Nigel Tranter - The Steps to the Empty Throne

”You hear, my good young lord?” Benstead asked, pointing a long,

ink-stained finger at Bruce. He infuriated the latter in innumerable ways, but in none more effectively than this deplorable habit of referring to him as his good young lord.

“Your delays stand revealed. Indicted. If this Douglas reaches his lands before you do, and gathers men there to aid these rebels in Galloway, then you will be held responsible. I have told you.”

“And I have told you, sir, that in winter months there can be no campaigning in these hills. You are not in your Lincolnshire now! To take a large force over into Douglas Water means the covering of forty miles of savage hills, choked passes, flooded valleys, rivers in spate, no bridges. It could not be done, these past months. But nor was there any danger from there, since no more could the Douglases have moved in force. Sir Nicholas knows that, if you do not, Master Pander!” To term the man this was Bruce’s retort to the good young lord phrase.

“I know that you could have raided Douglasdale before the winter closed in-and did not, my lord. Despite my advice. I know likewise, even though I am no soldier, that it is no longer winter, and men determined in the King’s service might have been amove ere this! As have these rebels in your Galloway, it seems! Perhaps it is as well that His Majesty forbade that you go into Galloway, when he did!”

“What do you mean by that? I do not take you, sir. Perhaps you will explain?”

The other looked quickly from Bruce to Sir Nicholas Segrave and the courier, and shrugged his twisted shoulders.

“I would not wish to see a loyal and noble servant of the King’s Highness endangered amongst rebels, that is all,” he answered smoothly.

Sir Nicholas intervened.

“This rising? In Galloway. How large a matter? You say the High Steward, and one of their bishops …?”

“It is serious, I fear. Now that King Edward has gone campaigning in Flanders, these treacherous Scots think that they may safely rebel. They must be taught otherwise. Eh, my good lord!

There have been a number of petty revolts, all easily put down.

But this is more dangerous. The Steward, despite his strange title, is an important lord. And the rascal Bishop of Glasgow, this Wishart, is the most potent of their prelates. I would have thought that the man Baliol’s fate would have taught them their lesson!”

“Galloway was Baliol’s country, and these have risen in Baliol’s name,” the courier amplified.

“They declare that he is still their king, the fools. But neither the Steward nor the Bishop are soldiers—whereas this Douglas is. Therefore my lord of Clydesdale says that it is of the utmost importance that he does not join them. He says that my lord of Carrick must act without delay. In the King’s name.”

“As he shall. Eh, my lord?”

Bruce inclined his head. He had put off the unsavoury business of harrying his neighbour’s lands for as long as he could. Not that he had too nice a stomach for raiding and feud, in the time honoured fashion; but Douglas was an old friend of his father’s, distantly related indeed, and it went against the grain to attack his wife and family during his absence in captivity. It seemed, however, that he could procrastinate no longer. Better that he should do it, perhaps, than Hazelrig from Lanark, a man renowned as a butcher.

“It will take a little time to muster sufficient men,” he said.

“Two days, no more,” Benstead asserted.

“We have planned it all, times without number these last months. You agree, Sir Nicholas? Two days.” He turned to the courier.

“My salutations to your lord, at Lanark. Tell him that my lord of Carrick will be hammering at the gates of Douglas Castle three days from now.

And that every effort will be made to lay hands on its master. But once we have his lady and children, we shall have the means to halt his treasons, heh? Through them we will bring the cur to heel very promptly—or my name is not John Benstead! Tell my lord of Clydesdale that it is as good as done.”

Bruce turned away and left them there, the clerk’s mocking laughter following him.

So, a few days later, a mounted host of some six hundred men wound its

way through the green Lowther Hills, forded the waters of Daer,

Potrail, Elvan and Snar, feeders of Clyde, crossed the high peat-pocked

moors beyond, and over the lonely pass of Glentaggart where the snow

still lingered in the north-facing corries, rode down the Glespin Burn

into the fair wide valley of the Douglas Water. Bruce and Sir Nicholas

Segrave led, with a contingent of half the English garrison; the rest

were all Annandale men, irregulars, tenantry rendering their feudal

service. Their stocky, short-legged shaggy garrons, used to the hills,

made a notably better job of the difficult terrain than did the English

regulars’ cavalry horses. To the satisfaction of all concerned, Waster

Benstead had elected to remain behind, allegedly on account of

pressure of paper work, but, Bruce was pretty sure, actually to conduct a great search for hidden wool, while most of the able-bodied men and heads of households were away with their lord.

But there was some cause for dissatisfaction also. Hitherto, ostensibly in the interests of secrecy, so that they might descend upon the Douglases unawares, there had been none of the looked for and prescribed harrying and laying waste of the land. These barren uplands, of course, were scant of people and houses, and admittedly this was not the best time to encumber themselves with flocks and herds. But it made dull riding for so puissant a force.

In the early afternoon of the second day, with the richer broad bottom lands of Douglasdale opening before them, the temptations became much greater. There were still some four miles of populous country to cover before Douglas Castle, when Bruce halted his force and ordered all to gather round and attend well to what he said. Clad in a handsome suit of chain-mail under a heraldic surcoat of red and gold, girdled with a golden earl’s belt, a plumed helmet on his head, he caused his horse to mount a little knoll, and spoke from that.

“My friends—we are here, not for our own advantage but to bring this Douglasdale into the King’s peace. Remember it. There may well be pickings for one or two, when our work is done.

But not until then, I say. You hear me? Our task is to reach Douglas Castle quickly, before the Lady of Douglas and her folk have time or opportunity to put it in state of readiness against us.

For we are not prepared or equipped for a Seigle, as you must know. It is a strong house, and we have no engines to reduce it. So we hasten. It is understood?”

Men murmured or growled, but made no more specific protest at such a

poor programme for Border moss troopers

“I do not think to see much fighting,” Bruce went on.

“Even if they are warned of our approach, they cannot have had time to assemble any strength. We shall surround the castle and hope to rush the gates, demanding surrender in King Edward’s name.

Only if they hold against us need there be bloodshed. Have you anything to add, Sir Nicholas?”

The veteran nodded.

“If a woman commands here, we may save ourselves much trouble,” he said.

“We will take two or three children. Bring them before the castle with ropes round their necks. Threaten to hang them if the castle is not yielded. Hang one, if needs be, as example. No woman will hold out then, I wager.”

Bruce frowned.

“I do not make war on women and children, sir,” he declared, shortly.

“No? It is a woman and her cubs we have to oust from this house, is it not? If they resist, many will die. Which is better -one child or many grown men? And likely other children thereafter?