Nigel Tranter - The Path of the Hero King

At length they emerged at the waterside again-and after the constriction of the trees and knowes, visibility seemed to be enhanced.

At least they could see that they were opposite a small tree-clad offshore island. It was difficult to say, in the gloom, how far off it was-possibly only two or three hundred yards.

From out of the loch shore boulders at their very feet a figure rose

to the hasty indrawn breaths of the fugitives and reaching for dirks. But the old man threw a brief word at him, and was as briefly answered; and Bruce, peering, perceived that this was in fact the younger Dewar, the custodian of the saint’s arm-bone.

Almost without pause the old man waded straight into the loch, not so much as troubling to hitch up his trailing rags. He did not beckon them, though the younger Dewar gestured them on.

Bruce, following fairly close behind their guide, was surprised to find the water rising no higher than his knees, as he waded out Nevertheless, in a few moments, there was a smothered yelp and some splashing behind him, and he turned to find one of his colleagues in the loch almost up to his neck. He could have sworn that, amongst the objurgations and exclamations behind, he heard the old Dewar sniggering in front.

Their guide had not, in fact, seemed to be heading directly towards the island, but slightly to one side. Then he suddenly changed direction, turning almost at right angles, as it were back on course. Bruce realised that they must be on one of the hidden underwater causeways, of which he had heard, dog-legged or zigzag, allowing access to certain islands by those who knew the secret. He turned to James Douglas, immediately behind, to warn the others to keep close and to turn exactly where he did.

They reached the island safely, and the old Dewar consented to explain. This had been a former sanctuary of Saint Fillan, where he retired for contemplation, and there were still remains of a cell and altar amongst the undergrowth. It was the Dewars’ duty to tend this, and other shrines, and for this they sometimes required to use a boat. This they kept here.

He showed them the craft, in a little creek at the far side of the islet, with some pride. But it was tiny, little more than a coracle, only large enough to hold two, or at a pinch, three.

“By the Mass-is that all!” Edward cried.

“That cockleshell!”

“It is a boat!” Bruce declared.

“Which is the great matter.”

“It will carry the King across the water,” the old man said.

“For the others of you, I care not!”

“I am the King’s brother, fool!”

“So much the worse for the King!”

Bruce intervened.

“Peace, my friends. Here is much to be thankful for. It but means that we must cross two at a time.

So that we have not long to spare. Before dawn. Let us waste none of it.”

It seemed that the younger Dewar was to act boatman. He declared that a patrol of Macfarlanes had passed along the shore shortly before their arrival, heading north. He thought that there would be no more, for some time at least; though there might also be patrols in boats beating up and down the loch.

Though Bruce would have drawn lots for it, all others agreed that he must go across first-moreover the elder Dewar all but had apoplexy at any other suggestion. The King elected to take Sir James Douglas with him.

They climbed cautiously in-for it was quite the smallest craft either of them had ever been in, and moreover gave the impression of being half-rotten in its frail timbering. The water slopping about in the bottom could have been caused by rain, of course. The King expressed his thanks to the old man, as the younger inserted himself beside them but their saviour maintained his peculiarly mocking and ungracious attitude to the end, even though the valedictory flood of Gaelic he sent after them might conceivably have been an addendum to the Blessing of Saint Fillan.

It made an alarming voyage. The coracle was grossly overladen, with three aboard, and Loch Lomond made itself all too evident Indeed quickly it became clear that too much of the loch was coming inside with them, and the two passengers were soon as busy as the paddler, scooping the water out with their cupped hands, since bailer there was none. The possibility of enemy boats out here watching for them was never far from their minds.

The actual crossing was probably less than a mile-but it seemed to take an unconscionable time, with the craft heavy and sluggish to a degree and, whether from its construction, inexpert paddling or overloading, seeming to sidle and move crabwise rather than straight forward. But at last the far shore loomed in sight, dark and apparently thickly-wooded. Their escort deposited them on a shingly beach and, surprisingly, considering the course followed, seemed to know exactly where he was. He told them that a little way to the right and up the steep hillside, beside a waterfall of the first burn they came to, was a cave where they could hide.

He advised that they hide there all the next day and only move south by night-for though this was now MacGregor country, it was only sparsely populated, and the MacDougalls, Macfarlanes and the rest would not hesitate to come raiding across if they suspected that their quarry had won over.

Bruce was anxious about the boat on the return journey, with the Dewar unable to paddle and bail at the same time; but the other assured that with only the one in the craft, the intake of water would not be nearly so great. He launched away again with the minimum of delay.

Leaving Douglas at the waterside, the King went in search of the cave.

Once he had found the burn flowing into the loch over an apron of

whitened pebbles, it was not difficult, entailing only hard climbing for some 300 feet up a steep brae face of scrub-covered rock and scree. The waterfall splashed in a drop of about thirty feet near by. It was a fair-sized cavern-although ten would tax its accommodation-formed out of a deep crevice over which a great flat rock had fallen. It was dry and secure, and better than many of their recent refuges.

Back at the shore, Bruce found that the second boatload had not yet arrived. Indeed they had to wait for some time before Edward Bruce and one of the men-at-arms were delivered.

At this rate it would be dawn long before the ferrying was done.

In the event, dawn broke with only six of the party across. Fortunately it was a still morning, and the mists that rose everywhere on the surface of the water might serve to hide the little boat When, after what seemed an endless wait, the watchers on the east shore did spot it again, certainly the craft was quite close inshore before it emerged from the vapours. Moreover it looked so low in the water, so lump-like, that it could almost have been a floating log. This impression was caused, it turned out, not only by the fact that the coracle was at least half-full of water, and that the three passengers were leaning forward almost flat and paddling that way with their hands; but that Wal Jardine, one of the two who could swim, was actually in the loch behind, clinging on with his hands and kicking out with his feet. This was the entire company, for since the boat did not have to be returned after this trip, the young Dewar had remained behind and would come for his property on some other occasion.

He and his elderly colleague had sent a message, however, by Gilbert Hay. The King and his party should not move from the cave; not until nightfall. Not until a guide had been brought, to lead them southwards, “The fools! They think that we must be led like barns!” Edward exclaimed.

“That we cannot find our own way here. As we have done before.”

Campbell nodded.

“Our own guides we will be.”

“We owe these Dewars much,” Bruce demurred.