The Renegade: A Tale of Robert the Bruce (20 page)

And so he did, beginning with an hour-long, bone-jarring bout of practice with the quarterstaves that had become the insignia of trainee swordsmen from the far north of Scotland to the southernmost shores of England. Rob had been training with the quarterstaff from the age of eight, beginning with a small one suited to his size, and though it had been a puny thing compared with the heavy, fivefoot-long ash dowel he now used, it had taxed his muscles fully and started his unflagging growth towards the status of knight and warrior. Now, at the age of sixteen, he weighed three times more than he had eight years earlier, and all of it, every pound of weight and rope of muscle, was in peak condition, so that he fought his uncle as a man, giving no quarter and expecting none. Nicol was now on the downward side of his middle years, but few watching him fight could have noted any loss of speed or stamina in his performance. Eventually, though, he dropped the point of his staff to the ground, waving a hand in surrender.

“Enough,” he gasped. “I’m spent. I couldn’t lift this thing again if my life depended on it.”

Rob, feeling no whit less tired, grinned through bared teeth. He dropped his staff and bent forward to rest his hands on his knees. “Thanks be to God,” he wheezed. “I thought you were going to keep at me till I dropped, which would have been at any moment now.” He lowered his head and concentrated upon his breathing until it grew less laboured, then looked up at Nicol. “What now?”

Nicol straightened up and placed his hands on his hips, then arched his back and rotated his torso as far as he could from side to side, grunting with the effort before he stopped. “Well,” he said
quietly, straining to breathe normally, “two possibilities I see. One remote, the other necessary. You could go and find your grandfather, spend some time with him … ”

Rob grimaced and waved a hand in the direction of the main castle yard, now crammed with men and horses. “I think the Noble Robert has his hands full at the moment. What’s your second possibility?”

“A long, hard run followed by a bath in a friendly stream before the heat goes out of the sun. What say you? We haven’t had a long run together in months and it’ll do both of us good. Might kill me, mind you, but I’ll be too exhausted to fret over it.”

“I would enjoy that, if I had the strength to stand upright. Can we cool off for a while before we start?”

Nicol shrugged. “Aye, but the chances are fair that we’d stiffen up … Or I would. Better to start out walking right away, until we find our wind again. Then we can start running.”

Within the quarter-hour they were at the base of the fortress hill, where they swung right to follow the southerly track they had crossed earlier. There were still several hours of daylight remaining, and the reapers were still working diligently in the fields, the air heavy with the rich smells of dusty, newly cut oats and barley. Rob was fully refreshed by then, feeling as though he could run forever, but he said nothing that his uncle might take as a challenge, content to leave it to Nicol to change from walk to run. Another party of four riders came sweeping along the road from the south at full gallop, and the pair moved aside to let them pass.

“Right,” said Nicol, when the riders had gone. “Are you ready for the road?”

They struck off the sun-baked track and ran overland for what Rob guessed to be a circular ten miles at an easy, loping pace that varied from time to time as one goaded the other to race on a particularly challenging slope. When they broke from a dense copse of trees and found the tower of Lochmaben in view again, and less than a mile away, Nicol called a halt and led the way back through the trees to a looping stream they had passed before entering the
woods, noting its steep banks and a pool deep enough to swim in. Rob threw off his belt with its sheathed dagger and took a shallow, running dive into the water fully dressed, and for the next quarter of an hour they bathed and played the fool together like a couple of schoolboys.

It was growing dark quickly by the time they entered Lochmaben again, and the temperature had dropped sharply as soon as the sun set, a humourless reminder through their still-damp clothes of the winter’s chill that lay in the months ahead. Tired to the bone after their long day—seven hours in the saddle and then heavy physical exercise all afternoon—Rob agreed without demur when Nicol suggested they beg something to eat from the kitchens and then get themselves to sleep as quickly as possible. And so they shared a fresh-baked loaf of crusty bread and a large clay bowl of hot venison stew that they washed down with fresh spring water from the fortress’s deep well.

They ate in silence, Nicol staring aimlessly into the distance, engrossed with his own thoughts, while Rob found himself almost fearing the prospect of spending a number of days in the company of his grandfather. It would be the first time he had ever been physically close to the old man for anything longer than a few hours, and he wondered how long it would be before he tried the gruff patriarch’s patience sufficiently to attract the rough edge of his tongue.

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE PATRIARCH

R
ob awoke suddenly, gasping for air and flailing wildly at the threatening face that hovered over him, but even as he swung his arm he knew that the despairing strength of his blow was false and that his arm had only flapped weakly. He had been dreaming, a vivid, terrifying dream, and its aftermath was sharp, filling his throat and chest with flaring panic before he remembered where he was: in his grandfather’s stronghold of Lochmaben, in the family quarters of the great tower.

He breathed in deeply, squeezing his eyes tight shut for a count of three, then pushed himself up onto one elbow, only to see an apparition standing by the foot of his bed, a gaunt figure, muffled and spectral, glowing in flickering, fitful light. His breath caught sharply in his throat as the dreadful dream came surging back to life.

“I startled you. Forgive me. There is no worse way to come out of a sound sleep.”

Rob blinked. “My lord, is that you?”

“Aye. The others have all left and we have time to talk, if you so wish.”

Rob shook his head, trying to dislodge the last of his sleepy witlessness. “What hour is it?” he asked. “Should you not be asleep?”

He could have sworn he saw the old man’s mouth twitch in the beginnings of a smile, but he knew it could only have been a trick of the shifting light.

“No,” the old man rumbled in his deep voice. “I don’t sleep much nowadays. And depending on my mood and the number of things I
have to do, I find that to be either a blessing or a curse of age. So, will you come and help me pass an hour?”

“Aye, of course, my lord.”

“Good. Get dressed, then, and come downstairs. I’ll be in the den. There’s a fire in the hearth. Old bones like mine need warmth, but I think it is cold enough tonight to be welcome to you, too. Here, I’ll light your candle. Come down when you are ready.”

As soon as the old man had gone, Rob swung his legs out of bed and sat hugging himself and shivering. It was not the chill that had him shivering. His mind was still in the half grip of his dream, and he knew beyond question that the frightening figure that had threatened him was his grandfather. He sat there, frowning into the candle flame. He had often been afraid of the Lord of Lochmaben, but there had been nothing frightening or threatening in his grandfather’s presence here.

Realizing that he was wasting time and keeping his host waiting, he rose and dressed quickly, muffling himself from neck to knees in a warm, shapeless coat of soft, thick wool before taking his candle and making his way down the wide, wooden stairs to the main hall. It was dark and quiet now, the huge stone hearths at either end holding nothing but glowing embers, but bright light was spilling out from the massed banks of candles in Lord Robert’s den under the stairs, and Rob went forward quickly, announcing himself in a voice that sounded strangely calm and resonant to his own ears.

Lord Robert was seated in his padded wooden armchair, close to a blazing fire in a brazier set into a small hearth by the one stone wall.

“Cold enough for winter,” he growled as his grandson entered, then pointed to the empty chair beside him. “Come, sit here beside me.” The pointing finger changed direction, indicating a table that held a small jug. “But before you do, bring me that jug and the two cups there.”

Rob did as he was bidden, and the aroma from the jug caught sharply at his nostrils.

“Good,” his grandfather said, pouring from the jug into each of the cups. “Now bring that kettle, but mind you don’t burn yourself. Use the cloth.”

Rob wrapped the iron handle of the kettle in a much-singed pad of cloth that hung by the fireside and, directed by Lord Robert, poured hot water carefully into each cup.

“Aye, that’ll do it.” The old man picked up his cup in both hands and held it to his nostrils, sniffing appreciatively. “Aye,” he murmured again, “there’s nothing like toddy to keep the chills away on a cold night. Drink up.”

Rob sipped with great caution, knowing the water was very hot, but even so the sharpness of the drink snatched at his breath and closed his throat, and he had to set the cup down quickly lest he spill it in the coughing fit that racked him. His grandfather watched him in astonishment.

“What—what
is
that?” he gasped eventually.

The old man’s eyebrows were still arched in surprise, but now his expression was altered by an unexpected smile. “It is
uisqhebaugh
. Have you never had it?”

“No, sir, I have not.”

The old man’s smile grew wider. “Well, don’t sound so scunnert, boy. You will soon grow used to it. But it is a taste to be learned, and that is truth. It is the distilled spirits of barley, and it is powerful stuff. When served hot like this, though, mixed with honey and boiled water, it is medicinal. Try it again, but wi’ care. You’ll find it grows on you.”

Rob sipped again, and found that the liquid, while still tasting alien and bitter, was not as unpleasant as he had thought. He lowered his cup slowly. “It’s … good, I think … Sweet. Warming.”

“Aye, it’s all of those. Try some more.”

He did, and this time found it almost pleasant. “May I ask a question, sir?”

“That’s what you’re here for, boy. Ask away.”

Rob frowned down at his cup. “This drink. If it’s medicinal when it’s served hot like this, what is it when it’s served cold?”

That brought a bark of a laugh that Rob could scarce believe he had heard. “It’s dangerous,” the old man said. “And many’s the thousand men who have learned that to their cost, to say nothing of the tens of thousands who went to their deaths having learned it too late. It is called the water of life, but it can drown a man more quickly than any other water. It breeds drunkenness far quicker than ale or mead. But you won’t be drinking it cold in this household. Stand up. Take off that covering and let me look at you.”

Rob rose and shrugged out of the heavy woollen robe, then stood as the old man scanned him up and down.

“Put it back on,” the old man said when he had finished. “You’re big. Near as big as your father, even now. How old are you, seventeen?”

“Sixteen, your lordship.”

“I’m not your lordship, I’m your grandsire. Call me Grandfather.”

“Grandfather.”

Another abrupt laugh. “You sound as though you’re tasting it on your tongue for the first time, like another new drink. You’ve never liked me, have you?”

Cautiously, his slow movements belying his racing thoughts, Rob sat up straighter and pulled his shoulders back. He looked directly into the fierce old eyes.

“You have never given me reason to, sir.”

“Explain. What do you mean?”

There was no passion in the question, no anger. And that gave Rob the courage to continue. He set his cup down with great care on a small table by his chair.

“In all my life you have never spoken to me directly, other than to order me out from under your feet when I was a child … Except for once, in the stables when I was seven. I was passing through on my way to the tower, and you came in the far door, in haste. I stepped aside to give you room and came close to some fresh hay, and you shouted at me to stand away from it and not make a mess of it. And then you saw it was already scattered and you cursed at me for having done it … I felt unjustly condemned, since I had
touched nothing, and I cried as you rode away, still muttering to yourself. That is my single clearest memory of you.”

Lord Robert stared at him, his face expressionless. “I did that? I don’t remember it. But you most obviously do, and I don’t doubt you … I cursed you? What did I say?”

Rob shrugged. “I don’t remember that, sir. I knew only that you were angry at me without cause, and I was hurt … by your readiness to think ill of me.”

“Hmm … ” The patriarch looked down at his cup for long moments, then raised it and sipped deeply before looking back at his grandson’s pale face. “That memory has festered in you these what, nine years?” he growled. “I jalouse it’s too deeply rooted now to be pulled out easily. But hear what I am going to tell you now, for I speak not only as your grandsire but as the Lord of Annandale and chief of the House of Bruce. I
am
Bruce, and I never lie. Many resent me for that. It makes them uncomfortable. But it is a part of me that none can question or deny. My word is my worth and I do not deal in falsehoods. Do you hear me, boy?”

Rob nodded.

“Then hear me further. I was not angry at you that day, all those years ago, no matter what you thought. Had I been, I would not have forgotten it.” He held up a hand, as though to cut short a protest. “I am not saying I was not angry. In all probability I was, for I anger easily, even now, and I was worse when I was younger, unwilling to accept the behaviour of fools or the uselessness of idiots. Someone else must have angered me that day and you but caught the brunt of it, I fear. But you were certainly not the cause of my foul temper, though you fell victim to it. So I would make amends, if that is possible. Is there something that would serve, this late, to counterbalance the hurt you took that day?”