Where he was going was no place for chargers-as he hoped he might have opportunity to prove to Edward of Carnarvon.
At every pace of the misty, mile-long, downhill march, the King listened with ears stretched for the sound he dreaded-English bugles blowing-and heard none.
At length, on the very lip of the Carse, the light growing and the night mists dispersing, the English outposts became aware of the untimely and outrageous Scots advance, and everywhere trumpets began to shrill.
I swear King Edward must have had a better night than I!
Bruce commented to Angus Og, feeling better already with the prospect of action at last.
Now, let us give him a busy day!
When Bruce had told his own trumpeter to make the first, short flourish of the day, he stepped forward, with Abbot Bernard and the Brecbennoch reliquary, a little in front, and sank to his knees.
And behind him, while fiercest excitement and bustle, not to say panic, seethed in the roused and far-scattered English camp, the Scots ranks knelt in their thousands, and a ragged but heartfelt rendering of the Lords Prayer rose amongst the shouting larks above the Carse of Stirling.
Your prince is become much concerned with God, these days.
For an excommunicate! the Lord of the Isles murmured, to Lennox, as the droning prayer ascended.
Is it for his own soul? Or to encourage the faint-hearted? Or perhaps to please the flock of priests it is our misfortune to have with us? The new Pope Clement had, unfortunately, been persuaded to renew the excommunication.
I
think that anathema weighs on his mind, the Earl said.
As does his recurring sickness. But-he will fight none the less well for it. As must we, to survive this day.
Fore God-let us but commence it, Malcolm man!
Rising from his knees, Robert Bruce slowly drew his great two handed sword, and raised it high above his head. Then, swiftly, dramatically, he brought it down-but with explosive effort and every ounce of the strength of his powerful wrists, arrested the descent of its five-foot length so that it held sure, steady, pointing directly at the enemys centre. No words were needed now. With a roar that drowned all the trumpet-calls, their own and the enemys, the long Scots line surged forward.
The tactical situation was simple, astonishingly so considering the
large numbers of men involved. The huge English army was penned in an
enormous trap of level, pool-pitted and ditch-crossed swamp, with
islands of firm ground, hemmed in on three sides by the Bannock Burn,
the River Forth and the Pelstream Burn. The fourth side, to the west, where the ground lifted to the New Park escarpment, was now barred by the half-mile-long line of advancing Scots.
It was no charge, of course, even of infantry-the ground precluded that. Cut up with runnels and stan ks and sum ps draining into larger canals and ditches, it was terrain to be hopped and picked and sidled over, even by nimble men. For cavalry it was practically impassable, save by circuitous routes.
The English, of course, were not idle while this wholly unexpected attack on so broad a front was being mounted. Swiftly they were rallying, forming up into their troops, squadrons and companies. Already there was a distinct drift of mounted men southwards towards the entrance point to the cars eland of the night before. Then the drift turned to something more definite at the cavalry of the English extreme left, bivouacked nearest to the Milton of Bannock, achieved some sort of formation and began to hasten to gain and hold that vital bridgehead. First to enter, the night before, it was Gloucesters section of the van. Yesterdays misfortunes had hot quenched the young Earls eagerness. His great banner well to the fore, his trumpets braying, he was going to be first into action again.
But another and equally impatiently active earl was intent on gaining the same bridgehead-Edward, Earl of Carrick. For this very reason Bruce had given his brother the extreme right today.
Leaping, bounding, even using their. long pike-shafts as vaulting poles across the pows and ditches, the Scots foot raced for the bridge.
Gloucesters cavalry was grievously hampered by the terrain, though it was better here than elsewhere, as the English had pulled off the doors and roof-timbers of every building in the Milton and around to form little gangways and bridges across the ditches. But even so the horsemen had to twist, go slowly and most often in many single files. As a result, though a few reached the bridge first, they were isolated, and went down before the charge of the thrusting pike men By the time that Gloucester himself reached the scene, Edward Bruce had roughly formed his men into two schiltroms, side by side, at the bridge. There was no room, firm ground, for the English to pause and marshal their horsed ranks. Oncoming riders pushed earlier arrivals forward. Undoubtedly Gloucester would have formed up for a less piecemeal attack if he could; but like Clifford the day before the lack of firm ground gave no opportunity.
He and his men plunged at and circled the schiltroms disjointedly.
Gallantly impetuous yet, and an example to his men, the Earl plunged into the narrow gap between the schiltroms, hoping no doubt further to divide them. None of his people followed him therein, not even his standard-bearer. With a wild yell the pike men of the inner sides of both formations broke and surged towards each other, spears and dirks jabbing. Gloucesters horse went down, and its rider disappeared under the press.
Edward Bruce yelled also, not to kill, to save the Earl as prisoner, for his great ransom; but it was too late. Gilbert de Clare, nephew of King Edward and kinsman of the Bruces also, was dead, in the first minutes of the battle.
Unhappily his scattered cavalry drew back into the marshs safety.
All of this was not, of course, evident to the rest of the advancing Scots line; but that their right had had the best of it was clear, and greatly enheartened many. Bruce himself, though cheered, was otherwise preoccupied. As well as having to pick an awkward way for himself, like the others, across the shocking terrain that he had chosen to fight on, his primary concern at this stage was the menace of the English bowmen. Properly handled they could yet end everything. The enemy might in heavy cavalry he believed he had neutralised, by fighting here; but the archers …?
Bowmen, to be of real advantage in any battle, had to be massed, preferably on a flank and if possible on ground somewhat higher than the rest, where they could see, and enfilade the enemy without endangering their own ranks. The previous night Bruce had recognised all too clearly where, in this situation, the archers should be placed. Indeed, there was little choice. Well to the northwest of the English position, on their extreme right not far from where Moray had fought Clifford at the Pelstream ford, was an isolated hogback of slightly rising ground amongst the marsh. Here the bowmen could stand secure and do maximum damage. But, in fact, no archers stood there this morning; instead heavy cavalry occupied this key position, excellent for weighty horses admittedly, but quite useless tactically in that they could not move from it without plunging into soft bog again. There the pride of Englands chivalry was safe, but unserviceable. It had been the first magnet for Bruces glance, when the mists cleared. Surely if Edward Plantagenet had not the wits to see it, Pembroke or Ulster should have done.
Now, amongst all that wild upheaval in the Carse, one double movement
at least was clear, definite. The heavy chivalry at last was being
moved south, out of the precious island, and from behind, nearer the
Forth where the enormous numbers of English In all the excitement and
confusion, it was some time before Bruce realised that they were not being showered with arrows. He could not pause in this undignified plunging amidst other jostling bodies, but he did make darting glances to the left. And there, on the higher ground, he could see Keiths banner flying bravely, and horsemen hacking and swiping at fleeing archers in every direction.