The Steps to the Empty Throne

“I

shall receive Ayr in his name, if so required.”

“Aye. Very well. My lord Earl of Carrick, heir of the House of Bruce, receives Ayr burgh and castle, cleansed of the English invader, in the name of James, Lord High Steward of Scotland,” the big man intoned impressively.

“Is it agreed?”

No one being in any position to say otherwise, the thing was accepted, with nods and shuffles.

Eyeing them all, Wallace smiled thinly.

“So be it. My lords, no doubt you will now ride to acquaint the Steward of this matter.

Sir John—you could aid me here, if you will. You, my friends of Ayr—get you back to your town. I want every house searched.

For Englishmen. Some there may be yet, in hiding. A great grave to be dug. The streets and wynds cleared of folk. All to return to their homes. You have it?” Briskly he issued these orders, and stepped down from the dais.

“Now—I have work to do …”

Bruce and Moray, finding themselves dismissed as well as redundant, were not long in making their way back to their horses, a little aggrieved perhaps that Graham should have been singled out for employment, and had left them so promptly. They did not go near to the burning barracks. The roof had fallen in now, and some of the walling collapsed.

In thoughtful frame of mind the two young men rode for Irvine again. Some distance on their way, after crossing the Holm ford, they looked back. New fire was rising at Ayr, from the castle now—and it was not the wall beacons rekindled. The keep itself was ablaze.

“I faith—that man does nothing by the half!” Moray said.

“He has ungentle ways. Fears neither God nor man, I swear. But … with a few more Wallaces this Scotland would soon be clear of the English, I say.”

“You think so? I do not.” Bruce shook his head.

“Your father, I believe, would not say so. He is hostage in an English prison, is he not? Like I have, he has seen Edward’s might. His armies in battle array. His chivalry by the thousand. His archers, longbow men, by the ten thousand. It is these must be defeated before Scotland is free of Edward Plantagenet. This Wallace can surprise a garrison, capture a castle, slay a few scores, even hundreds. But against the, English massed power what could he do? Or a score like him?”

“Then … then you believe this vain? Of no avail? Yet you joined us.

Left Edward’s side for ours.”

“Aye. But not to play outlaw. Not to war with dagger and torch and rope! This may serve its turn, give the common folk cause for hope.

Rally doubters. But, if Scotland is to gain her freedom, it is not the

Wallaces who will win it, I say. It is ourselves, man. Those who can

command and lead thousands, not fifties. Mark it—it is not those we

have left behind in Ayr who can save Scotland, in the end. But those

we ride to Irvine, to tell And their like.”

“And these—these bicker and dispute. And hold their hands!”

“Aye. There you have it. These cannot agree. There is no leader. I know Edward and the English. Divided counsels, pinpricks, gestures, will not defeat them. Only armed might. And a firm and ruthless hand directing it.”

“Wallace has such a hand, at least…!”

“Wallace! Think you the lords of Scotland will follow such as Wallace, man?”

The other was silent.

Chapter Six

The sun was warm, the scent of the yellow gorse flowers was strong, the larks trilled in the blue above, and men relaxed, sat, sprawled, strolled or slept all along the Irvine waterside. For hours they had waited there, at first drawn up in serried ranks, foot in front, cavalry behind, bowmen in knots—pitifully few, these last. But now, in the early afternoon, the ranks were broken, the groups scattered, and men relaxed, all the urgency gone out of the host and the day. Which was no state for any army to be in.

Its leaders might have maintained some more suitable spirit—but by and large the leaders were not there, nor had been most of the long day.

The Scots insurgent force had moved out of Irvine, south by east, early in the morning, on word of the English approach. Wallace had sent that word, that Clifford was now no further off than Kilmarnock, a mere six miles away, with Percy coming up from Lochmaben. Even then, the Steward, the Bishop and others, had been for a prompt withdrawal northwards, while there was yet time, making for Glasgow; and only Douglas, this time reinforced by Bruce, Moray and Lindsay, had managed to carry the day in favour of resistance. They had marched out to take up strong defensive positions along the line of the River Irvine and its tributary the Annick Water, facing south and east across what was largely swampland, water-meadows and even a small loch, to slow down any English attack. It was an excellent position—although rather strung-out for their numbers, which still reached only about four thousand. The position was almost too strong in fact, since it. produced too great a feeling of security, too defensive an atmosphere altogether.

Bruce and Moray paced a grassy bank above their own lines, ill at ease and short of temper. Since the affair at Ayr, they had drawn together. Andrew Moray’s quiet and thoughtful nature making an excellent counter-balance to Bruce’s impetuosity. But today even Moray was disgruntled and impatient. They had marshalled their men together, the Annandale and Maybole contingents—the latter now much reinforced—and the Both well company from Lanarkshire, totalling in all almost a thousand. They had selected a good position at the right of the long line, not more than a mile from the sea, and holding the Warrix ford. But as the day wore on, and Wallace’s scouts were sent back with word that the English were still at Kilmarnock, obviously awaiting the arrival of Percy’s force from Lochmaben—where Wallace had in fact boldly attacked them two nights before with indecisive results—Bruce had urged action, a sally. It was crazy, he declared, to let the two English hosts join up, when they might prevent it.

A flanking movement with their cavalry could cut off Kilmarnock, north and south. The foot could march the six miles in two hours. Kilmarnock was no strong-point, no citadel or walled town-and the townsfolk would turn against the invaders’ rear when they saw the opportunity. Wallace and his men could go in, to rally them.

But there was no convincing the majority of the other lords. It would be folly to desert the strong position here, most said.

Others, the most senior, were still advising a retiral northwards.

Even Douglas was not for attack meantime.

So it had gone on all day. Wallace himself had sent Sir John the Graham—who was now frequently in his company—to urge the lords to move over to the attack, more or less as Bruce advised.

But without avail.

It was in a thwarted and discouraged frame of mind, therefore, the two young noblemen heard some shouting and commotion from further up the riverside, and, for want of better employment, walked in that direction to see what went on. They discovered Lindsays and Montgomeries, their neighbours in the line, in some consternation and excitement.

“Lundin has ridden off. Deserted to the English!” one of them told the newcomers.

”Sir Richard Lundin. He rode off, through our left, there. Over that

bit ford. Towards Kilmarnock. With his esquire and three men …”

“They say he has had enough. Of folk who dinna ken their am minds!” another supplemented.

“The English aye ken that, at least!”

“This is nonsense!” Bruce declared.

“You talk like fools.”

“It’s true. We saw him, my lord …”

“Perhaps he rides as messenger? Courier?” Moray suggested.

“To the English?”

“Who else? They would not send him to Wallace. Such as he!”

“Courier for what, then? What have they to say to the English?”