Worth Dying For (The Bruce Trilogy) (30 page)

Boyd yawned enormously and swayed in his boots. He’d been in charge of the nightwatch, as I was taking no more chances like I had at Methven. Rousing him had earned me a stream of curses. Fortunately for us all, his drowsiness was returning and he was less bellicose than an hour ago. He thumped his chest and belched. “The roosters go first, you know. If they haven’t slaughtered the chickens yet, they’ve stores enough to keep them awhile. I say in Perth they’re still collecting eggs and drinking fine ale. With roofs over their heads, they’ll last longer than we will. My feet are rotting in my boots, when they aren’t frozen to them.”

Gil blew a sore-crusted nose. His eyes were red from a cold he could not shake. “Aye, it’s a miracle we don’t have more down from sickness.”

“When spring comes,” James added, “the English will send more men into the Lowlands and elsewhere. We can’t all be huddled here then. And our Highlanders won’t sit about in this muck poking at their fires much longer. They want to fight.”

“Aye, and they have been. I quashed two brawls this morning,” Boyd grumbled, leaning against Lindsay’s solid arm as he let go of a yawn. “They’ll draw knives on each other shortly if you don’t give them English throats to slice.”

I pulled bits of ice from my beard. “Well, my good men, we can’t outlast them and given that we’ve been camped here for six weeks we can’t sneak up on them, can we? We lost our chance at Berwick. We can’t keep letting the bastards slip away from us like this. We’re making a dreadful habit of it. What now? Turn tail and leave?”

They all stood there dumb, their mouths twisting in empty thought, except for James, who stepped quietly toward me. Behind him, the city of tents and cooking fires hummed with monotony. Somewhere a smith was hammering. A drinking song filled the air. A dog barked.

“Aye, leave...” James looked at me between long, black lashes that glistened with snowflakes. A mischievous smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Draw all our men away. Let them relax their guard. Then when they least expect it...”

I glanced from James to Randolph, then to Lindsay and Boyd. Gil, staring at the frozen ground, rubbed his fingertips over a cleanly shaven chin.

“The ladders,” James added. His eyes sparkled with excitement. “They would have worked at Berwick.”

“Whatever would I do without you, my good James?” Cuffing him on the shoulder, I nodded.  “Aye, they’ve wearied of watching us, I wager, and would celebrate to see us gone.” I turned toward Perth’s bulging ramparts, dotted with lazy archers and clasped my hands behind my back. “James, Thomas... give the word to decamp. We’ve just enough daylight left.”

The English garrison cheered as we departed. A fortunate thing they could not see our slanted grins from their distant promontories.

Eight days later, leaving our horses and the better part of our army behind in our wooded retreat two miles to the west, we crept through the frosted dark toward Perth. Lightly armed in mail shirts and padded jackets, we took only a knife and an axe or sword each. The others, led by Randolph and Boyd, would follow in a short while and wait beyond a wooded hill until we had managed the walls and lifted the castle gate. The wind was rough and bitter and its roar covered the cracking of our footfalls on the crisp blanket of snow.

In the dark of night and cold of deepest winter, we waded through the frozen slime of the moat and raised our ladders.

The first English soldiers who caught sight of us had not enough time to call out or raise their weapons before James put an arrow through their throats. Within the hour, Gil’s men had taken the gate. Randolph led his soldiers through and when a blood-red sun reared up in a cloud-scattered sky, Perth was ours.

We let the townspeople, mostly Scots, go free and questioned none of their actions or allegiances. The English garrison was put to the knife. Sir William Oliphant had taken an axe to the jaw and, unable to eat, died ten days later. As Perth was being razed to the ground, I left to join Edward at Dumfries, which was being slowly starved. Since Edward could barely tolerate the boredom, I relieved him from his task so he could go and thwart the train of English supplies being carried over roads to the south. By early February Dumfries was given up by Dugald MacDowell who was one of the leaders of that same clan that had beaten my brothers Thomas and Alexander in Galloway and handed them over to the English to die.

Angus Og and I sailed from the Ayrshire coast that spring and landed on the Isle of Man where we took Rushen for our own. I had hardly stepped foot back on the mainland at Ayr, when James caught up with me and urged me frantically on to Stirling. In my absence, Edward had been given the duty of laying siege to Stirling, for we had no hope of throwing the English forever from our country if we could not shake them loose in the midlands. They were like a hand clenched on the very heart of the kingdom.

“You’ll not like it,” James warned me.

When he told me the whole story of the many things that Edward had done... the same rage I had felt toward John Comyn consumed me. My brother had proven impetuous once more. Beyond exposing his own fatal flaws, he had put at risk my kingdom, dividing it from within and had gone so far as to invite the enemy to opportunity.

 My Lord, your tests of me are infinite. I wonder how many trials I can endure before I fail?

Dumbarton, 1313

As I sat in one of Angus’ galleys, watching the shoreline glide by, listening to the rhythmic stroke of oars upon the sea, I turned a thousand thoughts over in my mind. I prayed for tolerance and understanding, searched for some truth or reasoning I may have overlooked, but everything escaped me. The water flashed silver under the searing light of midsummer sun. Fifteen other galleys fanned out behind like a flock of geese. Angus stood at the prow of his ship, as we turned hard into the river from the Firth of Clyde. The sea-wind blew his long, flaming hair across his reddened face, but his eyes stayed intent, reading each landmark. Suddenly, he hooked his arm overhead and the vessel veered sharply to the left. A low rocky strip of shore drew closer. The oars sank and grabbed at the moving water as the wind pushed back. Finally, Angus closed his fingers in a fist. The oars drew up and hung suspended out over the water.

“Dumbarton, sire!” he shouted, even though I was not ten feet away. Then more quietly, but with a facetious tone, “And your loving brother is already there and waiting eagerly for you.”

“Damn,” I muttered, realizing that what James had relayed to me was bitterly true. Edward was further up the strand riding toward us with a sizeable force of knights and foot soldiers. The horses’ hooves clacked sharply against the flakes of stone littering the shore.

He should not be here. He should still be at Stirling.

Angus hopped over the rowing thwarts to stand before me. “Happy to see your brother, as always, m’lord?” He propped his fists on his hips.

“Do not nettle me, Angus.” I buried my face in my hands for a moment, then looked up at him between splayed fingers. “I should give you my weapons. Remove temptation.”

Angus put out a hand to help me up. He pounded me on the upper arm. “Och, I knew enough of your brother’s company at Dunaverty. I would not pick a quarrel with him. He’ll finish whatever is started.”

I hopped over the gunwale and immersed myself up to my ribs. The smell of saltwater mingled with that of muddied river water. Side by side, Angus and I waded toward land.

“I differ there, Angus. He’ll not leave a fight unfinished, but as for a simple task, suffice it to say that persistence is not among his virtues. If only he had finished what he started at Stirling...”

“Ho! Robert!” Edward sprang from his horse and waved his arms in the air. “Come, let me tell you the news.”

As we sloshed through the water, waves lapping at the backs of our knees, Angus gave me a sideways glance. “He’s not wearing mail. I can throw a knife at this distance, if you’d like to make short of it.”

“You’re a poor influence, Angus. I can see why your people have such a sordid reputation.”

“And proud of it, sire.” He chuckled into his beard.

Angus and I emerged in our dripping clothes and water logged boots. Edward jogged toward us. He had shed his armor in favor of velvet and fine hose, looking more the king than me in my ragged battle garb, my face and hair beaten by the force of the sea and sun. With a wan smile above his trimmed beard, Edward bowed slightly. He threw his arms open to embrace me.

“Robert, well met. Did it go well on Man?” he asked.

“Not so well met, brother. In fact, our situation is horrid. I don’t think it’s ever been worse. I should think you’d be aware of that. What is this I hear about you getting the Earl of Atholl’s sister Isabel with child and denying it? My sources tell me you are now wooing the sister of the Earl of Ross, worshipping her like the Virgin Mary, and making Atholl’s sister out as a Jezebel. It’s dangerous play to pit Atholl against Ross. I gave too many years trying to bring them together to have you rent them apart because of your inability to keep your breeches on.”

“Atholl would leak that lie to you because he wants his fallen sister wed to a Bruce. It’s a common ploy among women, an age-old conspiracy, to immediately bed with the most desirable nobleman they can find after they’ve already gotten themselves plowed and sown.”

“And you consider yourself desirable?”

“As do you. But you hush your women properly. If I could shower their brats with slabs of rock and empty titles, I’d do the same. You bed women for passing pleasure, Robert, as you know – not to test their fertility for marriage. Isabel of Atholl is a harpy and a leech and she can keep whatever bastards she bears well fed with those ample breasts of hers... and her brother David has more than the means to look after her brood. The worst thing I could do to encourage her is admit that her bulging belly has anything to do with me. Atholl concocted this whole, fabulous, overgrown lie. Believe him, or believe me.”

I covered my eyes with my hands for a moment, trying to wring the thoughts from my brain and shape them in a way that would go over as well as possible. But this situation with Atholl and Stirling – it was impossible. I was angry with him, for a hundred reasons. I would not let him ply at my infidelity in order for him to shirk off his own guilt like a mantle he had tired of wearing.

“My God, my God.” When I uncovered my eyes, I found that I could not look at him and accuse him at the same time. “David of Atholl’s father died trying to help Elizabeth, Marjorie and your own sisters escape. He has been back in Scotland himself not a year, trying in vain to prove his loyalty and forget whatever divided us all in the past – and this is what you do, call him a liar and opportunist? You fathered a child on an earl’s sister, Edward, not a peasant girl who can be brushed away. If I could give away lands or titles to fix everything that you have broken, I would. But this is beyond that. And there is one thing you have done that I won’t be able to fix. My kingdom is in a shambles... because of you. Everything I have gained thus far stands to be lost.”

His mouth sank in confusion. “But with Og’s galleys and men, surely you –”

“Not that. Rushen fell. Quick work. But I hear... understand that you and Mowbray, Stirling’s commander, came to an agreement. Is that so, Edward?”

Behind him, Gil, who had been left on assignment with him, shrunk at the mention of Stirling. I could see that he, at least, had some inkling that this reunion would not go smoothly.

Edward forced an unconvincing smile. The gravity of my disappointment in his deeds was starting to seep in. He took a step back. “Aye. I thought you would be glad to hear of it. I agreed to lift the siege. He agreed to hand us Stirling if the English did not relieve it by midsummer next. The castle will be ours without so much as bending a finger.”

The tenor of my voice deepened. “What in Christ’s sacred name were you thinking?”

His dark eyebrows lifted. “Thinking?”

“Not at all, I reckon. What will happen if they come?” The men trailing behind him kept their distance as my patronizing queries rose to a bellow of inquisition.

He shook his head. “But they won’t. I assure you. Edward of Caernarvon is too troubled in his own court to care. He hasn’t stepped north of Berwick since –”

“Damn it! And damn you to bloody hell and back!” I stomped at him and jabbed a finger at his chest. “Fool, idiot and imbecile! You’ve given them reason and invitation now to come with a full invasion force. You could have gotten away with such stupidity elsewhere, but they’ll not hand you Stirling. I can barely believe you would act with such blind carelessness. Had you no time to think this through? You had them, my God, had them right there in your palm – supplies to last you weeks yet and if those had run short we’d have sent you more. More men, if you needed, too.”

His pride challenged, Edward moved closer to me until our chests nearly touched. “More men to sit idly about and count the clouds in the sky? No, Robert, I caution you not to hurl such rubbish at me. And listen well first. It was Mowbray who made the offer. I indeed gave it thought. Stirling sits on a rock so high it parts the clouds. It was untouchable. I freed our men to fight elsewhere for you. How many times have you bemoaned the fact that the English outnumber us? I have saved you a world of trouble. Stirling will fall like a ripe apple into our open hands. For that you should thank me, not berate me like a spoiled infant.”

I raised a fist to hammer him in the breastbone, but drew it back, beating at my own chest instead. I raised my chin and shouted in vexation. “Agh!” Yanking at the roots of my hair I turned back to him and shook my head. “You gave King Edward an entire year to gather an army. A whole year. Did you stop to consider that if Mowbray were willing to throw out such a lure, that maybe his victuals were beginning to run low? Or that sickness had set in? That if you had only waited another week, another month, that Stirling might now be yours? He held out before at Stirling against Longshanks himself as long as he could. Have you no memory of these things? Heaven tests my patience in your very form. I told you when I left you were not to break the siege for any cause or reason. Yet you neglected my wishes and thought better of your own. What arrogance you possess.”