Nigel Tranter - The Steps to the Empty Throne

Segrave’s bowmen, dismounted and kneeling, were already fitting second arrows to their strings.

“Hold I Stop, fools!” he yelled.

“I commanded no bloodshed .”

Segrave gestured with a scornful forward wave of his hand.

The second volley of long feathered shafts sped towards the castle.

“I said no, man I How dare you …!”

“You may command these cattle-thieves and shepherds,” the knight said, as Bruce came up, and threw himself down from his saddle, “But even so, only by the King’s permission. These I command, my lord. And to better effect!”

“Better? You have ruined all, man. They will hold out against us now.

Have no faith in our word. And you have soiled my name.”

“Then your name is easily soiled! Have I not told you—this is war? We are not here concerned with the honour of highborn lord lings I have my duty to do …”

“You call slaying during a parley duty?”

“Parley! Talk! You win no wars with talk, young man. I know my duty, if you do not.” He turned away, ordering his archers to raise their aim to the parapet of the keep itself, targets having all disappeared from closer at hand.

In wrath and frustration Bruce watched-and even in his ire could not withhold his admiration for the magnificent shooting of the English bowmen. That keep’s topmost parapet was more than three hundred yards away, yet straight and true the arrows flew to it, zipping between the gaps and crenellations. As he gazed, a scream came thinly to them from that lofty exposed platform.

Arrows were shot back at them from the castle, to be sure, but they all fell far short. Archery had never been highly developed or favoured in Scotland. The English long bow, high as a man and shooting a yard-long arrow, made of yew, a tree unknown in Scotland, had fully double the range or the Scots short bows of arbalests. It was also infinitely more accurate. Here, only the odd spent shaft from the castle came anywhere near them.

Quickly the Douglases perceived how ineffectual was their fire.

Their shooting ceased, and no more men showed themselves at parapet or loophole. Sir Nicholas called a cease-fire. Bruce left him without another word, and mounting his horse again, rode off in a rageful silence.

He made a circuit of the castle—no easy task amongst the knowes, bog land and river-channels. He noted how thinly spread even six hundred men looked, when extended round a wide perimeter. From a strategic height he surveyed the scene and its possibilities, and thereafter set about regrouping his force. Instead of trying to maintain any unbroken ring, he concentrated his moss troopers in parties of fifty or so, where they might best command a comprehensive view of the castle and surroundings.

Night-time patrols were going to be difficult.

This took time. When he returned to the main gatehouse front, it was to find Segrave’s men hacking and hammering now, erecting a crossbar supported on two uprights, out of the timbers of a nearby cow shed The bar stretched about ten feet above the ground. Men were being sent in search of ropes.

“Segrave,” Bruce announced tensely, at sight of all this, “I tell you, I will not permit the hanging of innocent hostages. Nor even the pretence at it. I have not forgotten my knightly vows, if you have!”

Permit, my lord? Permit, you say? How think you to permit, or not to permit, what I do? I am King Edward’s captain here, what are you?”

“I am the Earl of Carrick, and commander of this host.”

For so long as I permit it! You are a name only, man. You no more command here than you command at Lochmaben Castle, king Edward has more trusted servants than you, sir. And needs by God!”

”There will be no hanging, Segrave.”

“I have my orders.”

“From that clerk? From Benstead? I congratulate you!”

Sir Nicholas looked grim but said nothing.

“Very well. We shall see.” Bruce rode away again.

Back he went, to the first of the groups of fifty moss troopers

“Half your men to come with me,” he told their leader, and proceeded on round the perimeter.

When he had made the circuit of Douglas Castle for the third time, he had some two hundred rough horsemen at his tail.

As this company rode back towards the causeway area, Bruce could see that there was now some major activity going on beside the completed gallows, with men clustered around in a close circle. Exclaiming, he dug in his spurs.

Faces turned as the newcomers pounded up-including three notably white faces in the midst of it all. Three children, two boys of eight or ten, and a girl somewhat older, were being held on the backs of three horses, their hands tied behind their backs, rough gags in their mouths. Already a rope was around the girl’s neck and slung over the crossbar above her. The same was being done for the boys. The youngsters’ terrified eyes made eloquent appeal.

“Sir Nicholas Segrave—cut those children free and let them go,” Bruce shouted hoarsely.

There was no response. The English men-at-arms went on with their grim work.

“You heard me, Segrave? I will not have it.” Bruce drove his horse forward, into the crowd of watching men, hand on sword hilt.

“Fool! Young swollen-headed fool!” the knight cried.

“Have I not told you? These need suffer no hurt. Unless the Douglas woman is a deal less chicken-hearted than you are! If they hang, it is of her will. Leave men’s work to men, if you are so nice of stomach, my lord!”

“I said set them free … Englishman!” Deliberately Bruce added that last word.

Segrave did not fail to grasp the significance of it. He glanced around him quickly.

“Your way, many men will die. Many children will be fatherless. Your own people’s children. And these of Douglas likewise. Remember that. My way costs a deal less!

Cannot you see it, man?”

“I see shame! Shame that will not be done in my presence Set them free.”

“No.”

Bruce’s answer was swift, in the thin skirl of steel, as his long two-handed sword was drawn from its sheath.

“You have but forty,” he jerked.

“I have six hundred. You will do as I say.”

“You … you would not dare! Draw steel against the King’s own men?

This is rebellion! Treason!”

“Not so—since I command here. Release those hairns.”

“No, I say! These men-they are not yours. They are the King’s men.

All of them. They have sworn allegiance to him.

They will do as I say, his officer. Not you, fool…!”

“Think you so? They are Bruce’s men. Bruce of Annandale.

We shall see who they obey!” He swung round in his saddle.

“Swords, I say!”

Like the screaming of the damned, the savage sound of two hundred blades being wrenched from their scabbards sounded high and shrill above the snarling, menacing growl of angry men.

Sir Nicholas Segrave had not survived decades of warfare by being any sort of a fool. He recognised actualities when he saw them. Narrow-eyed he glared, then shrugged. He turned to his men.

“Set them down,” he ordered shortly. He strode over to where his horse stood, and mounted.

“You are wise in this, at least,” Bruce said evenly.

“And you are not! For this you shall pay. Dearly!” The knight gestured to his trumpeter.

“Sound to horse,” he commanded.

The man blew a few short blasts, and everywhere the English soldiery turned and made for their mounts.

“What do you intend?” Bruce demanded.

“I leave you. To your treason. Your folly. I go. But I shall be back, my lord. Never fear! With sufficient men to teach you and your treacherous rabble a lesson. You will learn what it costs to set at naught King Edward’s authority, I promise you!”

“How may that be? When I command. In King Edward’s name … ?”

Segrave’s snort of contempt was converted into a shouted order to his men to follow him, as he reined round and urged his horse to a trot. The men-at-arms fell in behind him, in column, and without a backward glance at the silent ranks of the Scots, rode off south by west.