Nigel Tranter: The Path of the Hero King

“Miss, yes. For me, life will be no more than an emptiness. And it may be long, long.”

“Not a day, not an hour, longer than needs must. That I promise you.”

“Must? Must? Robert-must indeed you do this? Must you go on with a hopeless struggle? You have tried and tried again. Why continue? Why not come north also? North indeed. Let us go to the North Isles. Together. To the Orcades. In your sister’s husband’s realm. Where none will assail us. Where we may live together in peace, you and I. Until a better day dawns. Edward of England is an old man, and sick. He will not live for very long. We are young, and can wait …” Her voice tailed away in a manner strange indeed for that strong-minded young woman.

The Bruce stared at her, closely. Never had he heard Elizabeth speak like this, the woman who had been his strength and stay, “Dear God,” he whispered.

“You ask that?”

Slowly she raised a troubled downcast gaze to meet his. And then her chin rose also, suddenly proud again.

“No!” she said.

“No, That was not I who spoke. Not Elizabeth de Burgh. Not your wife.

Not the Queen. Forget that it was said. Said by a tired and foolish woman, in sorrow for herself. Heed it not, Robert-but go and do your duty.”

He all but broke, then, more affected by her self-rebuke than by her pleas.

“My love, my sweet, my very own,” he said.

“It may be that you have the rights of it. Who knows? But … I took

the crown, for better or for worse. I swore to free and save this

realm, if it is within my power to do so. As yet, I have proved but a

sore king for Scotland. Two battles, and both shamefully lost.Neither were battles Both traps set by traitors, rather.” That was more like Elizabeth.

“Perhaps. But in both I was taken by surprise. And should not have been. I thought that I had learned my lesson, at Methven. But no. Many have died for my error. I set up advance and rear guards yes-but forgot that in these mountains that is not how war is fought. I must redeem myself, Elizabeth-not flee to safety.”

‘”Yes, I know it. Forgive me. But I hoped that, though the other women, and Marjory, went… that I might stay with you. For I am strong of body, and care nothing for discomforts of camp and field. But… I see that it cannot be. I will go to Kildrummy, with your daughter. Or if need be, to the Isles. And await you there.

There to assail the ears of all the saints in heaven continually, to watch over and preserve you, and bring you back to me!”

“Amen to that,” he said.

“Now-Marjory…”

So the leave-taking was got over” with haste and not a little foreboding-for none there required to have spelled out to them the chances against any swift or happy reunion. To Nigel the King spoke at greater length-for though he was his favourite brother, and trustworthy to the end, he was of a carefree and happy-go lucky disposition, and Bruce was entrusting to him not only his wife but the heiress to his throne. He urged him, privily, to be guided by Boyd rather than by Atholl or Lindsay, more lofty in rank as these might be.

Elizabeth was the Queen again, calm in control of her women and herself. She bade her husband farewell with steadfast dignity and restraint, even though her lip quivered in the process. Mounting, they were gone, leaving about thirty men amongst the evening shadows of the trees.

They gazed after the departing riders, all young men, the King in fact the second oldest there, some ten knights and esquires, with a score of personal attendants and men-at-arms, all horseless for perhaps the first time in their lives. Whatever they said, whatever had been implied, they could not but feel themselves as lost, naked and abandoned-all perhaps save Sir Neil Campbell, the only Highlandman present A month before, these had been amongst the very flower of Scotland’s chivalry; today they were little better man broken men, hunted outlaws.

Bruce himself after a few moments, deliberately set the pattern of it. Twisting round, and grimacing at the pain of his shoulder, he called, “To me, Jamie. Aid me out of this shirt of mail. Such wear is not for us, my friends. Hereafter. Off with your armour and helmets. Put away two-handed swords, battle-axes, maces and the like. Henceforth we use dirks and daggers. Tonight, after dark, we go down again to the field of battle. They will scarce look for us were. To rob the slain. The MacDougall slain. We want plaids and tartans and sheepskins.

Brogans for our feet. Broadswords. Targes..

From now onward we forget that we are knights and lords. Food we shall require, likewise-and must win it where we may.”

The young Lord of Douglas, but newly of age, aiding his hero out of the chain-mail, tender for a damaged shoulder, protested, “Your Grace cannot turn cateran. Like any lowborn bare shanked Erse bogtrotter…!”

“My Grace can, and will. Indeed must. Since only so will any of us survive. And I intend to survive, my friends. Do not doubt it.

Come-we have work to do…”

Chapter Two

Survival is a very compelling preoccupation, taking undoubted precedence over all others, in the last resort. Moreover, it carries its own built-in mental and emotional security system, excluding all other influences and anxieties which might endanger the individual’s physical preservation. Long-term, hypothetical, even ethical problems tend not only to become largely irrelevant but fade altogether from the mind, in the said last resort Concentration on survival of necessity becomes basic.

So it was with Robert Bruce and certain of his comrades in the month that followed. Certain only, because, in the test, some inevitably fell by the wayside, one way or another. Some were not of the stuff of survival, mentally or physically; some were unfortunate;

some came to conceive that anything would be better than a continuation of these conditions, and opted out; some, quite simply, died. Four weeks after the Glendochart debacle, ten men only remained with the King-his brother Edward, the lords Douglas, Hay and Campbell, an obscure knight named Sir William Bellenden, and five common soldiers.

Not that there was now any observable difference between the men;

indeed, if there was any ranking amongst the ten, leadership was

frequently taken by a squat and uncouth Annandale moss trooper named

Wal Jardine, whose sheer powers of survival and self-help exceeded all

others All were equally filthy, unshaven, lean, brown and

weather-beaten, half-naked in ragged tartans. Not once in those weeks

had they slept under a roof. They had eaten raw meat more often than

cooked, from stolen cattle and hunted deer and wild-fowl- even raw

fish, although it turned their stomachs -but more often had to fill

the said stomachs with blaeberries, fungus and wild honey. They had been hunted like brute beasts-and like beasts they had rounded and rended and slain, when they might. They had come to look on all men as their enemies, and the empty wilderness their only friend, night and storm their occasional allies.

They had never reached Argyll. The Campbell’s territories which stretched from Loch Awe to the Western Sea, were hemmed in unfortunately from the east by part of Lorn, Mamlorn and Nether Lorn, as well as the lands of the Macfarlanes, MacNaughtons and MacLachlans, chiefs allied to MacDougall. In consequence every glen and pass and access they found held against them, with the whole country roused. Each shift and attempt they made ended in failure-and the diminution of their numbers.

Moreover, Neil Campbell now feared that even if they reached his lands, they would there be invaded by forces too great for him to withstand.

So they had at length turned back. Malcolm Earl of Lennox was believed to have escaped after Methven, and now represented the only major noble free, and committed to the King’s cause. South towards the Lennox they had turned, therefore, avoiding all the main glens and making their indirect and secret way around the lofty shoulders of the great mountains. Ben Lui, Ben Oss and Ben Vorlich, and many lesser peaks.