Nigel Tranter - The Path of the Hero King

Not torn apart. King Robert is the man to do it.

You were ever the best of the Comyns. Will you not aid him in it?”

“Well said, Malcolm,” Bruce murmured.

“Would you have me betray my own kin?” the voice from the castle came back.

“The Earl of Ross?”

Bruce answered.

“I ask no man to betray other. There has been too much betrayal in this Scotland. I say that you will serve Ross well. He cannot win against the rest of Scotland. None come to his aid. He hoped for aid from John of Lorn.” But we have just come from Lorn. MacDougall licks his wounds. He has not come north, nor will do. And yesterday we captured a courier from Ross. To King Edward of England. Beseeching aid. Saying that he was sore pressed. That he had insufficient men to protect all the North.

That unless he received English aid soon he must retire into a closer country. Knew you of this letter?”

That elicited no reply.

“Edward will not aid him, Comyn. You know that. Has he aided Comyn? This Edward is not as his father. Ross will win aid from none. The sooner he perceives it, the better. I do not wish to fight him. Even he, who delivered up my wife and daughter, I will receive into my peace. Tell him so. He is my subject. And by yielding me this castle, open his eyes, man.”

“I must consider it. Give me time to think on it… Sire.”

Bruce caught his breath in his hoarse throat. That one reluctant word

from Comyn’s lips! Sire! It might serve-the thing might serve!

“Very well, Sir Alexander,” he called.

“Think you. Think well. I give you until tomorrow’s noon.” Edward had sent word that he would arrive the next forenoon.

“This is a royal castle. Somewhere in it will be its royal standard, the Lion Banner of Scotland.

Tomorrow, fly that standard above this castle, and pull down your Comyn colours-and I accept you into my peace. Keep your own banner flying and I destroy you. Is it understood?”

“It is understood.”

“Very well. I bid you a good night, sir. And may tomorrow’s sun shine kindly for Scotland! For us all!”

Thankfully the rowers dipped their oars, to pull away.

“You are a strange man, Robert Bruce.” Angus Og declared, as they headed back into the southwest.

“Both cunning and trusting.

Fierce enough, yet too kind of heart. You truly would forgive the Comyn all?”

Bruce was staring at the dark shapes of fully half a dozen larger boats which now loomed out of the night ahead of them.

“It is not my heart that is so kind, I fear, Angus, my friend,” he said slowly.

“My head, rather. I am cursed, or blessed, with a head that speaks different from my heart, in many matters. Or perhaps it is that a king must have two hearts? One his own, and one for his kingdom, his people. And the first must needs give way to the second-or his coronation vows are worthless. I do not say that I forgive Comyn -yet. One day, perhaps. But I will keep my promise to him. If he submits.”

“Oh, he will submit,” Hay said.

“You heard that Sire? There spoke the decision he will make, I swear.”

Out of the quiet that followed, another voice made itself heard, one that seldom spoke.

“My word,” Sir Thomas Randolph said, “was it truth that you said? That you would accept even William of Ross to your peace? The Earl? He who betrayed your lady?”

“God helping me, yes. Even he. For the sake of this realm.”

“This, I say, is too much!” Campbell put in, vehemently.

“I say Your Grace will turn mercy into weakness. And as such, men will see it.”

“Not mercy, Neil. Nor yet weakness, I think. It is policy. God knows I find no mercy in my heart for William of Ross. But if I am to rid Scotland of the English invaders, I cannot afford a single enemy at home that I may win over or disarm, by word or deed. And Ross has thousands, who would take much beating, in the field.”

Randolph spoke again, stiffly, formally-and sounding very honourable knight. I can do no less.”

“Did I hear a puppy bark?” the Lord of the Isles snorted.

“You heard a man with a notable conscience, my lord. An inconvenience which is not laid upon us all!” Bruce kept his voice grave.

“Well said, nephew. We shall see.”

“I fear there will soon be more traitors in Your Grace’s company than true men …” Campbell was beginning, when the King interrupted, abruptly changing the subject.

“My lord of the Isles-you would hear me tell Comyn that Lachlan MacRuarie approaches from the northwest, to threaten Ross’s right flank. He does-but we know that he cannot be nearer than Kintail, and so near three days’ march. Scarce so near as I made him sound! I think we must… dissemble a little, tomorrow.

Despite all our noble words and conscience! If my nephew will overlook it, this once! The MacRuarie host is too far away for my purpose-but young Sir Ranald here has 400 men-and a MacRuarie banner! If you gave him some men of yours, say 600, to a fair showing, and sent him round this loch, to approach from the west, he might well be mistaken for his bastard uncle!”

“Ha!”

“How long would it take, think you, for your swift Highlandmen to get to the head of this Loch Ness, across the Oich River, into the hills to the north, and so up this far again?”

“It is sixteen miles and more to the fords at Bunoich. Six to Invermoriston on the north shore. Then up into the hills of Balmacaan, behind Mealfuarvonie, another eight-a hard eight. Thirty heather miles in all. In eight or nine hours, if need be, my people could be where you would have them.”

“I would not have believed that men could cover rough country at that pace-had I not already seen your Highlandmen doing as much! Goodthen we shall have them away forthwith, this night.

And see if young Sir Ranald commands men so well as he tells tales of it! You will lend him your hundreds, Angus?”

“You command this host, Sir King-not I. But… is this thrust for fighting? Or only to make your fair showing? For if there is to be battle over there, I shall want some of my own tried captains in command, and no stripling fireside knight!”

“They will fight only if they must. But send whom you will…”

Next morning, after early rain, the great camp by the loch side was

astir with activity. Scores of boats, and as many rafts, were

assembled, manned and marshalled into flotillas, and embarkation and

disembarkation practised, with raft-towing exercises out as far as mid-loch. Bruce sighed with relief when the last of the rain lifted off the hilltops, and the first watery sunbeams lit up the Great Glen of Scotland, giving crystal-clear rainwashed visibility -for visibility was allimportant today. He sent trumpeters and horn blowers off to sundry eminences and viewpoints up and down the loch, to sound their calls and assemblies intermittently, and ordered all troops not engaged in the boat and beach-landing exercises to march and counter-march over a wide area of the shoreline, with all banners flying and pipes playing-but only in places where they would be seen and heard from across the mile-wide waters. Some of the Highland chieftains grumbled and snarled at this folly of play-acting; but the King was adamant. The air of excitement generated, however artificial, grew none the less.

Then in mid-forenoon, Gilbert Hay called to the King, and pointed almost due west, across the loch. High on the long purple ride that ran north-eastwards parallel with the shore, from the fine peak of Mealfuarvonie, a dark crest had appeared, almost like a forest of young trees grown suddenly there. But the flash of steel in the sun told a different story, and by straining the eyes it was just possible to distinguish the square black-and-white banner that rose above its approximate centre.

“So, Angus,” Bruce exclaimed, “Your Islesmen have not failed us! Eight hours, no more. Show me any other fighting-men who could cover thirty roadless mountain miles in such time! What will my lord of Ross say to that, think you?”