Nigel Tranter - The Path of the Hero King

They sailed from Dumbarton, still in squally conditions. Bruce embarked some hundreds of his own force but sent the majority eastwards to aid Douglas, who was engaged in punitive raiding into English-held Lothian. This expedition was something of a waste of his cavalry, admittedly, since the horses had to be left behind; but the Isles lordship had always been interested in winning the Isle of Man for itself, and it was important that the King and his own troops should be to the fore in any taking of the place.

Angus was a sound ally and friend-if less sound a subject-but he was no more immortal than the rest of them, and a successor in the Lordship of the Isles, holding Man, could be a thorn in the flesh. Yet, of course, Bruce could nowise assail it without Angus’s galleys.

They made an uncomfortable voyage of it down the Firth and along the Ayrshire and Galloway coasts. Half a dozen of the Garmoran galleys were included in the fleet-hence Christina’s presence, the only woman in the expedition-and the King sailed in her own vessel. Fortunately he was an excellent sailor; a sick monarch and commander would have cut a sorry figure amongst those Islesmen. There was considerable discussion as to whether these gales would give any tactical advantage. They would certainly make any attack on Man unexpected; and they would be likely to keep John MacDougall stormbound-but whether at Man itself or in any English or Irish ports, remained to be seen.

As to that, the King hoped to gain some prior information. For the fleet was going to make a call up the Solway Firth en route, to where Edward Bruce was at present besieging Dumfries and Caerlaverock Here he hoped to get the latest news from England, and to pick up some further reinforcements for the expedition -however much of a waste of time Angus Og declared it.

It was a relief to turn into the shallow, sheltered waters of the Solway, and thereafter into the narrow Nith estuary. They found the English flag still flying defiantly from Caerlaverock Castle and then, six miles farther up, at Dumfries. They also found Edward to be absent, with the siege of Dumfries maintained by Sir Robert Boyd, and that of Caerlaverock by Sir Thomas Randolph.

Edward, it seemed, was off raiding in Cumberland across the Solway sands. Word had recently been brought back from England that the Scots commissioners, sent secretly to collect the annual dues from subscribing towns, abbeys and the like, had this year met with trouble.

In fact, more than trouble-annihilation. They had reached

Hexham-on-Tyne, with some of the moneys collected, and there, instead

of receiving the third of the Prior’s payments-for safety, they had

been hanged, and their treasure confiscated. That proud churchman had

presumably decided that he might spare himself further expense. Only

one or two of the Scots party had escaped, to win back to Dumfries with

the tale of it. Edward Bruce being the man he was, had promptly

mounted a fierce sally into the flat lands west of Carlisle.

The King’s anger was cold where his brother’s had been hot.

Dumfries had a bad effect on him anyway-the scene of his slaying of John Comyn nine years earlier, even though also of his assumption of the crown. He had shunned the place, since. Even now he would not sleep in the armed camp which surrounded the walled town, but removed himself the few miles back to Caerlaverock, and Randolph’s camp. Here he detached himself from all, to pace alone, well out with arrow-shot of the magnificent fortress in the marshes. It was a time not for wrath so much as hard decision.

He had made up his mind before he slept that night. Major, changes of programme were called for.

The next morning brought the need for still further and quite unanticipated decision. Boyd himself rode in from Dumfries bringing with him a young man, square, stocky, richly-dressed but uneasy of eye and manner.

“Sire,” Boyd declared, “here is one, MacDouall. Fergus, son to Sir Dugald MacDouall… of whom you know!”

There, in the tented encampment, Bruce stared, his breath catching in his throat at the identification of this son of his hated enemy, of the man who had given up his brothers to shameful death. He did not trust himself to speak. Those around him were suddenly silent quite.

“He comes under a flag of truce, Sire. From his father in yonder;

Dumfries Castle. He would … treat with you, he says!”

“Treat! That bloodstained traitor’s son? God’s mercy…!”

“Treat, my lord King,” the young man reiterated, tense-voiced, “In my father’s name.”

“Hang him!” Angus Og advised succinctly.

“Also in his father’s name! As you will treat the other-not treat with him!”

Many around the King growled their agreement.

“No! No-hear me, Sire,” the MacDouall cried.

“You cannot so do. I came under flag of truce. By all the laws of war you cannot do it …”

“Did your father observe the laws of war, wretch, when he took his liege lord’s brothers prisoner, and then sent them to their deaths?” That was Gilbert Hay.

“That… that was long ago. When I was but a child. And my father could not know. That King Edward would slay them. It Was Edward’s orders. My father recognised Edward as King—not you, Sire. Still he does-the new Edward. He is King Edward’s governor of Dumfries and Warden of the West March..

Bruce held up a hand that trembled slightly, for silence.

“Well?”

he grated.

“Say what you have to say.”

“Yes, Sire. My father sends me to say that if you will promise him, and his garrison, their lives and liberty, he will yield Dunn fries. To you.”

“So-o-o! That is it? And he thinks that I will grant him such terms?”

“Your Grace’s clemency is known.”

“Aye!” Angus Og snorted” And there you have it. Any traitor and dastard in this land now conceives himself to be safe! That he will not have to pay for his sins. You have let off too many rogues, Sir King. That is what your clemency means now!”

Even Christina joined in the chorus of declamation.

“Your Grace will perceive that MacDouall did not offer to treat with the Earl of Carrick! Who has been besieging him these many weeks.

Only when you come, and he is gone, does this man seek these terms.

Because he knows your brother would have none of him!

Save hanging on a rope!”

All knew that to be the truth, Bruce better than any. Yet he turned and paced away some distance, to stand staring over towards the strange shield-shaped castle that rose out of its complicated system of morass and water-barrier, unseeing. Once again he was fighting, fighting one of his own dire battles with himself, the King fighting the man. Dugald MacDouall, the treacherous Gallovidian he had sworn a great oath to kill, the man for whose blood that of his young brothers cried out. He had spared those other two, whom he had likewise vowed to slay-William of Ross and Alexander MacDougall. Spared and accepted to his peace, his very company, after all they had done. Must he do the same with this, this third especial offender? Was this sacrifice demanded of him, also …?

He turned back to the waiting company, set-faced.

“MacDouall,” he said, expressionlessly.

“Go back to your father. Tell him that he may march out of Dumfries, he and his, with my safe conduct. To England. This day. Tell him for I will by no means see him-that he will be wise to bide in England hereafter. For if he sets foot in my realm again, I will take him and hang him. You understand?”

The other’s response was lost in the uproar of the Scots leaders’ disbelief, wrath and reproach. The King signed to Boyd to take the young man away.

“My lord Constable,” he snapped, to Gilbert Hay, “you will go, in my

name, to receive the surrender of Dumfries. You will ensure the safety