A Kingdom's Cost, a Historical Novel of Scotland (21 page)

There was no time to waste and much to be
done. He pelted down the stairs. Finding Wat still at the table, James sent him
up for the armor and clothes in the master's chamber. Once he had that, James
ordered that he go through the storerooms selecting anything that should be
carried to the king and pile that outwith the gates.

James stepped onto the top of the high
table and shouted for attention. When he had it, he told everyone that once
they had finished their feast to join him out in the yard.

The stables had to be emptied so he set Gib
to leading out the horses to hobble them furth the gates as well. "But
find me one that we can spare for another purpose. One I won't want to take
with me."

"My lord," Will said as he came
through the gate with Alycie, "I've brought my sister as you commanded."

She was dry-eyed and calm but her face was
white and stiff and she had a bag in her hands. "I brought bandages,
herbs."

"You know?" He tried to think of
the right words to say. "I should have kept him close to me," he
managed at last. "I'm sorry, lass. He was a good friend."

Her nod was jerky. "Will told me you
tried to save him. I know you would have if you could."

He reached out and took her hand, squeezing
her fingers gently. "He will have justice. You know my oath. And before we
leave the priest will give him his rites." Then tears started in the
corner of her eyes and rolled down each cheek. James pulled her to him,
stroking her hair. "I'm so sorry."

Yet he seemed to have lost the power to
feel. He was sorry but it seemed as though his heart had frozen.

He wasn't sure if it was when he carried
Thomas's dead body or when he stepped into his home knowing what he had to do. Killing
in the heat of battle was one thing. But he had to protect his people, no matter
what it cost him.

"I don't blame you," she pulled
back, wiping at her eyes. "Is there anyone who needs care? The nuns taught
me well."

"Will, why don't you take her inside? Several
men had wounds she could tend. There's much I must see to and little time."

The prisoners sat, hands tied behind their
backs, against the outer wall. Gib and a helper were leading out horses, their
hooves ringing on the stones of the yard. He spotted the smith coming out the
door of the keep and called to him, giving him orders to find men and bring out
all the stores from the kitchens and store rooms. "Any that people can
carry with them stack there," he pointed to beside the doors of the great
hall, "and the rest is all to go in the cellars. The tables and chairs and
benches from the hall, break them up. Into the cellar with it. Everything--except
the salt. Bring me the salt."

Gib led up a brown filly limping on a hind
foot. "This one you'll not want, my lord. What should we do with it?"

"You know where the well is on the
side, Gib. Take her there and wait for me. Once Iain Smith brings me the salt,
I'll take care of the matter."

The yard had become chaos with men and
women both carrying out bags and barrels of stores, Wat and Will carrying out
stacks of weapons and armor, horses whinnying as they were led through the
press. Woman talked and laughed as they shared out flour and oats from the
barrels stacked to the side. He set some children to chasing down chickens to
carry home. Their squawking added to the uproar.

James walked to the top of the steps to
shout over the cacophony. "All of the women need to go through the food
here. Take what you can carry away. Take anything you can use--but remember the
English will come looking. If they find something they can identify, they'll
take their revenge. Carry off only what won't give you away."

Iain Smith appeared with a barrel of salt
on his shoulder. "This is the salt I could find, my lord."

"Good. I'll need your help." The
man followed him around to the side. James pointed to the edge of the well. "Dump
it in." Once the salt was poured in the well, he took the horse's head,
sidling her flank against the low edge of the well. "Once I've done what I
must, you see that she goes in. Get ready."

He pulled the dirk from his belt. With a
hard slash, he slit the horse's throat, jumping to the side away from the hot gush
of blood. Still his hands were covered in red gore. For a second, her eyes
rolled. The three of them pushed hard. Her thrashing body tilted onto the
opening. Her weight topped her down. They scraped on the stone on the way down.
James heard a splash. An unpleasant job, but not the worst he'd do this day.

Gib met him as he strode back into the yard.
"The supplies are all piled in the cellar."

James looked down at his hands, once more
blood soaked. Well, time for them to get more so. He must reek of blood. Mayhap
it had soaked into his soul.

"Get the prisoners," he ordered. He
strode through the door of the great hall and went to Alycie. Will had a hand
on her shoulder as she tied off a bandage on a youth's arm. They were in front
of the hearth where a fire still crackled though the room was empty of tables
and benches. "It's time for justice to be done. You should stay inside
until after."

Alycie looked from him to her brother and
back again. "What are you going to do, Jamie?"

"What I must."

She paled. "I--don't think I like
this."

"There are many things I don't like, lass."
His voice grated. "But the English will know they can't despoil my people.
Nor may they live to take revenge once I'm gone. None must know who helped me
here."

Outside he pulled Wat aside, "Whilst I
finish here I want you to check the church. Take anything we can use--armor,
weapons." He frowned and motioned to Gib. "Start someone moving the
horses into the village. But I want you to stay. I'd have the village elders
witness what I do this day."

Then James stood in the middle of the yard,
motioning the people to clear a space and drew his sword. Iain Smith and Gib dragged
the commander before James at his nod.

"You commanded here?" James asked.
"And what was done here was at your command?"

"You know I did." He jerked
against the men holding him.

"Be grateful I'm not your sovereign. I
don't torture men before I kill them. But you have offended against the laws of
the Scotland and of God. In the name of Robert, King of the Scots, I sentence
you to death."

The two men forced the commander down until
his face was pressed into the ground. James lifted his sword in both hands high
over his head. He sucked in a breath. He brought it down as hard as he could. It
hit the ground with a jar. The head bounced, rolling. Blood sprayed across the
stones.

He heard Alycie give a cry behind him. He
didn't turn but something inside him seemed to crack and unfreeze. He felt his
face flush as though he had a fever, and he knew if he let them, his hands
would shake. But he had to finish this.

He motioned to someone, not looking to see
who. "Drag the body into the cellar with the rest of it. Put it on top."

Twice more he sentenced a man to die and
executed him. It was right that he should soil his own hands. He wouldn't put
this on another man's soul.

The ground was soaked red with blood and
the air stank of it and of death.

At last, he sent everyone away. Silently
they filed out to await in the village. He watched them go, holding tight to
his sword so no one saw his hands shaking. The cellar door stood open and he
walked down the steps. He took a torch from its sconce. The pile reached to the
thick beams that supported the upper floor. It filled the room--spilled grain,
split barrels of wine, furniture. On the top were bodies. Oil seeped through
the mess and pooled onto the floor.

He said goodbye to memories and the days of
happiness he'd had in this place. This was now how he'd remember it. He tossed
the torch.

The oil caught with a whoosh and flames
climbed and twisted towards the beams.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Douglas
Castle, Scotland: March 1307

Even the men-at-arms had had armor in
better condition than his. James gave a grim laugh. Wat had put aside armor for
both of them, improving what they were wearing. James threw aside the bloody
mess his own was and waded into the Douglas Water within sight of the kirk. He
shivered in the cold but plunged his face in to wash off the blood and sweat. The
water tasted of mud and grass and living things. He turned, looking at the
green sprouts of spring. He had to hang on to why he'd done what he had. He
couldn't let go of it.

Beyond the trees, the smoke from Douglas
castle rose in a black column into the sky. As he splashed out of the water and
sponged off with his discarded cloak, he pictured his father that last day
they'd left. He'd lifted James's step-mother off her feet in a bear hug and
tousled his brother's hair. But he would have understood--would have done the
same thing. James picked up the looted hauberk and paused. Would his father
have executed the prisoners? James's stomach twisted. He hadn't tortured them. What
he'd done was gentle compared to Wallace's and Thomas Bruce's deaths.

He shuddered. Killing them didn't mean he
was a ravening beast. He wasn't like King Edward. St. Bride, please let him not
have turned into a demon from hell.

He jerked on the armor and buckled on his
weapons. That smoke was likely to bring someone to investigate. Time to finish
here.

Buckling his belt, he strode through the
trees and into the village. The men were dividing up the armor and weapons. Now
most of the seventy who would ride with him had at least a mail hauberk. About
half had a helm and they all had dirks and swords at their belts. Around them
stood those who would stay behind, women and children and most of the family
men.

"If anyone wants to flee, I'll give
them escort. There's a chance that even with no one who could say who aided me
that the English may still take revenge."

Gib came forward. "My lord, it's our
home."

One last task.

The grave was already dug. James stood
behind Alycie, his hands on her shoulders, whilst the priest said his prayers
and blessed the holy ground. She trembled but made not a sound. As dirt clods
began to thud over the body, James turned her. "Don't watch. Come along."
Pulling her against him, he nodded to Will and started towards their home.

As they walked, Will said, "I'd go
with you, my lord, but how can I leave Alycie alone? With no one to care for
her?"

She sighed and James tightened his arm around
her shoulder.

"Can you truly take care of me as long
as there are English in the land? What can you do to protect me--however much
you want to?" she said.

Will opened his mouth but nothing came out
at first. "You know I tried."

"Did I say you didn't try?" she
said in an angry voice.

"Wait," James said. "Will, I
need you here. I've a more important task for you than riding with me."

"Truly?"

James stopped and turned to face Will. "You
know the men here as well as your father did. I trust you. I must know what
happens in Douglasdale. Even in Bothwell and Lanark. Anywhere we can find
someone to watch. I'll have a camp in the Forest. When I'm not there, I'll see
that someone is."

Will opened the door to their home and they
went in.

James kept his arm around Alycie. It
somehow seemed like the right thing to do. And she didn't seem to think he was
a ravening beast. He needed to feel that.

"Once I have a camp set up, I'll send
Wat to you. We'll make plans. Find a few men--ones you can trust mind--to spy
for us. I'll know every time the English move, how many and where."

"My lord," Will's eyes had
widened. "I can do that."

"I know you can." James managed a
smile.

A horse whickered and hooves clattered outside.
He tilted Alycie's chin. "Keep safe, sweetling."

Her eyes were soft--full of sadness. She
stroked his cheek. "When will you return?"

How could a man not kiss such soft lips? They
parted under his mouth. His tongue touched hers. Her face was scarlet as he
pushed her gently away. "I must go. I'll return when I may."

He threw himself out the door. Wat held the
reins of a big black stallion. He vaulted in the saddle, wheeling the animal in
a circle. "The Forest," he yelled. "And let the English seek us."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Ettrick
Forest, Scotland: April 1307

James paced the vale whilst his men hobbled
the horses. He set a watch up on the ridge where the stone peak curved like a
scythe. Trees covered its lower slope, pine and yew and hawthorn. As he paced
the edge of the clearing, jays and skylarks burst from the trees. The spring
wind sighed amongst the trees. A squirrel chattered and scolded high above.

He climbed to the peak, pebbles scattering
as he went and nodded to the sentry. The red sun hung low above the horizon and
the trees stretched on and on in waves like a sea of dark green marked by a
line where the Water cut through. He smiled. Bad cess to the English when they
tried to find him here. Like Wallace and Frasier who'd hidden here before him. This
was a fastness as good or better than the mountains where Bruce yet lurked. They
stretched thick over three counties and he'd hunted them as a boy.

He had to wonder how the king would take
the news of his fight at Douglasdale. He was religious in his own way. James
knew that Comyn's killing worried at him. In spite of the bishop's absolution,
the king sometimes said their ill fortune sprang from that deed. James would
have to tell him of a kirk that had a floor coated with blood and men he'd
beheaded. He supposed confession would be a good thing if he could find a
priest who would absolve him for such acts. Bishop Moray would understand. As
he watched the sun setting, he had to laugh. At least he wasn't important
enough for the Pope to excommunicate. That worried Bruce as well--that the Pope
threw anathema at him rebelling against the English rule.

Ah, time to see to the camp and think about
what they might yet do to annoy the unwanted guests in their country and plans
yet to make.

Men in twos and threes were building small cook
fires and for the comfort in the shelter of the scattered trees. The scrape,
scrape of a whetstone on steel was a comforting sound. A long and lean man
whose name he didn't recall sharpened a dirk. He needed to learn his men--their
names. Their strengths. And their weaknesses.

 
Wat came through the trees. "The
horses are hobbled and wiped down. But keeping enough feed for them will be hard."

"I want to look them over. We have no
time for cutting hay." They'd had to double up to ride them into the Forest.
Some of the men who couldn't ride would straggle in later. The black charger
James had ridden snorted and snapped when he took its halter. He gave it a jerk.

"This one I have a use for." He
chewed his lip and went to the animals one by one looking them over. "They're
good rouncels but I'd rather find lighter garrons for us to ride. They'll go
where these never will."

Will frowned. "I've never heard of an
army on garrons."

"Nor have I but it's what we'll do. They're
light enough to make it through marshes where these would be stuck in a trice."

"So what do we do with these. They're
too fine for a cook pot except the pack horses."

"The pack animals we'll keep. But
these... There is a market it seems to me at Bothwell village. And the last I
heard, Aymer de Valence was in residence there. I'd like to see if I can get
wind of what that man is up to."

"Surely this many animals would raise
suspicions, my lord. I've no desire for us to end up with our heads on a stake."

James gave a grim laugh. "Even less do
I since I'd share Wallace's fate. Give me a clean death in battle, pray God. But
we can take them a few at a time to this market and that. We'll make sure they
look rough, like an animal that's never known a fine stable. Thus, we'll learn
much, mayhap find a chance to do our friends a bad turn and gain some much-needed
coin. After all, out of this mail would you take me for a king's man?"

 
"No, not any of us." Wat nodded.
"We could do it, I think."

"The market for animals is--"
James squinted searching his memory. "It used to be held on the second
Sunday of the month so a week from today. The Lanark Fair is only a few weeks
away. And, Wat, I want the men trained to use their swords and dirks. These are
farmers and need practice. That will be your task. Set up a schedule to work
with them. And set some to hunting. I'll have them busy and not idle. Who knows
what work I might find for them traveling about." He smiled.

Wat nodded. "Right you are that they
need training, my lord. I'll start tomorrow."

"I'll see to the sentries myself whilst
I'm here." James strolled back to the edge of the camp and Wat followed. One
of the men was singing a song about two corbies looking for their dinner whilst
another played on a pipe. James's stomach grumbled. Time to eat and rest, but
it was hard with so much to do. Ten men to a watch would suffice.

He tried to keep his mind from skittering
about but there was so much to plan. On the way to Bothwell, he'd sneak into
Douglas village. Someone must go to Berwick-upon-Tweed. It was a long trip, but
Will would know who could be sent. James had to know Isabella's fate. Was there
any chance of getting aid to her? Did she have warm clothes? He had no chance
of a rescue at that great keep--yet, he had to be sure. If only there were a
way to rescue her. Thinking of her locked in a cage like a wild animal made him
want to howl in rage, but it was better to do something instead.

Soon he had someone digging latrine
trenches and the rest of the sentries in place. They'd brought a haunch of beef
from the castle that sizzled and spit over the fire and each of them sliced
some off. The camp started to feel like a good place to be. But when he closed
his eyes to sleep, the eyes of the men he had executed stared out of the dark.

The next morning Wat practiced with some on
their blade work and others hunted. James made it a point to talk with each of
them, to fix their names and their faces in his mind. He talked to them about
what they could do and what they knew about the surrounding towns and castles. Most
had some skills. Iain knew horses. Dauid had helped in the kitchen at the
castle so James put him in charge of the food. Most had never ridden so he'd
need to work on that. Moving fast would be essential. But they'd need the right
horses for it. He sent Sym to hunt for a new campsite. When he returned, they'd
move. A week in one place would be more than long enough.

By Friday night, James felt happy with the
way the camp was running and soon he'd have fighters. He picked out the two
smallest and scruffiest horses and told Iain to come with him. A horse trader
wouldn't have a sword or armor, but a dirk in each leather boot and one at his
belt made him feel secure enough.

After dark, they saddled and rode down the
Douglas Water to near the town. Iain stayed with the horses hidden in the woods
whilst James crept to Hazelside. A soft knock and Will opened the door for him
to slip inside.

"My lord. I thought you would send
someone. It's dangerous for you. Valence and Clifford have men scouring the dale."

James grinned and scrubbed at untrimmed
beard. "Do you see any Lord of Douglas hereabouts? Looks to me like I'm
just a horse trader on my way to market."

Will laughed and Alycie came in carrying a
basket of herbs.

She curtsied, her cheeks growing pink. "I
heard you, and thought mayhap you could use these. There's boneset for fevers
and comfrey and slippery elm for wounds." She frowned. "I'll put it
in cloth sacks for you to take. I should have thought of that." She
scurried out of the room and James looked after her.

"She seems well. I was worried how
she'd take your father's death."

"She's stronger than you'd think. I
wish she'd let me find her a husband. But I won't force her. After everything,
it's more than I can do. She..." Will gave James an embarrassed look,
rubbing his neck. "She has her mind elsewhere."

The house smelt of the oak from the
crackling fire and something with an herby scent that Alycie must have been
cooking. He paced. He tried to be a decent man, but sometimes he wasn't sure
how. He shrugged off the thought. "Will, I have a hard task I need done. I
need someone to go to Berwick-upon-Tweed for me. Is there any man who's been
there? One we can trust?"

Will frowned. "That's a long trip. I
was there with my father once. Going so far away from everyone they know, I'm
not sure I'd want to trust anyone else. It's too big a risk. If someone must
go, it must be me."

"You'd leave Alycie with no protection
and the village with no leader. No. I can't agree to that." He took
another turn around the room. "Mayhap I'll make the trip myself."

"My lord. No, you mustn't," Will
exclaimed.

Alycie stood in the door with the bag of
herbs in her hand. "Mustn't what?"

When Will told her what James was
proposing, her eyes widened. "Oh, please. Don't."

James took the bag from her hand and smiled.
"I'll think on it." But it had to be done, and it looked like he'd
have to do it himself and soon since he needed to return to the king. "Thank
you for these. We've been lucky so far, but eventually we'll need such."

"I do have news for you, my lord,"
Will said. "A troop of men-at-arms arrived from Lord Clifford yesterday. They've
ordered us to help with clearing the castle. They said they'll start repairs
soon."

"It's what I expected. But I can make
it an uncomfortable place to hold. Gather any more news that you can and I'll
be back soon. I want to take a look at Bothwell Castle."

"Ah. My lord, whilst your there you'll
want to talk to a cousin of mine. My mother's cousin, I suppose. She's passed
me news and might know something new."

"Will you sup before you go?" Alycie
asked.

He took her hand. The bones felt frail
under his fingers; he could have broken them with no more than a squeeze. With
a jolt, he thought that if he could have taken her to safety he would. If such
thinking was wrong, then he couldn't help it.

"No, I'd best go. One of my men awaits
and we have traveling to do."

She hurried to a shelf to take down bread
and cheese. "Then you must take something with you. I won't let you leave
without food."

He smiled softly to himself as he took it
from her hand. It was hard not to become fonder of her than he should be.

After Will made sure the way was clear,
James left. He and Iain led the horses through the dark, not wanting to ride
and take a chance on laming one if it stepped in a hole.

They rested a few hours in the night and by
morning, Bothwell Castle rose before them.

The red stone keep punched into the sky at
the top of a grassy brae. The castle village sat below along a twisting road. The
market was set up south of the village, a small city of tents and stalls, even
from a distance stinking of shit and blood. The horses whickered at the smell
but a word calmed them. Hawkers shouted and loud voices were all mixed together
so James couldn't catch the words. He led the way into the reeking market.

A man-at-arms in a blue dyed wool cloak and
black mail was propped up by a spear next to the first tent. He scanned
everyone who passed. James slid his eyes away. Beyond the tents stretched
paddocks for the stock. James dismounted and nodded to Iain to follow him. Men
crowded around a stall selling mugs of ale. James stopped and slid a groat to
the merchant for two mugs.

"I hear the castle burned for three
days," a man said in an undertone his eyes on the guard.

"Aye, the Lord of Douglas they say. English
are naming him the Black Douglas his dark looks and for killing all the
garrison." The man snorted with laughter then looked around in alarm. He
glanced at James and moved away. That was old news, but the part about being
called the Black Douglas made him smile. He held his horse's reins whilst he
sipped and slid closer to two men talking, heads near together.

"At Glen Trool, they say. Had Lord
Clifford running like a whipped cur."

James hid his start with another sip.

"Valence took off out of here
yesterday eve riding hard to the south." The man laughed. "Glen Trool
is no to the south. Where do you suppose that was for?"

The clank of steel warned of men-at-arms
approaching. The men put their mugs down and walked in the other direction. Glen
Trool, James thought. Those waters went through a narrow valley a few hours
ride from where he'd left the king. James smothered a bark of
laughter--Clifford running like a whipped cur. Valence rode hard to the south. Now
why might that be?

The scent of meat cooking drifted from a
brazier mixed with the barnyard smells around them. A thin woman, a veil hiding
most of her gray her hair, took coins for the stuff. James warily scanned the
crowd. Two more men-at-arms were standing by the opening to the paddock.

James sidled up, Iain trailing, and handed
the woman a pence. "A friend of mine told me you sell good meat."

She sniffed. "Don’t think I’ll give
you extra for your sweet talk."

"You don’t remember my good friend
Will? He stuffs himself with what you sell every time he’s at the market."