Bruce’s illness was the result of never sparing himself during a life of hardship. He had lived in damp and draughty camps, and had suffered all the hazards of fighting.
By good fortune there were Scotsmen who were as eager to force the English out of the country as he was and with them he discussed the methods he wished to use against the enemy. The men he trusted most were Thomas Randolph, Earl of Moray, and Sir James Douglas.
Moray, being the son of his sister Isabel, was his nephew. He had played a prominent part at Bannockburn and had always been his uncle’s faithful adherent. Douglas had been knighted on the field of Bannockburn and had also proved himself a strong supporter of the Bruce. He was a bold man and fierce fighter and a legend had grown up about him in the north of England. Mothers told naughty children that if they were not good the Black Douglas would get them. He was a flamboyant character, constantly calling attention to himself by some daring deed, and his dark eyes and skin had earned for him the name of Black Douglas which suited his reputation.
It distressed Robert greatly that he was unable to join his army. He was torn between the desire to make the effort and be there to conduct matters perhaps from a camp behind the army, and the fear that his emaciated appearance might undermine the spirit of his soldiers. It was due to his endeavours that the Scots had driven the English out of Scotland with the magnificent climax at Bannockburn but Bruce was not the man to deceive himself and he knew that the victory had a good deal to do with the fact that Edward the First had died and his ineffectual son had taken his place.
Now he discussed with his two most trusted supporters the plan of action against the English.
‘What I want to avoid if it is possible,’ said Bruce, ‘is direct confrontation.’
‘We’d beat them then as we did at Bannockburn,’ replied Douglas.
‘Perhaps so, James, and perhaps not. It would mean that Scottish blood would be shed and I do not want that if it can be avoided. The advantage is with us. The English came laden with supplies and our men have learned to travel light.’
‘Aye,’ added Moray. ‘A bag of oatmeal and an iron plate to bake it on. That and the cattle we can steal on the way keeps the men well fed.’
‘Tis so,’ said Bruce, ‘and there I stress lies our advantage. My plan is that the English shall not come face to face with our army until we have lured them to that spot where a battle will take place if it cannot be avoided.’
‘You mean retreat before them.’
‘Not retreat,’ answered Bruce. ‘I like not that word. We shall leave England with them advancing towards us and as we pass through the English towns and villages we shall take their cattle and lay waste to the land. We shall be elusive. They will never catch up with us. And they will grow weary and exhausted trying to. Our plan should really be to bring about a peace treaty, which will free us from English domination for ever.’
Black Douglas was a little disappointed. He was hoping for another Bannockburn but like Moray he saw the wisdom of the King’s remarks. If Scotland was to prosper it needed peace. War might be exciting to such men as Douglas but it was also destructive. Advantageous peace was what the country needed.
‘The King of England has two sisters,’ went on Bruce. ‘They are about the age of my young David. You see what I am leading to. There is nothing like an alliance between countries to bring about a peace.’
Both Moray and Douglas acceded that this was true.
Plans were laid and thus when Edward with Sir John and their armies marched north in pursuit of the Scots they found evidence of them but they could not catch up with them.
They crossed the Tyne. Everywhere were ravaged villages but no Scots. The weather was bad; violent storms raged; the men grew restive and there was sickness in the camp.
If we could catch up with the Scots and there was a real battle you would see a change in the men,’ said Sir John to the King. ‘This state of affairs has a debilitating effect on them.’
Edward said: ‘It shows that the Scots are afraid of us.’
Sir John shook his head. ‘I believe that Robert the Bruce plays a game with us.’
‘He is a sick man. He is not with his army.’
‘He directs operations, my lord. You can depend on that, and he is a man not easy to beat whether he be on horseback or a sick couch.’
Edward was discovering that war was not the glorious adventure he had envisaged. He had thought it rather like a tournament, a kind of joust à l’outrance when the opponents fought to the bitter end. He had visualized glittering armour, lances shimmering in the sun, great deeds of bravery. Instead of this he found sickness, torrential rain, flies, draughty camps and the frustrating habits of the Scots who mockingly were leading them along this exhausting path.
One day a man was brought to Edward’s camp by Sir John of Hainault. The man had a story to tell. His name was Rokeby and he had been taken prisoner by the Scots and had consequently spent some time with them.
‘As soon as I escaped I made my way straight to your camp, my lord,’ said Rokeby. ‘I can tell you exactly where you will find the Scots army.’
‘Then,’ cried Edward, ‘we will find them. We will invite them to do battle. Then we shall have our revenge.’
He knighted Rokeby on the spot and as the man knelt to receive the accolade he laughed to himself. Edward was such a child really. He was easily deceived. He would tell Black Douglas that it hardly seemed fair, like cheating a baby.
Douglas would laugh. It had been his idea that Rokeby should bring the English army to the banks of the River Wear, for Douglas said he would have some sport with them.
In due course the army camp was set up on the banks of the River Wear in the county of Durham and true enough on the other side of the river the Scots were encamped.
‘Now,’ said Edward, ‘we shall come to battle and I doubt not the day will be ours.’
‘We should think of some way of surprising them,’ replied Sir John.
‘Nay,’ cried Edward. ‘I will fight with honour. They are on one side of the river, we on the other. I shall tell them that they must cross to meet us and I should consider it unchivalrous to attack them while they are crossing.’
‘My lord king,’ said Sir John with mild exasperation, ‘this is war.’
‘I intend to conduct war in an honourable way,’ replied Edward. ‘I will tell them that if they prefer us to cross the river we will do and the same terms will apply to us as I have offered them.’
Seasoned warrior John of Hainault shrugged his shoulders. He had come to the conclusion that the Scots were not eager to fight and when he considered the condition of his men, nor was he.
Edward waited for a reply from the messenger who had to ford the river to the Scottish camp. At last it came.
‘We are in your kingdom,’ it ran. ‘We have laid waste to your land. If that displeases you, you must come and attack us. We shall remain where we are as long as it pleases us.’
What were they to do?
Edward said they must in honour now cross the river but Sir John shook his head wearily. ‘The men are exhausted,’ he explained. ‘Supplies are running out. Our men do not travel with a bag of oatmeal and a griddle.’
‘Then we must act quickly,’ retorted Edward.
Edward had his way and they made plans to cross the river the following day. Through the night Edward lay sleepless. Across the water the light from the Scottish camp fires flickered in the darkness.
‘In the morning we shall strike,’ thought Edward, ‘and victory will be ours. I shall return to my Court and people will no longer smile at my youth and inexperience. They will know that I am not merely a figurehead. I am a true king. I shall cease merely to reign and shall rule.’