Nigel Tranter - The Path of the Hero King

At any rate, the Comyn line broke well before the loyalist foot reached

the scene of battle-and once broken, Buchan himself was one of the

first to be off. With Edward Bruce most evidently trying to hack his

way through the press to him directly, he disengaged, leapt down from

his heavy charger, grabbed a fleeter riderless mount, and clambered into the saddle with remarkable agility for a man of his years and bulk, in massive armour. He galloped off northwards. Many perceived it, and followed him-though Brechin and Moubray, scorning such behaviour, continued the fight.

But with the arrival of Hay and Fraser with the infantry, obviously it was all over. Most of the remaining armoured knights managed to draw together into a small, compact and fiercely effective phalanx, and so cut their way out and back. Had Bruce himself been in any state for serious fighting, it is probable that none would have escaped. But he was not, keeping upright in his saddle being his main preoccupation now; and Edward was of course in hot pursuit of the fleeing Buchan, despite the swiftly falling darkness.

Enough was enough, the King decided-especially with Christina MacRuarie at his elbow vigorously proclaiming the fact. The day was won, and with minimum loss. It was becoming too dark for effective tactics anyway, or any major pursuit. He ordered Irvine to sound the recall. Edward would pay no heed even if he heard it.

So leaving Hay, Campbell and the Fraser brothers to deal with the wounded, the prisoners and the battlefield generally, the King, with Christina and Lennox, not un thankfully returned to ride the few miles back to Inverurie, his couch drawing him now, in reaction, like a magnet.

It was late evening before Edward of Carrick returned, having pursued Buchan all the way to Fyvie, almost ten miles to the north, where there was a strong castle held by the English. He was hot that the victory had not been properly followed up-and since he could scarcely blame the King, he blamed Lennox and Campbell instead, the former in especial, who, he pointed out, had been fresh and with scarcely opportunity to draw sword.

His brother, sighing, called him over to his couch.

“Edward,” he said, low-voiced, for in that small chamber all might have heard.

“You lack nothing in courage. And you are a good commander of light cavalry-few better. But let us pray God that my life is spared to me! For as King of Scots in my place you would not survive a month! Of a mercy, use your wits, man! Command, leadership, rule, demand more than throwing yourself at the nearest enemy like a bull, and berating all others for not doing likewise!

You must have friends as well as defeated foes. Remember it, I charge you-for I need friends if you do not!”

That night Bruce was not content to be cherished and mothered his cot-house bed. Later, after the man was asleep, Christina, beside him, lay and gazed up at the smoke-blackened but fire lit roofing, and she frowned as often as she smiled.

Chapter Twelve

“Men “ declared Christina MacRuarie, “are all fools! Greater or lesser in degree, but all fools. Even kings, it seems! And never so great fools as where women are concerned.”

Robert Bruce kept his back turned, and wisely forbore to answer.

“You are the great ones. Under heaven, you rule all! All save your own silly wits. How think you would manage without women?”

“More quietly, at the least,” the King said, and sighed.

He was gazing out of the window of his bedchamber, which was in fact the sub-Prior’s room of the Blackfriars’ Priory of Aberdeen, looking pensively northwards towards the Castlehill and the towering walls of Aberdeen’s fortress, still held by a strong though beleaguered garrison of Englishmen. He was not really thinking, at the moment, about that symbol of the enemy’s unrelenting grip upon his kingdom-although it, and so many others like it, was a constant preoccupation, a challenge, which one day would have to be faced and dealt with; but not yet; he was not ready for the expensive and time-consuming business of reducing major fortresses.

His mind was more immediately concerned with the projected programme for that very afternoon of early April-if only the woman would be quiet and let him think.

But Christina was in no mood for quiet contemplation. She had a

grievance. And a woman with a grievance is no aid to cerebration

* especially one so masterful as the Lady of Garmoran.

“Am I not just as entitled to sit at your Council as any man?”

she demanded, not for the first time.

“I have supplied you with men and aid and shelter. I know as much of affairs in these parts as do any of your lords. I have given you better advice than most. I have even been at your side in battle. What do I lack for a seat at this Council-table? Tell me, Robert-what do I lack? Other than proud and arrogant manhood. And … and its dangling equipment!”

He smoothed hand over mouth, at that, lest she saw the grin reflected in the window-glass.

“Nothing,” he admitted.

“That only.

Manhood. And you have other equipment that more than compensates, my

dear! But, sec you-that is the nub of it, as I have told you. Because you are a woman the others would resent your presence. At a Privy Council. Never, I think, has any woman attended such-even a queen. I know their minds on this. They like you well, admire you. Edward indeed would bed you if he might, as you know! But a Council is men’s business …”

“A Council is for counsel. And I can give better counsel than who will sit there. Than wit lings like Gilbert Hay. Clerks like the Bishop of Moray. Nice fumblers like Lennox. Or fat lowborn burghers like this Provost of Aberdeen-a fellmonger, a tanner of hides!”

“Then give your counsel here, Christina. In my own ear. Always you have my privy ear. You can reach me when and where the others can not…”

“That is naught to the point, and you know it. This Council is for debate. Discussion. Hearing the word and advice of others, and to make comment, support, or discover error. For that I must be there. You are to discuss Angus of the Isles’ plan to invade Lorn and Argyll. My lands flank Lorn to the north. Think you I do not know more of this matter than your Southrons? You will talk of a campaign against Ross. I and my clan have been fighting Ross for many years …”

“Christina-all that is true. And your guidance I shall value. As I have done hereto. But a woman at my first true Privy Council I cannot have. I know my fellow-men. This Council is allimportant.

Aberdeen is the first city in all my realm to fall into my hands-even though its castle still holds out. All the kingdom will hear what is done and said today. I have taken much thought to the style of it…”

“The more reason that a woman’s voice should be heard. And be known to be heard. Abroad. Are not half your subjects women?”

A discreet knock sounded at the door-for which Bruce was decidedly grateful. He strode to open it, to find there young William Irvine, son of the Annandale laird of Bonshaw, who had joined him as esquire and armour-bearer after Glen Trool, relieving Gibbie Hay of certain such duties.

“Your Grace-my lord Bishop of Dunblane is new come. And seeks audience. He is below, in the chapter-house.”

“Ha! Nicholas Balmyle? Here, in Aberdeen! Yes, he shall have audience. I will be down to the chapter-house forthwith.”

Bruce turned back, to complete his dressing, belting the cloth-of gold tunic with the splendid embroidered scarlet Lion Rampant of Scotland, and donning the purple cloak trimmed with fur, which was the gift of the citizens of Aberdeen. He was to be very fine today, part of the stage-managing of this his first real Privy Council wherein he planned to act the monarch rather than just the soldier. Much would depend on this afternoon, and he was at least concerned to look the part. He had once, it seemed in another life, been something of a dandy in his dress, little as more recent appearances would have suggested it.