Nigel Tranter - The Path of the Hero King

“She might have thanked you for it now, nevertheless! And your daughter? How is it with her?”

“I do not know. She was held, alone, cut off from all, in London Tower. But Lamberton, though prisoner himself,-has some small credit with the new King. He said that he would seek his mercy on the child. I pray God for her, daily. For them both …”

“Yes, yes.” Again the soothings.

“This other Edward is not the mad tyrant that his father was. He will be kinder to a child. Your Marjory will be none the worse-for children throw off these hurts more readily than we fear. It is not good-but all might be worse, see you. One day the sun will shine again for them. And for you.”

She settled herself more comfortably, stroking the back of his head.

“But now, rest you. Sleep. Is the itch troubling you?”

“Aye. But not as it was. I can thole that. It is the itch in my

mind that irks me most. So much to be done, while I lie here

helpless”

“Never fear but we will put that to rights. We have made a start to it. You are not shuddering and trembling now, at least You are no longer cold, Robert?”

“I am not. But I cannot forget those who are. My sister Mary.

And Isobel of Buchan. In their cages on Berwick and Roxburgh walls. In this winter cold. For my fault. I dream of them, hanging there. Weak women …”

“Women, I vow, will survive the like better than most men,” she asserted.

“We are none so fragile a tribe! But think no more of it now. Be at peace. Sleep.”

But he had to get it out, now that he had someone to tell, someone with whom he did not have to maintain a pose of royal reserve and confidence. He poured it out, all the bottled-up agitation and concern which had been racking his mind as he lay helpless. He told her of the nagging guilt of his brothers’ deaths; his fears of his surviving brother Edward’s headstrong violence, excellent cavalry commander as he was; his disappointment that still no great men and no really large numbers were rallying to his banner-even the powerful Lennox had only been able to gather his paltry 200. He had money to purchase support, thanks to the Church-but still men held back. He told her of his fears that young James Douglas, in whose care he had left the SouthWest, would not be experienced enough, or strong enough, to hold it. He told of his own recurring doubts and near despair-but thereafter was moved to speak of the spider in the Galloway cave, his desperate resolve, his vow one day to go on a Crusade if only victory was granted him.

The woman listened without further chiding, perceiving his need. And presently something of the urgency went out of his voice, and pauses developed that grew more frequent and longer.

At length he slept.

And after a while Christina of Garmoran gently eased herself away from the man’s side and slipped from the bed. She covered him again need fully and for a few moments stood there, warmly naked in the dying firelight, considering him, before betaking herself to the couch she had made near by.

There was no doubt that Christina’s arrival and ministrations were good for Bruce. In two days, indeed, she was having to change her attitude and urge care, restraint, when he sought to be on his feet again. Admittedly, while she was out of the cottage and he did venture over the side, it was to find himself a deal weaker than he had realised, light-headed and unsteady on his legs; so that he was safely back between the plaids when Christina returned. But even go this was a major advance, of the spirit more than of the body-though the itch was undoubtedly much lessened by the bathings, the red patches less angry, the shivering gone.

Oddly enough it was his brother Edward who was responsible for effecting the major cure. He came clattering into the Milton of Uric two afternoons after Christina’s arrival, all shouts and clashing steel, demanding were they all asleep here, all sick men abed?

Buchan was upon them, in force. Had it not been for him, Edward of Carrick, they would all be dead men, not sleeping, by now.

Etcetera.

This brought Bruce out of his bed and reaching for his clothing, demanding details.

“What do you mean? Have you clashed with Buchan? The earl himself? Hereabouts? In what force? Where is he now?” All weakness was for the moment forgotten.

“Not Buchan himself, no. It was Brechin. Our nephew Sir David de Brechin, one of his captains. But Buchan himself is not far off.

At Oldmeldrum, they say …”

“They say! They say! Who says? Fact, man-I want fact!” The King was transformed, vehement, commanding again, with so little of the invalid about him that even Christina was astonished.

“Oldmeldrum is but five miles away. Where is David de Brechin? Talk sense, my lord!”

Edward seemed about to expostulate, but a look at his brother’s face changed his mind.

“Brechin is now running. Back to Oldmeldrum no doubt Like a whipped cur. I taught him his lesson-but not before he had wiped out your picket to the east, on the Bourtie heights. Making here from Udny, I found our dead near yon cairn on the Bourtie ridge. They had been surprised and cut down to a man. De Brechin, with about 200 men, was in the low ground making for the Souterford and here, when I reached him. He has not half 200 now!”

“The enemy so near? Dear God! Sir Gilbert-what of your sentinels?

What means this, sir?”

Hay flushed.

“I am sorry, Sire. I have heard nothing of it. No word has been sent to me. Of enemy approach. I have sentinels posted, scouts out, all around. But…”

“Aye! I have lain too long, by the Rude! When my foes can ride within a mile of me, and I know naught of it!”

The Lord of Erroll bit his lip, but said nothing.

Bruce whipped back to his brother.

“Speak on,” he jerked.

“And tell it as it happened. But shortly.”

Edward explained. He had been returning from his harrying of the low

coast lands of Fonnartin, on the edge of Comyn territory, with his 350 men, when his scouts learned that the Earl of Buchan himself, with a large force, was marching south-by-west from the heartlands of Buchan towards Inverurie. The scouts could not tell numbers, but it was thousands rather than hundreds-too many for him to challenge. So he had made all haste here, but sent back men to find the enemy host, and report. Then, only an hour or so ago, he had come on the slain Bourtie outpost, and then on the advancing de Brechin -his banner and arms clear. He had managed to trap him against a bluff and a curve of the river. Brechin had managed to cut his own way out, with some few of his people, but left most behind him. He, Edward, had taken no prisoners-but before they died, one or two of the Comyns had said that Buchan was positioned on the south face of Barra Hill, just south of Oldmeldrum, with many men, one said 2,000, another 3000.

“So! Buchan would cross swords with me. In person! Perhaps he had word that I was sick. Well, I shall not disappoint the High Constable of this my kingdom!” Bruce produced a smile, grim but the first for long enough.

“You have done well, Edward. I thank you. But whoever commands our sentinels on that east flank hangs tonight-if he is still alive then! Gibbie -you will see to it. But not now. You have much to do, first. We all have. Out, and sound the assembly. Christina-aid me on with my harness.”

“Robert-my lord King!” the Islewoman protested.

“This is not for you. A sick man, you cannot go riding to battle”

“I am no longer a sick man-thanks to you, woman! Besides, this has made me hale and sound. No medicine could have cured me as this news has done! I have four great enemies in Scotland, apart from the English invaders, four men who have earned my wrath more than all others-Buchan, the Earl of Ross, MacDougall of Lorn, and MacDouall of Galloway. One of them is now near, come seeking me. Think you I will fail him-or myself?”