Insurrection (68 page)

The master of works nodded in agreement. Raising his hand to hail the cart drivers, he went to direct them through the churned mud of the courtyard.

Robert’s gaze drifted across the rain-dappled river to the banks beyond, where cattle were grazing. On the damp air he caught an acrid whiff of dung and urine from a nearby tannery, over the more pervasive smells of brine and burning wood. Smoke plumed from many of the town’s wattle houses, the roofs, thatched with rushes and broom, visible beyond the barracks. Ayr had been coming slowly back to life since the ousting of Percy’s men, the atmosphere tentatively hopeful. The new palisade would be welcomed by all, however, for the future of the realm remained uncertain and there had been no word of how William Wallace and his army fared against the English.

Robert was increasingly impatient, having heard nothing since leaving Selkirk Forest. In the weeks that followed his return to Ayr, he had questioned whether he should have stayed with Scotland’s new guardian, for it seemed futile to have made the powerful gesture of knighting Wallace, only to retreat once again into anonymity. He had intended to be involved in the Scots’ campaign – to prove his worth as a leader of men and prove, once and for all, his devotion to his kingdom’s cause. James Stewart had been the one to persuade him otherwise. The steward had warned him against becoming too deeply entangled in the affairs of Wallace and the Comyns, instead advising him to continue building his own base and supporters, until the time was right to reveal his intentions to the men of the realm. Robert had been frustrated, but couldn’t deny the sense in the steward’s words. For his plan to have a hope of coming to pass he needed to maintain his integrity and that meant keeping himself aloof from those who still sought the return of John Balliol.

As the carts trundled to a stop, the cattle lowing in the wet, Robert heard his name being called. He turned to see Christopher Seton hastening towards him.

The squire’s fair hair was plastered darkly to his scalp and beads of rainwater dripped from his long nose. He looked grave. ‘My cousin needs to see you, Robert. At your lodgings.’

Robert frowned. ‘What for?’

Christopher was staring at the ground, unable to meet his gaze. ‘He said it’s important. Sir, he wants you to go to him. Quickly.’

Christopher had stopped calling him sir some time ago. The formal sound of the word made Robert uneasy. ‘Very well.’ Pausing to speak with the master of works, he left the riverbank with Christopher, their boots splashing through the mud.

The barracks were busy, for the whole of Robert’s company, including wives and children of the knights, had come here after leaving the Forest. Grooms were working in the crowded stables, sweeping out soiled hay, filling water troughs. A group of John of Atholl’s knights were sheltering under the dripping eaves of one building, playing a game of dice. They nodded to Robert as he walked by, heading for the long timber hall, his lodgings.

Alexander was standing outside the hall’s door, his cloak sodden.

‘What is it, my friend?’ called Robert as he approached. From inside the hall he caught the faint cries of his daughter. The man looked so grim that Robert’s first thought as he heard Marjorie crying was that this had something to do with her. ‘In Christ’s name, Alexander, answer me! Is it Marjorie?’ He pressed past the lord, who caught his arm.

‘This isn’t about your daughter, Robert.’ Alexander’s voice was little more than a murmur. ‘There is something you need to see.’

More and more confused, Robert allowed the man to push open the door for him. He entered, his eyes moving quickly around the interior. The first chamber was a small reception area. There were a few stools, but otherwise the place was sparse. He’d had neither the time nor the inclination to appoint it any better, for he didn’t plan to stay in this remote coastal town for ever. He was rarely ever here except to sleep, the business of running the town and his earldom taking up every hour of the day.

The first thing Robert saw as he entered was Judith. The wet nurse had risen abruptly at the opening of the door. She was clutching his daughter, her thin face scarlet. Marjorie cried harder as she saw her father, stretching her hands towards him. Judith stammered something, but before Robert could decipher what the girl had said he heard another cry, this one coming through the door that led to his bedchamber. Pushing past Judith, Robert entered.

The chamber beyond was the largest of the three rooms that made up the hall. It stretched before him, hazy with candlelight. There was a table and bench where he ate his meals, beside a fire that hissed in a clay-pit hearth. Meadowsweet rustled beneath his mud-caked boots, the herb covering the earth floor in a fragrant carpet. Clothes hung from a perch, his and Katherine’s. There were a few chests containing his armour and his broadsword hung between two posts buried in the wall. A glazed blue jug stood on the table beside two goblets and the remains of a meal, which hadn’t been there when he had left that morning. Candle flames fluttered atop melted stubs. Robert took in these familiar sights, then he heard the soft cry again and his eyes went to the bed against the far wall. It was draped with thick curtains that hung down in a swoop from a beam above, hiding the bed from view. The meadowsweet concealed his footfalls as he crossed the floor. Reaching the bed, Robert took hold of the curtains and pulled them apart.

He saw Katherine first. She was naked, her flushed face tilted towards the beams, eyes closed. Lying beneath her was a man, his hands gripping her splayed thighs. At the drawing of the curtains, Katherine’s eyes flew open. Her mouth, parted in pleasure, widened in horror and she struggled off the man, who twisted round, swearing as he saw Robert standing there. Katherine scrabbled back, snatching at the crumpled linen sheet to cover her nakedness. The man, whom Robert recognised as a local lad he’d hired to work on the town’s defences, stumbled off the bed and picked up his braies, discarded on the floor. He was no more than eighteen, a fresh-faced youth. His manhood, proudly erect and glistening, was already drooping between his legs. He pulled on the drawers, tugging the cord tight around his narrow waist as Robert looked on in silence. Katherine was breathing rapidly. Her eyes flicked past Robert to where Alexander was standing.

Seeing the venom in her stare, Robert turned. He had forgotten the lord was behind him. Christopher was with him. ‘You knew.’ His voice was flat, oddly calm.

‘I’m sorry, my friend.’ Alexander’s hard gaze moved to Katherine, whose face contorted in hatred. ‘But you had to be shown for yourself.’

‘You snake!’ she spat. ‘You’ve been spying on me?’

Seeing a rumpled heap of material trailing on the edge of the bed, Robert bent and picked it up. It was one of Katherine’s gowns. The dress was low-cut and tight like all the others. He tossed the garment at her. ‘Cover yourself.’

‘Robert, please,’ she murmured, her tone changing.

He turned away as she pulled on the gown, her voice pleading behind him.

‘I beg you.’ Dragging the skirts of the dress down, she came around the bed to him. ‘I was lonely. You are never here. Not for me. Only for your men.’ She touched his arm, tentatively.

‘Get out.’

Her grip on his arm tightened. ‘Robert, please, I—’

‘I said leave.’

‘I’m pregnant,’ she sobbed suddenly.

‘Pregnant?’ His voice was as cold as marble. ‘Whose bastard is it?’

Katherine paled, then her face hardened. ‘Who will look after your daughter?’ She looked at Judith, standing in the doorway clutching Marjorie. ‘You cannot think she can do it? The girl would fall down if I wasn’t here to hold her up!’

‘My daughter is no longer your concern.’

‘Where will I go? How will I survive?’

‘I am certain you can ply your trade in most towns.’

Katherine stared at him. Swallowing thickly, she turned away and pulled down her cloak from the clothes perch. Breathing hard, she pushed her feet into a pair of shoes, then picked up a few other belongings and stuffed them into a leather bag. Robert didn’t stop her. The youth was still standing against the wall by the bed. He had pulled on his tunic and seemed to be scanning the chamber for another way out.

Katherine pushed past Alexander and headed for the door. ‘
Bastard
,’ she breathed through her clenched lips, before stepping out into the rain.

A few moments later the young man, boots in hand, slipped past. Robert glanced at him. For a second he was going to let him go, then fury exploded inside him and he grabbed the youth around the neck. Alexander shouted, but Robert didn’t hear as he dragged the struggling man past Judith and his screaming daughter into the yard. Alexander and Christopher hastened out behind him. The young man was yelling, begging for forgiveness. Robert threw him down in the red clay and launched a kick at his stomach. The youth doubled over, his face screwing up in pain. A few of Atholl’s knights splashed through the wet, seeing the attack. Unheeding their confused calls, Robert grabbed the youth’s tunic and pulled him up to slam his fist into the young man’s face. As Alexander seized his shoulder, Robert let go of the young man and turned on his comrade. Alexander ducked, but rather than strike him, Robert went for his sword. Before Alexander could stop him, he grasped the hilt and drew it. But when he went for the youth sprawled in the mud, bloody and terror-stricken, Alexander gripped his arm, holding him back.

‘The lad took what was freely offered, Robert. He shouldn’t have. But he doesn’t deserve death.’

The youth scrabbled to his feet, his tunic clinging to his legs. Leaving his boots where he had dropped them, he sprinted across the yard. As two of the watching knights moved to apprehend him, Alexander shouted at them to let him go.

Enraged, Robert confronted him. ‘Who do you think you are?’

‘I’m one of the men who have given up everything to support you,’ replied Alexander forcefully. ‘I believe you can be king, Robert. But you need to start believing it.’

The sound of raised voices filled the yard. Robert looked round to see his brother and John of Atholl approaching, followed by Walter and several knights from Carrick. Observing their taut faces, he thought they must have been alerted to the altercation, but the assumption was shattered as John spoke.

‘Word has come. Wallace’s army was defeated at Falkirk. Thousands are dead.’

‘And Wallace?’ questioned Alexander, letting go of Robert.

Christopher had moved up behind them.

‘We don’t know,’ Edward cut in. He looked at his brother. ‘The cavalry, led by the Comyns, fled the battle without even drawing their blades. The bastards saved their own skins and left everyone else to be butchered.’

‘What of King Edward?’ Robert demanded of John. ‘Are you saying the English have control of the kingdom? That Scotland is lost?’

‘Nothing is certain. But we know the English are heading this way.’

Robert took this in, the rain soaking him. ‘He is coming for me.’

His brother-in-law nodded. ‘You are now the only real danger to him.’

Christopher spoke, his voice thick. ‘But the new palisade isn’t even raised. We cannot defend Ayr.’

‘What do you suggest we do?’ Edward turned to the squire. ‘Run like cowards? Leave this town and everyone in it to the mercy of your whoreson of a king?’

Alexander stepped in, his gaze on Edward. ‘My cousin is as much a part of this company as you are. No matter his birthplace.’

Robert stood in silence as they began to speak over one another. Rain trickled down the length of the blade in his hand. Behind him, from the hall, came the urgent cries of his daughter. Beyond the rooftops of the barracks, smoke trailed into the sky from the houses. He thought of the optimism growing here these past months. Then he thought of the cartloads of timber waiting in the rain on the riverbanks. ‘We burn it down.’

The men stopped arguing as he spoke, his voice low.

Robert looked at them. His voice roughened. ‘We burn the town and go into the hills where the English cannot follow. We will seek out the steward, if he made it from the battle.’

‘Flee?’ said Edward, shaking his head.

Robert met his brother’s eyes. ‘We cannot beat the English on the field. Not yet. The only thing we can do is leave nothing for them to feed upon and no base to shelter them. The longer their supply lines become, the harder it will be for them to sustain themselves.’

John of Atholl nodded. ‘I’ll tell my men. We will begin evacuating the town at once.’

Without a word, Robert handed the sword back to Alexander and moved off with Atholl.

As the others headed away through the downpour, Alexander hung back with Christopher. Watching them go, he sheathed his sword then drew a purse from the pouch that hung from his belt and handed it to his cousin. ‘Make sure the lad gets this. He won’t have gone far.’

Christopher shook his head angrily. ‘You’re still thinking about that, after what you’ve just heard?’ He went to leave, but Alexander caught his arm. Christopher glared at him. ‘I never wanted any part in this. You know that. We shouldn’t have done it.’ His voice lowered as Alexander tightened his grip in warning. ‘Robert saved my life. We betrayed him!’

‘We didn’t betray him. Katherine did. We merely opened his eyes to what she was. How easy was it to get her to lie with the next young stallion that caught her eye? It didn’t take the lad long to bed her, did it? Robert wasn’t going to listen to reason. Katherine was one more string that needed to be cut if he is to become king. When that happens, you will thank me for this. Do not forget, cousin, we stand to lose as much as Robert if he doesn’t succeed in attaining the throne. We must do everything to ensure that comes to pass.’ Alexander pressed the purse of coins into Christopher’s hand. ‘Now, I told the lad we would compensate him for the deed. I keep my promises.’