Nigel Tranter - The Path of the Hero King

At the long refectory table of Aberdeen’s Blackfriars Priory, the first Council of the reign sat in session. Bruce was at the head and his brother at the foot, and between them at either side were about a score of men, the King’s close companions with an assortment of others, carefully chosen; Angus of the Isles, who had come from containing MacDougall in the West; the Bishop of Moray, ridden south especially for the occasion, leaving his force to watch the Comyns in the North;

their host, the Prior of this establishment; and the Provost of the

Burgh of Aberdeen, a man much overawed by the company he was keeping. A notable absentee was Bishop Cheyne of Aberdeen, a Comyn nominee and supporter. The new Bishop of Dunblane sat near the King, and on his other side, at a small table of his own, Master Bernard sat with ink-horn, quills and paper.

Edward Bruce was holding forth, urgently, thumping the table in no council-chamber manner. “… And so first things first, I say!

Let the Lord of Argyll and his MacDougalls wait, I say. We will deal with them in due time. They will do but little harm in the West, meantime. With Campbell to the south of them, the Lady of Garmoran to the north, and my lord of the Isles to the west, surely they do not threaten us unduly?” He glanced fleetingly at Angus Og.

“Whereas, I tell you, the Comyns do! Still they do. Their defeat at Barra was not properly followed up. It hit their pride but left them but little diminished. My later defeat of Buchan at Aiky Brae, to the north, was more complete, with more men slain. But it was still only the remnants from Barra. The Comyn power is still scarce touched. And it is the greatest power in Scotland today, even yet. Their castles of Dundarg, Slains, Kinedar, Rattray, Kelly and Ellon -and these are only the great ones-control the country. The English, I say, are less menace than the Comyns, since they are more scattered and have to hold down the countryside.

The Comyns have their force here concentrated, in Buchan and Moray and Badenoch. They must be dealt with first, and at once.”

There was a murmur of agreement from the majority of those present.

“I support my lord of Carrick, Sire,” Bishop David of Moray said, an unlikely-looking cleric, the church-militant indeed.

“You say that you have word that the Earl of Buchan has fled into England.

That may be good-or not so good. He is no longer young and they say he is ailing. A disappointed man. He has not led the Comyns with the fire and thrust of the late Lord of Badenoch, his kinsman. Now, if he is gone, another may take his place. In the leadership of the Comyns. He has a brother, Sir Alexander-he who holds the castles of Urquhart and Tarradale. And many cousins, fiercer even than he. I know them. I have lived my life amongst them. They are smarting now, from Your Grace’s blows.

But they are far from defeated. They could raise 8,000 against you, Sire. Perhaps 10,000, given opportunity. And they will, if you let them. We must strike them before they mink to act without Buchan’s palsied hand.”

“The Bishop fears for his own fat Moray lands, I dunk!” Angus Og declared “These Comyns are licking their wounds. They may be all these lords say. But they have been twice beat, and will not seek another beating meantime, for a wager. But MacDougall has not been beaten. The old man, Alexander, son of Ewan, son of Duncan, son of Dougall, is also ailing, like this Buchan. But his son a not. I know John Bacach of Lorn-alter ill, we are kin. His mother was a Comyn, Badenoch’s sister. He loves you less than does his father, Sir King. And he is strong. Strong as a man, and strong in men. These talk of 10,000 Comyns. I shall believe that number when I see them! But John of Lorn can field 5,000 broadswords at a snap of his fingers! And you learned their quality at Strathfillan, did you not? I have been fencing with them these past months, keeping your left flank. I believe John Bacach MacDougall is finished with fencing. That is why I am here. I say you must deal with him before all else.”

“I agree with my lord of the Isles,” Neil Campbell put in.

“The Comyns may still prove a threat. But John of Lorn is a threat now!”

“I think that true, Sire,” Lennox nodded.

“The MacDougalls have allies right down the West-as you learned to your cost.

Macnabs, Macfarlanes, MacLarens, MacMillans, MacAlisters. I know John of Lorn also. He is a different man from his father-and it is he we have to deal with now. If my lord of the Isles believes him set on battle, he could set all the West on fire, right down to the Clyde. And then the SouthWest lies open before him. With only young Douglas holding it…”

“The West! The West!” Edward interrupted scornfully.

“These lords are all from the Highland West, brother. MacDougall is a rogue and a traitor, and must be taught his lesson, yes. But his thousands are but Highland sworders. Good at a tulzie, yes. I ask none better in an ambush or a night’s raiding. But the Comyn’s main might is in armoured horse. Cavalry. Such as win wars, not tulzies!”

The King opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. This was a Council and he was here to be advised. He would let them have their say. He nodded encouragement to Aberdeen’s portly, red-faced Provost, sitting on the edge of his chair and evidently eager to speak but diffident in the presence of all these great nobles and bishops.

“Your royal Grace,” he began hoarsely, and faltered, looking round the table.

“If it may please Your Highness, I… I would say a word.”

“You have our ear, friend. Say on.”

“Aye, weel. This town o’ Aberdeen. It has welcomed Your

Highnessright kindly, has it no? Right kindly. The folk favour you.

But you ha vena taken the castle. It’s stuff it full o’ Englishry yet. It’s ower strong to be taken. And it can be supplied frae the sea. We canna stop that, for it glowers ower the harbour. And the English hac ships at Dundee. So, Highness, by your leave, I’d say dinna go stravaiging through to the West after thae wild Hielantmen and leave us to the mercy o’ the Comyns and the English bai th Or it’ll be the end o’ us. Buchan is no’ that far awa’but twenty miles. If you dinna put doon the Comyns first, they’ll be doon here chapping at our doors afore you’re across the Mounth! And the English frae the castle in our backyards And Your Highness will hac lost Aberdeen.

And we … we’ll hac lost mair’n that!”

“Well said, Sir Provost. Your point is taken. I shall not forget Aberdeen and its good folk, never fear. Do any others wish to speak further to this matter?”

“Sir King,” Angus Og said, “Malcolm of Lennox spoke of John MacDougall threatening the SouthWest. I say that he is more like to turn north. I have the word that he has been sending messengers to William of Ross.

They were ever un friends until this. But since neither love you…”

“The Earl of Ross!” Bruce’s voice actually quivered, with the fierce effort of suppressing the flood of emotion that name aroused in him the man who had taken his wife and daughter from the sanctuary at Tain, to hand over to the English.

“He … he … MacDougall joins hands with Ross?”

“So goes the word in the West. Any day now the high passes will be open, the snows gone and the floods subsided. Then, I think, John of Lorn will turn northeast, not southwest, to join up with Ross. And then, Sir King, you will be faced with trouble enough for any man!”

A shaken silence greeted his words. He did not have to underline the size of the threat for any man there. The Earl of Ross was second only to the Lord of the Isles himself in power in the North West. The third most powerful man was MacDougall of Lorn. Ally these two in a joint campaign, throwing in their whole might, and there was nothing north of the Highland Line that could withstand them. Even Edward Bruce, for once, made no comment His brother drummed finger-tips on the table.