Lord of Lorn, the King barked, do you wish to live? Or die?
Choose quickly. Seeming to look only at the chief, now but a pace or two in front of him, all his attention was nevertheless concentrated on the shipmaster.
On my ship, 7 command, Sir King! the other threw back, in his sibilant West Highland voice, so misleadingly gentle.
Then Irvine was at Bruces side, and sword in hand again.
Let me deal with this dog! he gasped.
Even as the shipmaster hesitated between targets, Bruce leapt. It was a violent sideways jump, like the release of a coiled spring.
And it was at the captain, not at Lame John, that he leapt. Before the others arm could adjust to a jabbing instead of a throwing position, the Kings axe smashed down. The man dropped like a slaughtered stirk.
The helmsman had a dirk, but seemed doubtful about using it-as who would blame him. Bruce gestured his reddened axe round at the chief.
You are my prisoner, MacDougall. Yield you!
For answer, the other made use of his sword, at last, in a savage despairing poke.
Bruce eluded it with ease, and slapped down the flat of the axe on the outstretched sword-arm- which broke like a dead stick.
The man squealed with pain.
Fool! his monarch told him, breathlessly.
You are fool… as well as traitor! I could have slain you. Tell me why … I should not even now?
Nursing his arm, and gritting his teeth, MacDougall found no words.
Walter Stewart came bounding up the poop-steps now, Hay following.
The ship is ours! The ship is ours! he cried excitedly.
We have them. Have you seen MacDougall?
His father-in-law smiled.
He is here. I fear that he has hurt himself a little. We must ensure his comfort, now. His close comfort, see you!
All resistance in this galley was soon over. Bruce took stock of the
wider scene. Pairs of ships seemed to be fighting it out over a wide
area of water, and in the half-light it was almost impossible to decide
which side had the advantage. The only clue was that few vessels
seemed now to be heading westwards. Some of the enemy had undoubtedly
escaped pant Islay. But with the Lord of the Isles fleet now fully
engaged, it seemed improbable that many more would do so. There was no
sign of the be flagged galley which had formerly been so close. It
is enough, the King decided.
Leave the rest to Angus. He would have it so, I swear. Gibbie -find means to find him a message that I have this Lord of Lorn. Walterhave our foolish friend back to our own galley. He is almost the last of my rebels.
Will-see that this craft is taken back to Gigha. Find sufficient rowers. And the wounded seen to. I return there, hereafter. Now, Sir Knight-your name? An Englishman, I think …?
Chapter Seven
The sudden and unexpectedly swift collapse of the MacDougall English naval threat left Bruce, for once in his career, almost at a loose end and in quite the most beautiful part of his kingdom, in high summer and fine weather. All his affairs elsewhere were under control, in the short term, with his disturbing brother away in Ireland, Douglas keeping the English North on the hop, Lamberton and the other churchmen in firm and effective control of the kingdoms essential governance. There was a certain amount of mopping-up and example-making to be done in the Clan Dougall lands, but there was more than sufficient men to see to that. A unique holiday spirit seemed to develop in Argyll and its adjacent isles. Instead of returning forthwith to Ayr or Stirling, therefore, the King decided to send for Elizabeth and the Court to join him in a Hebridean idyll.
Such an expedition, of course, would take a little while to mount, if he knew anything about women folk, and their ideas and priorities.
While he waited, Bruce thought up an interim and more personal design. It was only some seventy or eighty miles north from Gigha, as the crow flies, to Moidart and Castle Tioram, beyond the Ardnamurchan peninsula. He felt that perhaps he owed a visit to Christina MacRuarie -owed it to himself, as well as her. So, one early July morning of blue skies, high fleecy clouds and sparkling waters, a single galley flying no banners, royal or otherwise, slipped out of Ardminish Bay northwards up the amethyst, green and azure Sound of Jura. It left behind the High Steward of Scotland, the High Constable of Scotland, and the Lord High Admiral of Scotland, to see to affairs in Argyll. Surely that should be sufficient.
By the narrows of Craignish, boom now removed, the Isles of the Sea, the Ross of Mull and fabled Iona, the ship threaded the colour-stained Hebridean Sea in as joyous and carefree a voyage at this essentially lonely man had ever known. He decided that he must bring Elizabeth to see Iona, and the tombs of his Celtic ancestors, the semi-legendary royal line of which he was the heir.
Meantime, he had other business.
On he sailed, by pillared Staffa and the Treshnish Isles, up between long Coll and the Cailleach Point of huge Mull, with the thrusting promontory of Ardnamurchan, the most westerly point of the mainland of the British Isles, seeming to bar the way ahead.
Then, beyond its white-fanged snout, with all the spectacular loveliness of the jagged mountains of Rhum, Eigg, Muck and the saw toothed Black Cuillin of Skye, opening before them, they swung in eastwards to a great bay, lined with silver cockle-shell sands, towards the wooded narrow jaws of Loch Moidart. And there, on a rocky half-tide islet in the green throat of the loch, the mighty Castle Tioram rose, aglow with the westering sun, seat of the MacRuaries, the children of Rory or Roderick, another of great Somerleds sons.
Here the dark and fiery Lady Christina ruled supreme. A dozen of her own galleys and birl inns rode at anchor in the loch.
The Kings unheralded arrival created less stir at Castle Tioram than it would have done at most houses. Christina treated it as a perfectly normal development, and with no Court or strangers to consider, behaved towards Bruce as she might have done to a brother-and a younger brother at that. He had spent weeks in this castle when his fortunes were at their lowest ebb, and none were likely to forget.
But after a great meal, with music and saga-telling in the Highland fashion, in the Great Hall, Christina took her guest up to the castle battlements, to watch the blazing spectacle of the sunset over the isle-strewn sea. Eyeing the ever-changing wonder of it, she spoke her mind.
I think you will not come seeking my bed tonight, Robert, she said.
Not now. Why, then, have you come to Moidart? You do not need men.
Nor ships. Nor, I scarce think, counsel. What brings you?
Think you I must only come to you needing something. Tina?
It is the way of men.
You think less than highly of us, if you say so.
I am not a girl, Robert. I was wed at fifteen, near twenty years ago, and widowed three years later. I have had much experience of men.
You have had much experience of me, lass. Yet you still believe I must only come to you in my need? I will tell you that when you tell me why you have come.
Could I not have come for love of you, Tina?
So it is my body? My bed?
I have not said so. But … if I did come knocking at your door would you accept me? Tonight?
Have I ever turned you away, Robert?
Not yet Nor would I. She looked at him, in that strange painted
light Yet you will not come, I think. Now that you have your
I believe I know my Robert Bruce! That is not why you have come.
No, he admitted.
That is true. Although … I am tempted! But, nor is it true that I
came seeking your aid, your help.