bruce I know.”

“How can I tell? Some fever. It struck me some weeks back.

Soon after Campbell left me. A weakening sickness. I am weak as a child. My joints ache. My skin burns. Yet I am cold, cold.”

She put her hand to his clammy brow.

“A fever, yes. How strange is your skin! Angry, broken.”

“Is it so all over. Chafing, scaling. It near drives me mad!”

“I have never seen the like. Poor Robert-it is a grievous thing.

But, ‘fore God, this is not the way to mend it! Lying (intended in this chill barrack.”