Nigel Tranter - The Path of the Hero King

“He will have heard, hours back, that they approach, for he is no fool and will have had his scouts well placed.”

“That alters nothing. So long as he does not know that they came from this side of the loch. Believes them Lachlan MacRuarie’s host.”

“It is good that we can see them so clearly,” Hay pointed out.

“For if we can see MacRuarie up there, a mile and more back from the loch, then we need not fear that Ross cannot see our busyness here.”

“As you say. How think you Comyn feels this morning?”

They looked towards Urquhart Castle, where the blue-and-gold Comyn flag still could be seen fluttering above the keep.

“I vow he bites his nails, and scans all that he can see from his topmost tower! If he has not already made his decision.”

As the royal forces kept up there almost feverish activities, the leaders’ eyes kept turning ever more and more to the northeast.

Edward Bruce, the triumphant harrier of Buchan, had sent word that he would join his brother that morning, from Inverness a dozen miles away, and the King’s urgent orders were that he should advance along the north shore of Loch Ness until he made first contact with Ross’s left flank outliers. At first light that morning another mounted courier had been sent hotfoot to Edward, who was meantime laying tentative siege to English-held Inverness Castle, as to the importance of the arrangement, and its timing They could see for miles towards the loch-foot at Dochfour, from the knoll directly behind the main camp. He should have been in sight before this. Could the hothead already have taken action against Ross, somewhere to the north, while he still had command of Bruce’s main army? By the Bunchrew or Moniack valleys, perhaps, thinking to take Ross in the rear? It was the sort of thing Edward might do… As time went on and the sun rose towards the meridian, the King grew agitated, pacing the turf of the knoll. He should not have relied on Edward in so ticklish an issue as this.

When at last a shout went up, the fingers pointed, it was not towards Dochfour and the foot of the loch that eyes turned, but along the wooded shore road on their own side of the water. Less than a mile away, towards Dores, there was a sizeable gap in trees, and there a mounted cavalcade could be seen, the red-and-gold Bruce banner at its head.

“God’s curse on all witless headstrong dolts!” the King cried.

“Why am I plagued with such a brother! My orders were clear.

Clear enough for a babe. But not for Edward …!”

As the mounted party drew near, appearing and disappearing amongst the woodland at a round canter, it could be seen that it was a gallant company indeed, all splendid armour, new-painted heraldic shields, silken surcoats, tossing plumes, flowing horse-trappings, waving pennons-and all superbly mounted. But it was not an army. There were not more than some fifty men, though most of them appeared to be of knightly rank.

The King eyed their brilliance from under down-drawn brows.

They came jingling up, Edward at their head, more magnificent than any had ever seen him. He wore black polished plate armour, engraved with gold, and even his chain-mail was threaded with gold wire; his black chased helmet bore scarlet and yellow ostrich plumes, his sword-belt and even his spurs were of gold. He raised a gauntleted hand in flourished salutation, as he pulled up a notable stallion richly caparisoned.

“Well met, brother,” he called heartily.

“I greet you right royally!

Here’s a good day for our cause. I hope, though, that I see you well?

You look thin, Robert, thin.” The King moistened his lips. He looked

by comparison shabby, in peat-stained clothing and rusty mail. He was always at his worst with this brother of his, and knew it. Nigel had been hotheaded too, and probably less able in some ways than Edward; but at him had not always felt the need to rail and contend.

“I am well enough,” he said evenly, dredging for patience.

“I

scarce need ask how you are! I rejoice to see you so fine! But I had not looked to see you here, this morning!”

“I was so near, it were folly not to come. To bring you my good news in person. And to show you how we may best deal with this traitor Ross.”

Bruce bit back hot words. He looked from his brother to the ranks of glittering chivalry at his back, not a man of which was not the picture of knightly pride and circumstance. He saw Sir Alexander Fraser and his brother Sir Simon, Sir Robert Fleming, Sir John Stirling, Sir William Wiseman, Sheriff of Elgin, Sir David Barclay and his brother Sir Walter, Sir John de Fenton and Sir William Hay, a kinsman of Gibbie’s. It was as good as a court Edward had to ride with him. It was very evident that these had been conducting a very different kind of war to his own, and a profitable one.

“Where is my host, my lord?” he asked, carefully.

“My main army?”

His brother waved from the saddle approximately northeasterly.

“Back yonder. North of the river. Ten miles. Boyd has it…”

“North of the river? The River Ness? I said the loch. North of the loch, man!”

“What matters it? A mile or so more or less? So long as they are across the river. That Ross may not hold it against us. See you, brother-this notion you have of crossing the loch in boats is folly.

You will lose most of your men. Even though they are only Highlandmen!

Ross can defend the far shore with ease. Throw you back into the water. Have you counted the cost? I have a better plan, by far. Beyond Inverness to the north is a narrow plain, by the side of the firth. Off it open two valleys, the waters of Bunchrew and Moniack.

These lead into the mountains of The Aird, behind Ross’s position. Up these, and we can take him in the rear. I told Boyd to halt my host at the place called Dochgarroch. By the river. From there I can send the foot up a small side valley, and so through the hills to the greater one of Bunchrew. The horse will have to take the longer way round, by the Dunain. When they see a smoke signal from me, on some hilltop here. Your Highlanders would best go round the head of the loch and make a sally from the west.”

The King, who had been holding himself in with difficulty, spoke curtly.

“My lord-do I understand that you have taken upon yourself to countermand my express orders? That you have told Sir Robert Boyd to take my host-mine, not yours, Edward-no further than this Dochgarroch? When I commanded that you bring it along the loch until you made contact with Ross’s left flank?”

At his brother’s flinty sternness, the other lost a little of his fine assurance.

“I told you-this way we can confound Ross. Save many lives…”

“Dizzard! Think you Ross does not know Bunchrew and Moniack Waters? In his own territory? Think you did not consider them? But …” He cut his hand down sharply in a chopping motion. “… Whether you thought or did not think, is of no consequence.

I commanded, and you disobeyed. How dare you, sir!”

For long moments the two brothers stared into each other’s eyes, there before all. None thought to intervene.

Edward put as bold a face on it as he might.

“I did what I believed for the best. For your cause … Sire.”

“In this kingdom none countermands the King’s commands -none, I say! You hear? All hear?” Robert Bruce’s voice quivered, but only with his attempt to keep under control the hot ire that boiled up within him.

“I heed and take advice from all. I let my mind be altered, in debate. I do not claim all wisdom. But my orders are royal commands. And any who choose to disobey them are guilty of treason. Treason! Do you hear?” He paused, and swung his wrathful gaze on all who listened, before returning to his brother.

“Any-be they the highest in the land or the lowest. Remember, all of you-if you value your heads!”