The Renegade: A Tale of Robert the Bruce (75 page)

When they had gone, Bruce sat musing for a while, then pushed himself away from the table and walked the few steps to his grandfather’s den. There he paused in the doorway, leaning against the jamb and frowning at the chair where the old man had sat working for so many years by the fire. Things had changed greatly since the old man left. There was no fire burning in the grate now, and the place looked dusty and unused. He could never remember having seen that fire dead before, and that single detail struck home to him, making him realize that had Alan Bellow been in Lochmaben, that fire would still be burning, if for no other purpose than to keep the
old man’s memory alive. He made a mental note to reinstate Bellow as factor as soon as he returned to London and had an opportunity to send the word to Writtle. Alan was part of the fabric of Lochmaben and was practically useless in England, with nothing better to do than keep the little-used Writtle cellars stocked; besides, he was aging rapidly, and Bruce knew it would be good for the taciturn old servant to return to the place that had been his home for most of his life.

That thought conjured an immediate image of his grandfather sipping hot toddy by the fire. Bruce straightened up, seeing the old iron kettle still in place, its singed handling cloth suspended on a nearby nail, and he wondered suddenly if the battered wooden cupboard against the wall still held his grandfather’s toddy ingredients. He crossed the room quickly and stooped to open the cupboard doors, knowing even as he went that the shelves would be bare, but as he turned away, disappointed, he decided to have the fire lit and fresh toddy ingredients brought in. He knew he still had much thinking to do, for he did not feel comfortable with some of the things he had learned in the previous two days and was aware of some new, niggling, formless doubt. A toddy by the fire would do him good, he thought, for until he could point his finger firmly at whatever it was, this canker that was gnawing at him, he would fret himself into inaction. And inaction, with the looming raid upon Douglas Castle, was something he could not afford.

After going to the kitchens and issuing orders to have the fire lit in Lord Robert’s den and a fresh supply of spirits, honey, hot water, and fresh cups taken there, Bruce went for a walk in the late- afternoon air, wandering wherever his feet took him while he allowed his thoughts free rein.

Half an hour after that he re-entered the assembly hall from the courtyard and almost bumped into Sir James Jardine as they both stepped into the doorway from opposite directions. Bruce stopped, stock-still.

“Sir James! You startled me.” He had completely lost sight of the fact that the veteran knight was now the castellan of Lochmaben and had thought him long departed with the other knights.

“Aye, I can see that. I didna mean to.” Jardine stepped back, giving Bruce room to come in and close the door. “I’ve been thinkin’ about what was said here earlier an’ came to talk to ye, but ye werena here, and I was just about to go lookin’ for ye. D’ye hae a minute or two to talk?”

“Of course.” Bruce smiled. “Better yet, though, will you join me in the den for a toddy? The fire should be going by now, and if it is the kettle should be hot.”

They sat by the fire for a while in companionable silence, sipping at their drinks and staring into the flames, before Jardine came out with what was on his mind.

“I can let ye hae fower hunnert men. Jardines and Dinwiddies. For your task.”

“Four hundred? My God … But why? I’ve already said you don’t need to.”

“I ken. But it’s the thing to do. The right thing, I think. No’ because o’ duty to the English, God knows, nor even yet to your faither—mair for your grandfaither, God rest his soul. He thought well o’ you and he wouldna hae let ye leave Annandale wi’out support o’ some kind. Ye’ll ride wi’ Jardines, just as he did himsel’ … But I’m noticing the size o’ these wee cups. Mine’s empty already.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Bruce murmured, smiling crookedly. “But they’re as easily filled as emptied.” He took both cups and went to the fire, where he measured and mixed the ingredients carefully while Jardine watched him.

“Something’s troublin’ ye,” the older man said shrewdly. “Was I wrong to make that offer?”

“What? No, by God’s holy teeth, that’s not what I was thinking at all … ” He folded the scorched old pad over the kettle’s handle and lifted it off the coals, then carefully poured hot water into each cup. “You’re right in thinking something’s troubling me, but it has nothing to do with your offer. I appreciate that more than you could
imagine, but as I said earlier, I think I have enough men of my own to do what has to be done at Douglas.” He paused, frowning.

“But ye’re still no’ sure about somethin’, am I right?”

Bruce pursed his mouth. “Aye, you are. But I don’t know why and that makes it even worse. It’s … It’s in my mind that I’m being used here, for some reason, and it makes me … uneasy. And I’m not even sure why I should think so … ”

“Hmm. Well, here’s as good a place as any on earth to talk about it, right here in your grandsire’s den, where you and me hae both heard him talk about such things for years.” He paused, then went on. “Ye’re here on Edward’s business, are ye no’?” He watched Bruce nod and raised his cup. “Then ye’re bein’ used.”

He inhaled the fragrant vapour, then held the bowl of the cup in both hands, gazing into it. “There’s no’ a doubt o’ that in my mind.” His eyes moved back to the young earl. “Nor should there be in yours. Edward o’ England uses
everybody
to get what he wants. It seems to me, then, that what ye hae to decide is just
how
ye’re bein’ used … And to what ends. An’ what the costs o’ that might be to you in times to come. Have ye thought on that?”

“Aye. There’s been little else in my mind for the past two days.”

“Why? What happened twa days ago?”

Bruce sucked air between his teeth, a short, sibilant sound. “I met with the Englishmen sent from Berwick with the siege engines. I’d met their commander before, in Berwick, on my way up here, but there was nothing then that troubled me. Now there is. Something changed in the interim.”

“And ye think it has somethin’ to do wi’ Edward?”

“I know it has. No question of that. What I don’t know is the how or why of it. Do I suddenly find myself mistrusting Edward? No, not at all. Edward is Edward. I trust him well enough and I accept him for what he is. But he’s set a guard on me for some reason. A cleric called Benstead, a younger brother, I am told, of a man called John Benstead whom Edward has appointed to some position of importance. This priest is a loathsome slug, and Edward has seen fit to appoint the man as watchdog of some kind to keep an eye on me.”
He took a sip of his drink. “Edward has a passion for keeping clerics hard at work recording everything that happens around him, but now he has extended that need to cover me, it appears, and I have this creature hovering by me every time I turn around.”

“He’s the leader o’ the Englishry that’s here wi’ you?”

“No, that’s Sir Christopher Guiscard. He’s well enough disposed towards me and he commands a hundred mounted men-at-arms whose task is to support the sappers he has with him. Guiscard’s a siege engineer above all else, and his concern is all about his engines and their fields of fire, and so he’s content to leave command of the men-at-arms to his subordinate, Sir Roger Turcott. And Turcott’s what you might expect him to be—a stolid, unimaginative turnip head.”

“Then what’s your difficulty with this clerk Benstead?”

“I detest the man. He offends everything that’s in me. I would love to send him packing back to Berwick, but I can’t.”

“Why no’? Ye’re the Earl o’ Carrick. Are ye no’ in charge o’ the whole thing?”

“Yes, according to Edward’s instructions. I am.”

“Then send the whoreson packin’.”

“I can’t. He’s given me no real reason to dismiss him and he was appointed to his task, whatever it really is, by Edward himself. I cannot simply send him home because I mislike the man.”

“Hmm. Then why d’ye dislike him so much, gin he’s done nothin’ wrang?”

Bruce took another sip from his cup, rolling the liquid around his mouth before answering. “Thomas Beg told me all about him in Berwick when first we heard he would attach himself to us. He’s a crawling toady, bowing and fawning to everyone he deems his superior or whom he senses might be useful to him. That’s bad enough, but on the other side he is a vicious, overbearing bully to anyone he feels is beneath him. God help the hapless servant who falls afoul of that humble priest. Even his looks offend me. He’s big and burly and yet cowering. Broad shouldered and ugly, with a face like a hatchet, all bumps and lumps and eyebrows and nose—a great, long, lumpy
nose that should have been flattened when he was a babe in arms, if ever he was.”

“Aye … And how does he behave when he’s around you?”

“Well, I’m an earl, you see, so he oozes and bobs up and down, rubbing his hands as though he were washing them and practically quivering with pleasure when I notice him.”

“Aye, so the best thing ye could do is ignore him. There’s nothin’ ye have to trust him wi’, is there?” Bruce shook his head. “Well then, he canna betray ye, can he? Stay aware o’ where he is and what he does, then, and just ignore him ayont that. Ye’ll be glad ye did.”

“It’s like feeling someone is standing at your back with a dagger in his hand.”

Jardine grunted. “Well then, I dinna ken what mair to tell ye. Ye’ll just hae to watch him like a hawk … ” He put his mug down on the small table beside him. “So ye’ll no’ be needin’ my men?”

“I don’t know, my friend, and that’s the truth of it … I might not, but then again I might, and if I do I’ll need them badly—some of them, at least.”

Jardine frowned. “I hope
you
ken what you’re talkin’ about, Lord Carrick, for I don’t.”

“How familiar are you with the countryside around Douglas Castle? Do you know if there’s a place nearby where you could hold two hundred men unseen and get them to me quickly should the need arise?”

Jardine’s eyes narrowed in thought. “I’m no’ that familiar wi’ it, but I ken o’ one place that might suit. There’s but one road leadin’ there frae here, an’ it crosses another road about a mile short o’ the castle hill. The crossroads is in the middle o’ the woods, so it’s well out o’ sight of the castle, even frae the top o’ the hill. They’re hawthorn woods for the maist part but there’s a big auld ash tree there, blasted wi’ lightnin’ years ago, that ye canna miss. We could wait there, I jalouse, and gin ye need us we could be wi’ ye in a half-hour o’ gettin’ word. What’s in your mind?”

“My gransser. He used to say a good commander keeps his mind on what
might
be needed, forbye what’s clearly needed. And that’s
what I’m trying to do.” Bruce stooped and placed his long-empty cup on the floor by his feet. “I’m not convinced I’m right—not by a long stretch—but I’ve learnt to trust my instincts when they shout at me. If I’m wrong, there will be no harm done and your men will be in no danger. I still believe what I said earlier about placing no demands on the Annandale men. If I’m right, though, and there’s treachery of any kind afoot, I’ll send Thomas Beg to bring you back to join us. You can be sure from the moment you see him that there’s something far wrong. Will you do that for me?”

“Aye.”

“Good. The English force is of a size with my own, two hundred and fifty in all, but of those only a hundred are a fighting force, the mounted men-at-arms. The others are sappers, tasked with manning and handling the siege catapults. My Carrick force is infantry, a hundred and a half of those, backed up by a hundred bowmen. How many bowmen could you bring with you?”

“Another hunnert, I jalouse, mayhap half as many again gin I had time to raise them.”

“How much time?”

“A day or so. They’re a’ close by. I just need to send for them.”

“Good. Send for them at once, then. I’ll be gone from here by dawn tomorrow, to meet with my Carrick folk and the English force half a mile from Douglas Castle. We’ll meet in council tomorrow and make arrangements for the following day. Can you have your men in place by tomorrow night?”

“Aye, easy.”

“Right, then so be it. If all goes well, you’ll have a night in the open and no harm done, and then you can return to Annandale. But if I need you, I’ll need you at the English rear. With my hundred bowmen in front and your hundred and fifty behind, we’ll outnumber them by more than two to one and disarm them, then send them home. Guiscard won’t fight once he sees the number of bowmen against his riders. He’s a steady man and a good soldier, not at all hotheaded. He’ll withdraw and report back to Berwick for further orders.”
Jardine nodded. “Aye. An’ what will you do then? It’ll look like rebellion against Edward’s wishes. Your favourite priest there will see you suffer for that.”

“Let him. All I’m doing here is trying to foresee all possibilities and have reserves in place against the worst of them, and that sanctimonious whoreson is my sole reason for being suspicious. I’ll put him in his place tomorrow and that should be an end of it. Thereafter I’ll expect no trouble.”

Jardine shrugged and rose to his feet. “Fine, then. I’ll thank ye for the toddy and be on my way. And I’ll send men out wi’ the word for the bowmen right away. Five an’ seventy bowmen each frae Jardine and Dinwiddie and as many others as might want to come wi’ us. Three or four hours’ travel should see us at the big ash tree by mid-afternoon tomorrow.”

Bruce was up and away more than an hour before dawn the next day and made excellent time, despite his early fears for the weather. The sky remained overcast the entire time, but the clouds were high and the threatened rain never fell, so that he found his Carrick men, under Nicol MacDuncan and Thomas Beg, waiting for him when he arrived at the meeting spot, close by but out of sight of Douglas Castle. Everything was ready, and Nicol reported that they had met or seen no one on their way south from Carrick, and so they set out immediately to where the English force had gathered less than half a mile away.

The officer in charge of troop dispositions had already set out the lines of a camp for the Scots contingent some two hundred yards beyond the horse lines on the far side of the main English encampment, and as soon as he had dismissed his men to set up camp, Bruce made his way towards the large pavilion that was Sir Christopher Guiscard’s command post. The first thing he noticed on his arrival, much to his surprise and delight, was that the English cleric Benstead was nowhere to be seen. All the English knights were already there, though, and so as soon as he had greeted
Guiscard and his officers he called them to order and launched directly into their reasons for being there.