Jack Whyte - Order in Chaos

“You count this man among your enemies?”

“No, I do not. But neither do I number him among my friends, although he has helped me much in the past. It was thanks to him last year, and to Campbell of Lochawe, that I was able to withdraw into the Isles when I was hunted like an animal. And he covered my seaward flank when I marched northwest recently, into Argyll, to argue cases with Lame John MacDougall of Lorn—an expedition that worked out little to the MacDonald’s liking, since it ended in a truce instead of the bloodbath he was seeking. He is … different, Angus Og, from all the others. Ambitious; but he stands by his word, as befits a self-styled king, and he has been—and continues to be—of great use to me, knowing that I may be of equal or even greater use to him.”

“He holds the power in the Isles, then?”

“No, but he wants to. The power is held at this time by Alexander MacDougall of Argyll, with whom we have the truce of which I spoke. The MacDougall is old now, and he holds no love for me or mine. His son, though, Lame John MacDougall of Lorn, wields the power nowadays in truth, albeit not in name. They are kinsmen by marriage to the Comyns. John Comyn the Red, the man I killed in Dumfries, was good-brother to Lame John. Angus Og hates the pair of them beyond reason, and since he knows I am still determined to destroy them, he is prepared to help me.”

“Why do you wish to destroy them, may I ask?”

Bruce rubbed his palms together hard, grinding them one against the other. “For the same reason I destroyed the MacDowals of Galloway. Because they have left me no choice. Their enmity I could overcome without rancor—that is a king’s task. But Lame John’s treachery has cost the lives of hundreds of good men, including several loyal friends whom I held close as brothers. He is an evil man, a creature beyond redemption. The Galloway MacDowals were similar, if less evil. Their treachery cost me two brothers, Thomas and Alexander, taken in war and sent to England to a felon’s death, merely for being my brothers. MacDougall worked on the betrayal with the MacDowals, knew what their end would be before they were sent off. It was done with intent. That I cannot, will not, forgive. A blood debt, you may call it. I care not what men may think or say of me afterwards, but the MacDougalls’ days of power in Scotland are at an end. We have a truce with them today, with no term set upon it—convenient to us both. But when it ends, Lame John of Lorn will have to pay his debts, and those he owes to me and to this realm will see the end of him.”

“Why did you even offer truce? Douglas says you had a strong force with you, and MacDonald threatening MacDougall from the sea. Why not press home then, with your advantage?”

“I did. I pressed it home to the point of gaining a truce I needed badly. Lorn had more than a thousand broadswords at his back, with another thousand waiting to be called. I had six hundred men. So instead of fighting, I took my army up the Great Glen to Inverness, gathering men to me all the way. I took the castle there, then headed northwest again, into Comyn territory, harried the place and wrung another welcome truce, this one for nine months, from Ross, the Earl, who ranks among my greatest enemies. He, too, has much to answer for, and come June, he will rue the day he chose to abduct and sell the Queen of Scots …” He fell silent then, his gaze unfocused, but quickly shook the thoughts off the way a dog might rid itself of water.

“Forbye, the Argyll fight would have been a set battle and I’ll have none o’ those. Scotland will not be won by set battles, not after a decade of being culled and stripped of its best men by England and by internal wars. Wallace proved that beyond dispute. Even at Stirling Brig, where he destroyed the English host, he fought by his own rules, like a brigand, according to the nobles talking down their noses. But he won. The only other time he committed to a battle was at Falkirk, and there he was betrayed by Scotland’s own knights, who led their cavalry off the field before the fight began, but too late for Wallace to react to their turncoat behavior. Falkirk cost Wallace dearly, and he never played by knightly rules again. But he united Scotland in a way that had never been known before. And I have taken up his ways. I would rather fight by guile and terror and win than be hanged, drawn, and quartered because I fought by England’s rules …” He frowned slightly. “But why are you asking me these things? They have little to do with you.”

“I know. I set out to ask something else, but your answers fascinated me and I lost track of my question … which was, do any of these island chiefs own galleys?”

“Of course they do. They all do. They are Islesmen—they go everywhere by boat. MacDonald has more than any other. His is the largest fleet.”

“How large?”

Bruce shook his head. “I know not … but I have seen him summon more than a hundred at one time, all fully manned, to Islay. What are you thinking?”

“I was thinking that my galleys will serve no one well floating in Lamlash Bay. They will gather barnacles and my men will lose their fighting edge. Therefore, I thought to keep them in condition by lending them to you … a loan, you understand, for appearances only. No fighting involved. No naval battles. Merely the sight of not-too-distant force. We can remove the crosses from their sails, or replace the sails completely, but they will remain Temple galleys. Could you use them?”

The King’s eyes narrowed almost to slits as he weighed the offer. “I could use one of them, for my own transportation from time to time, whene’er I have to travel to or through the Isles. But if they cannot fight—”

“Oh, those ones would fight—your crew, I mean—were you aboard in person. They would be King’s Escort and Guard in that case, and would do battle on your personal behalf if ever that were required. The others would be in different case.”

“I would not need the others. One craft would suffice, for I seldom travel by sea.”

Will cocked his head. “Perhaps because you have never had the means to hand before … a galley of your own?”

Bruce smiled. “Perhaps, but nonetheless, I would seldom use it. My greatest concerns are always on the mainland, where the English swarm, the true realm of Scotland. And I would not need the others.”

“Then that leaves my fine galleys unemployed … ” Will hesitated. “Think you this Angus Og could find a use for them, in gift from you?” He held up a hand before Bruce could respond. “Think, for a moment, from your kingly needs. Might you not have much to gain from offering Angus Og the use of five fine galleys? You could make the stipulation plain at the outset: he would have them for display and demonstration and, of course, they ship at least four hundred men, closer to five hundred. It strikes me that an ambitious man like him, taunting a stronger force like the MacDougalls, might be glad to take advantage of even the appearance of greater strength than he can field.”

The King grunted deep in his chest, pinching the hair on his upper lip, thinking over what Will had said, but as he made to speak, there came a knock at the door, and Bishop David de Moray stepped into the room.

“You sent for me, Sire.”

Bruce rose to greet the Bishop, glancing at Will in wonder as he did so. “Aye, Davie, I did. I gave word to send you up in half an hour, but it feels as though scarce the half of that has gone. Come in. Pour yourself a cup of wine and sit you down. Master Sinclair and I have not yet finished our discussion, but you needna leave. Sit and listen. I’ll tell you later what we have discussed till now.”

He sat down again and turned back to Will. “Offer them as a gift, you say … from me to Angus Og. That is a wondrous fine idea. The man will jump at it like a trout after a fly. But why only the five galleys? You have ten, you said.”