The Steps to the Empty Throne

The object of this dialogue had stalked across the hall, to bow briefly in front of the Steward, whose vassal he was. Now he interrupted all talk with his deep rumbling voice.

“My friends, I am new come from the Forest. From Ettrick.

With news. From the East March. From Berwick. The English are on the move. Surrey, they tell me, has dispatched an army north, from Newcastle. A great army. Forty thousand foot, no less.

Though bare a thousand horse. Under command of Surrey’s grandson, Henry Percy. To deal with your rising, my lords.”

“Forty thousand …!” Bishop Wishart could not keep the quaver out of his voice.

Men stared at each other, appalled.

“Aye. So it is time to be up and doing, is it not, my friends? Not sitting here, at table!” Wallace laughed as he said it, however, and reached out a huge hand to grasp and tear off a foreleg of mutton from a roasted carcase on the table. He bit into it there and then, standing there.

“Forty thousand foot will move but slowly,” Douglas declared heavily.

“Ten miles a day, no more. No need to spoil our dinner!”

“Sir Robert de Clifford has three thousand at Berwick. Half cavalry.

They will be on their way now. In advance of the greater host.”

“You are well-informed, fellow!”

“I make it my business to be, my lord. Since my life could depend on it. Captured, lords are ransomed. I would hang!”

“That is true, at least!”

“Certainly these tidings force us to a swift decision,” the Steward intervened.

“And since this great host comes from the south, it would be folly, with our small numbers, to go meet it.

We must move north, then. Seek to raise more men in the North.”

“I shall rest happier behind the walls of Glasgow town …”

“Rest, my lord Bishop?” Wallace took him up, chuckling.

“Rest, I swear, is no word for use this night. With much to do.”

“Tonight, man? You would have us go tonight? It is not possible.

Such haste would be unseemly. Besides, most of the men will be asleep

…”

“So, I think, may be the English.”

“English? What English? What mean you?”

“The English in Ayr, my lord. But a few miles away. We must smite them. Before it is too late.”

“Attack Ayr? Tonight?”

“What folly is this?”

“Is the man mad?”

Everywhere voices were raised in protest.

“That is why I came to Irvine, my friends,” the big man asserted, when he could make himself heard.

“To take Ayr.”

“The more fool you, then!” Douglas cried.

“Away with you, and take it, then! If you can. Me, I shall finish my dinner.

Douglas does not skulk by night, like some thief or cutpurse!”

”Aye—enough of this. Have done with such talk.”

“You will not take a strong castle by night, man.” That was Lindsay speaking.

“Think you its walls will be unmanned, its bridge down, its gates open? These English are not as they were at Lanark—unawares. These know we are here, and will be on their guard. You will not take another castle by surprise.”

“No? That is my lord of Crawford, is it not? Then hear this, Sir Alexander. Last night, from Ettrick, I came by Tweedsmuir and over into upper Clydesdale. By Crawford, indeed And took your Tower Lindsay, in the bygoing! Around midnight. Thirty Englishmen now hang from its parapets. That is all its garrison today. It is your house again, my lord-cleansed of the English who held it. You may possess yourself of it, at will. As I did, last night!”

Not only Lindsay stared at the giant now, speechless.

“So, my lords, let us to Ayr,” Wallace said smiling.

Men eyed each other, ill at ease.

“This … this was a notable feat, Wallace,” the Steward got out, sucking his spittle.” And Tower Lindsay is a fine house. But Ayr is quite other. A town. With a great garrison. Five hundred men.”

“Nor do we go skulking and creeping in darkness. Like broken men and outlaws,” somebody said significantly.

The Bishop coughed.

“Besides, my son, it is against our policy.

To waste our precious strength on reducing fortresses and castles.

These can wait. When the land itself is ours, they will drop off like over-ripe fruit.”

“You think so? Then you will give me no men, my lords? For this attempt, I have but fifty of my own band,” Wallace said, quietly now.

“Fifty or five hundred—it would make no difference,” Douglas snorted.

Bruce was moved to speak.

“My lords, I think that we should consider this more. I believe that Ayr should not be left behind us, untouched. It could endanger us. Moreover, its fall, after Lanark, would be great cheer, encouragement, for all Scotland. I do not know about attacking it by night. Here I have no experience. But assault there should be.”

The big man was looking at him keenly.

“Who speaks so, my friends?” he asked.

“I do not know this lord, I think.”

“It is the Earl of Carrick, man,” the Steward said shortly.

“Carrick! Bruce? The young Lord Robert? Edward’s lordling -here?”

There were gasps, murmurs, a snigger or two. Bruce set his but did not answer.

“My lord of Carrick has joined us,” Wishart explained.

“With three hundred men.”

Wallace had not taken his eyes off the younger man.

“Scotland’s case must be better than I had known, then!” he commented carefully.

“But …” He shrugged great shoulders.

“King Edward, it seems, is a good teacher. In war. He would not leave Ayr unassailed. The Lord of Carrick is right in this …”

“No!” Douglas roared.

“Failure at Ayr would not only tie us down. It would spell the end of this rising. Until we have mustered a great force, we must keep moving…”

“Is not what I urge on you, my lords? To move! Now!”

Wallace demanded.

“I shall move, at least. Here and now. For that I came. Alone if need be. I go to Ayr. Who comes with me?”

Only Graham, who was already standing, nodded his head.

There was some shuffling of feet under the table, but no man rose.

“Very well. A good night to you, my lords. God be with you -and God help this poor Scotland!” Wallace threw down the gnawed leg of lamb and strode for the door, his two companions almost running at his heels. Sir John the Graham looked round the company, shrugged, and went after the trio.

After a moment or two, Robert Bruce pushed back his chair.

“You will bear with me if I take my leave,” he said, to them all.

“I think that there may be something to see, tonight. Fifty men against five hundred should show some sport, at the least! I go watch it.”

In silence he left the hall. At the door, he found Andrew Moray of Bothwell at his side.

Out in the Seagate of Irvine, by a slender sliver of horned moon they found Wallace’s men already mounting their shaggy garrons—and a ruffianly crew they seemed, though heavily armed. At sight of the two noblemen, Wallace, not yet mounted, paused.

“Who is this?” he demanded, peering.

“Ha—my lord of Bothwell.

And, yes—it is the Bruce! What would you, sirs?”

“I would come with you. To see what fifty men may do,”

Bruce jerked stiffly.

“If you will so much trust Edward’s lord “Trust? I trust my eye, my arm and sword, and God’s good mercy my lord. Little else. But come if you will.”

Bruce and Moray went for their mounts. The horse-lines of the host were down at the main encampment, between the comparatively small Seagate Castle and the river. By the time they got back, Wallace and his band had gone, but left Sir John the Graham behind to bring them on. Wallace was making for Ayr by the coast, he told them. They would have to hurry to catch up -for that one never daundered, however indifferent the quality of his horseflesh.