The Steps to the Empty Throne

“I do not acclaim your niceness of feeling, madam,” he said shortly.

“But at least your choice is wise. Will you go, then, and make ready?

To ride. Send your folk away, to their own places. Disperse them. That there be no bloodshed when the English come. They may ill-use your house somewhat—but that is small price to pay for lives and freedom.

Do not delay, for we ride as soon as we may.”

“Ride? Tonight? It is near dark …!”

“Yes, tonight. I wish to have you away from here, out of Douglasdale and into my own country of Carrick, by daylight.

To delay here now would be folly. And in your state we may not ride over fast He glanced at her swollen belly.

“So, haste you, lady.”

She shrugged.

“Very well. If so it must be. Come, Jamie …”

Bruce turned, blank-faced, and strode back in the gloaming light to his waiting men. Curtly, there, he issued orders that all his host was to be brought back forthwith, abandoning the positions around the castle. All were to assemble.

When his six hundred were gathered before him in the gloom, Bruce had a horn blown for silence, and addressed them.

“My friends,” he said, “hear me. This realm is in sore straits, as you all know well. Men know not which way to turn. There has been revolt against the English who lord it here. Lanark is fallen. The High Steward, and a host, is at Ayr. I … I have decided to join them.”

In the pause there was an absolute silence save for the wary calling of curlews bewailing the night.

“It is that, or marching against Lanark, to seek to recapture it.

For the English. Which do you prefer?”

There was a muttering, quickly stilled.

“I think King Edward’s cause may no longer be Bruce’s cause!

And I would not do battle against those who revolt. So I go to Ayr.

Who comes with me?”

Again the murmuring arose, this time to continue, to grow loud and prolonged, as men discussed and argued.

After a while, Bruce had the horn blown again.

“I could command that you come with me,” he said.

“But you are my father’s vassals. Not my own. He is Lord of Annandale, not I. And my father is King Edward’s Governor of Carlisle. If you join me in this, who knows, you may suffer for it. Your homes, your wives and hairns. So I give you choice. It is my decision. You make yours.”

There was more talk, some of it heated. One voice rose above others, presently.

“Lord-do we fight for this Edward? Or against him? We do not know rightly. You had us to swear an oath. To Edward. Did you no’?”

Bruce drew a deep breath.

“An oath, yes. But a commanded oath. An oath given under duress. It is not binding, as is a true oath. So teaches Holy Church. It may be annulled. I, similarly, swore allegiance to Edward. Under duress.

But I did not swear to make war against my own people. Not to slay my

own’ folk. No man, I say, holds his own flesh and blood in hatred. I

am Earl of Carrick. My own folk of Carrick live yonder.” He pointed

to the west.

“The English would have me lead you, to fight. For them.

Against Scots, I cannot, with not, do it. I must join my own people of Carrick. And the nation into which I was born.”

He had stopped, at his own last words. He had not known that he was going to say these things. They had come out of him of their own volition, to his surprise. He stood, biting his lip.

Some of his ranked listeners cheered. Some murmured. More stood silent.

Bruce shook his head.

“A man must choose his own course, he said slowly, as though to himself.

“Aye, a man must choose.

Choose you, then. You are free to do so. My father’s men, not mine.

Those who would may turn now. Ride back to Annandale.

To their homes. Those who would come with me to Carrick, I welcome. Let each man choose freely.” He turned abruptly, and walked away from them.

It was almost an hour later, and quite dark, before the castle drawbridge clanked down again, and, lit by pitch-pine torches, a small party came riding out. Bruce rode to meet them, Lady Douglas, wrapped in a voluminous travelling-cloak, had another child with her now,” riding pillion behind young James, a little boy of four or five—Hugh Douglas, her own son. There were also a couple of tiring-women and a few armed servitors.

The Annandale host was now drawn up in two companies-and one was many times larger than the other. Of something under six hundred, only about seventy had elected to go with Bruce into this doubtful adventure-and these were mainly young men, unattached, lacking responsibilities. The rest were for home, discretion and the daily round. Their lord’s son was the last to blame them.

There was no further discussion or farewells. Without ceremony, the two groups parted company, the smaller trotting off south by west up the Douglas Water, the larger turning away eastwards towards the Castleton and the unseen welter of hills beyond.

Behind them, other folk were slipping out of Douglas Castle also now, quietly, singly and in little groups, and disappearing into the night.

Picking their careful way by bridle-paths and cattle-tracks, Brute’s party followed the Douglas Water hour after hour through the spring night, slowly making height as the river shrank and lifted towards its genesis on the lofty flank of mighty Cairntable, where ran the Ayrshire border amongst the long heather hills.

Long before Douglas Water could lead them to its remote birthplace, they had struck off almost due westwards by a drove road over the high, bleak watershed moorlands where the head streams of the River Ayr were mothered, and the wastes of Airds Moss stretched in peat-hag and scrub. By dawn they were slanting down out of the wild uplands between Sorn and Ochiltree, almost twenty weary miles behind them and only a dozen to go to the town of Ayr, and the sea.

Not that it was Ayr, in fact, for which Bruce was making. He was on the edge, now, of his own ancient earldom of Carrick, comprising the nine parishes of South Ayrshire, with Turnberry Castle, sixteen miles south of Ayr town, its principal seat-and his own birthplace. Turnberry was not for him meantime, however, for its castle had been garrisoned by the English, like Lochmaben, since Comyn had been driven out of it. But Maybole, the largest burgh of Carrick, lay somewhat nearer, and might well supply him with sufficient men to serve his purpose.

The English force from Lanark were unlikely to have gone as far south as Maybole.

Tired and travel-worn, they came to the little town in its enclosed green valley, in the early forenoon—to find it in a bustle and stir of excitement. The High Steward’s host had passed through it, going north, two days before, and had demanded the adherence of a contingent of the town’s menfolk, for the revolt.

These had been assembling, with varying degrees of enthusiasm, and were now almost ready to march. The Steward and the Bishop were not at Ayr, but a few miles further north of it, at Irvine. They had passed Ayr by, for there the English contingent from Lanark, said to number about five hundred, had installed themselves; with the place’s own garrison, they were considered too strong to assault meantime.

Bruce was well enough pleased with this situation. He had intended to

raise a token force, since these were his own vassals, to accompany him

to the rebel base. Now they were already assembled for him. As Earl

of Carrick, he ordered more to be mustered and to come on later. After

rest and refreshment, with an augmented company of about three hundred,

he and the Douglases set out once more, northwards, towards Irvine.The Lady Eleanor was bearing up notably well, even if she remained less than friendly.

They made a wide half-circuit round Ayr, fording Doon and Ayr’s own river about three miles inland from the sea. Thereafter, with only occasional glimpses of the town, on their left, they rode through the rolling and populous territory of Kyle until, in late afternoon, they saw the huddle of roofs that was Irvine’s royal burgh, dominated by its monastery and Seagate Castle, at the blue sea’s edge, with the smoke of an army’s cooking-fires rising like a screen around it. Bruce sent forward three emissaries, one of them a magistrate of Maybole brought along for this purpose, to make known his approach and identity.