Kingdom of Shadows (66 page)

They were travelling constantly and tensions were high. News from central Scotland and the south-east was bad. King Edward had not been idle for long. At first unable to credit that Bruce, whom he had thought loyal, had risen against him, he had swiftly turned the full force of his attention to quelling the rebellion, and now the English were sweeping all before them. Aymer de Valence, Earl of Pembroke, the dead Comyn’s brother-in-law, had been appointed to retake Scotland and order went out that no quarter be given throughout the length and breadth of the land. Men, women, even children who supported the rebellion were to be put to the sword.

Robert and his followers became increasingly worried. Spring was turning towards summer and Robert knew that he had to stem the tide and drive the English out soon or it would be too late. News came that Bishop Lamberton and Bishop Wishart had both been captured and sent south in chains. The news was shattering to Robert and his followers. Isobel saw the lines on Robert’s face deepen. There were streaks of silver in his hair.

Increasingly worried about the vulnerability of his family he took them all with him when he marched north towards Mar, and he left them all there in safety, Isobel included, in the Earl of Mar’s great castle of Kildrummy in the keeping of his brother Nigel. In vain she pleaded to stay with him, but he was adamant. He wanted no women with him now. As he marched out of Kildrummy at dawn, three days after arriving there, Isobel suspected that he had already forgotten she existed.

Even though her beloved great-grandmother was still there in her private apartments within the Snow Tower at Kildrummy, Isobel had no intention of staying there. Without Robert’s presence the queen found many subtle ways to make her life a misery, ways that Sir Nigel could neither see nor prevent had he known about them. Isobel put up with it for a couple of weeks, then she planned her escape. A company of men from Mar were marching south to reinforce Robert’s armies in central Scotland. It was comparatively easy to join them, after a whispered farewell to Eleyne, accompanied by the ever faithful Hugh, and it was wonderful again to find herself at the head of a company of soldiers, buoyed up with the thrill of riding fast, heading breathlessly into danger and to Robert’s side.

Robert had decided that the confrontation had to come at Perth where the Earl of Pembroke now held the town for King Edward. As night fell on 18 June, Robert’s men moved back from the walls to bivouac in the woods on the banks of the River Almond, easing off their armour in the hot June night, their weapons at their sides, their camp fires springing up in the nightlong twilight of midsummer. Six miles to the east Perth lay in semi-darkness, the walls patrolled by Pembroke’s men, lights and fires extinguished. The town seemed to be sleeping.

Isobel left her horse at the lines and went towards the place where the king and his men were talking outside the makeshift tent which was the centre of his operations. Overhead, in the darkness, she could see the standard of Scotland, limp in the still night air. She stopped, half hidden by the shadows, not wanting to interrupt, afraid now that she was here that he would be angry with her for coming. She saw one or two of the men glance up and see her and she saw them smile, but Robert had his back half turned towards her and went on talking.

With him were his most trusted followers – his brother Edward, the earls of Lennox, Atholl and Menteith, James the Stewart and James Douglas.

Around them, spread out in the woods, most of their men were settling down for the night, although some had set off in parties to forage for food and others, seeking more comfortable sleeping quarters than the woods, were moving further afield into outlying farms and cottages. They expected no attacks; the guards were minimal.

Robert pored over the map on the makeshift table in front of him. He stabbed at Perth on the parchment before him with his forefinger. ‘Lord Pembroke is not one to skulk behind walls. He may not have come out to fight today, but he will accept my challenge and meet us tomorrow, you mark my words. He will not be able to resist our invitation for a full-scale battle, with my kingdom as a prize!’

‘The heat must have made him sleepy today.’ The Stewart wiped his hand across his forehead with a scowl. He had noticed Isobel now in the shadows, and he grinned. ‘The English aren’t used to our Scottish summers.’ There was a growl of laughter at the joke. Robert smiled grimly. ‘He’ll like our Scottish summers even less when we drum him out of the country on the run.’ He straightened and moved the stones which were holding the map flat, allowing it to roll up with a snap. The candle flickered on the table. ‘If God be with us, sirs, we shall hold the last key to Scotland by tomorrow and be on our way to driving out this invader for good.’

He walked out of the circle of light into the shadows on the far side of the circle of men. ‘I suggest you get some sleep if you can in this accursed heat, my lords.’

He had noticed the small stone chapel as night fell. As he made his way towards it Isobel followed him. One or two of his companions made to go too, but the Stewart raised his hand and stopped them. Only Isobel went on.

In the darkness the chapel was deserted, forgotten in its clearing in the centre of a stand of ancient oaks. Slowly he pushed open the door. The interior was in total darkness. Leaving the door wide so that the luminous starlight filtered in he walked towards the altar, a lump of rough stone with a carved Celtic cross upon it, and crossing himself he laid his sword on the ground before it. Then he knelt. His earlier optimism and resolve had faltered as dusk fell. Behind him he could hear the quiet talk of his men and the occasional shout of laughter. From far away, beyond the camp fires, a lone voice was singing a soft ballad to the plaintive accompaniment of a fiddle. His men trusted him. They had absolute faith in his cause.

‘Lord Christ and Our Lady, St Fillan and all the Blessed Saints, be with us in the battle tomorrow.’

He stared up at the narrow window with its outline clearly visible in the starlight, wondering whose chapel this was, and why it had been built here in the middle of nowhere. ‘Preserve Scotland from her enemies, and give your protection to her people in their hour of need.’

Behind him there was a sound in the doorway. Seizing his sword he leapt to his feet.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt your prayers.’ Isobel stood in the darkness by the door.

Robert closed his eyes briefly as he lowered the sword and laid it before the altar once more. ‘I might have run you through!’

‘I’m sorry.’ For once she was humble. ‘I shouldn’t be here.’

‘No, you shouldn’t! How did you get here? I gave orders for Nigel to keep you with the Queen safe in the north!’

‘I followed you with a company of men from Mar who have joined your flag.’ She took a step nearer to him in the darkness. ‘I had to be with you, Robert. Please, don’t send me away.’ Her voice broke suddenly. ‘It’s going to be a very big battle tomorrow, isn’t it?’

Robert laughed grimly. ‘Big enough. Pembroke has Mowbray and Umphraville with him and they have a strong force there, in St John’s town. But we have a strong force here at Methven. And right is on our side.’

‘And God fights on the side of the right.’ She gave a small smile.

‘God, my dear, favours the strongest, it’s as simple as that.’ Robert spoke with unusual cynicism. He turned, and picking up his sword he led the way slowly out of the chapel.

Around them the oaks formed a clearing, allowing the sky to illuminate the ground. Somewhere a blackbird, disturbed in its sleep, fluttered shrieking out of the undergrowth.

Robert stood, gazing down at the ground. ‘I committed sacrilege, Isobel. I spilled blood in the house of God when I slew Comyn.’ He stared up into the dark canopy of leaves. ‘Can God still be with me after that?’

‘Pembroke’s men have done a great deal worse,’ she replied quietly. ‘They have raised the dragon flag and give no quarter, even to men of God.’ She shuddered.

‘True.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘So, we are all in an equal state of sin. I shall have to put my faith in God and trust that He knows which side is right and must prevail.’ He was holding his sword in both hands, digging the point into the soft loam of the track. Behind them, beneath the trees, two of his men were waiting. Ostentatiously they had turned their backs. Robert smiled.

Catching Isobel to him he kissed her lightly on the forehead. ‘Go now, my love. You cannot stay here. I want you to ride back to Kildrummy now, tonight. I will send two men with you. I dare not spare more. Go back to the Queen and stay with her. That must be your penance for seducing a married man!’ He kissed her again.

‘Robert. I want to stay. Please, let me stay.’

She was in an agony of fear suddenly. The excitement she had felt before the skirmishes in the west had gone; the excitement of her ride south had dissipated. All she felt was a heavy leaden weight of dread. She could sense his preoccupation, the burden he carried on his shoulders, and it frightened her. She put her arms up around his neck. ‘Robert, what if –’

But he stopped her, his fingers over her mouth. ‘There must be no ifs, Isobel. Now go. And obey me.’

She released him abruptly. ‘Please –’

‘I have commanded you to leave Methven, Isobel.’ He spoke with the full weight of royal authority.

‘I’m sorry.’ Blinking back her tears she dropped a deep curtsey. ‘God save your grace!’ She turned without another word and fled blindly into the shadows.

Robert beckoned one of the figures from beneath the trees. ‘Go with her, James. Send two of your most trusted men to take her back to Kildrummy.’ He watched for a moment as his friend too disappeared into the darkness, then he turned back into the chapel and knelt once more before the altar.

She heard afterwards what happened. It was just after midnight and the encampment was fast asleep when the Earl of Pembroke, scorning the chivalrous challenge to fight the following day, which Robert had made and he had accepted, crept out of Perth in the starlight and attacked the unsuspecting Scots.

The silence of the wood in the mist was abruptly rent with shouts and screams as men and horses hurtled in amongst the trees and the sleeping soldiers, grabbing desperately for their dew-wet armour, were cut down where they stood, still groping bleary-eyed for the swords which had lain beside them on the ground.

Bruce’s followers fought bravely with their king and the battle was fierce in the strange half light of the summer night, but they were outnumbered. As Bruce’s men died around him he fought more and more fiercely himself, but to no avail. Their feet slipping in the blood beneath the trees the loyal Scots were slowly beaten back.

As dawn broke Isobel, with two of the Stewart’s men, was riding north across the mountains into Mar. She had ordered Hugh to stay as near the king as possible, as she could not, and he had agreed with alacrity and remained. Her heart too was still with Robert and her hands on the reins were cold with fear in spite of the heat of the night. Her sixth sense told her that something was wrong.

Twice she halted her sweating horse, wanting to turn back, but the men had had their orders. The Countess of Buchan was to go back to the Queen at Kildrummy. The King wanted her in a place of safety, so to a place of safety she would go.

The third time she stopped, however, she was adamant. She reined in the horse and turned it defiantly. ‘Would you turn your backs on your king when he needs you most?’ she challenged them and something in her wild eyes and desperate voice persuaded them. All three horses turned and slowly they began to retrace their steps towards Methven.

At Robert’s side Sir Thomas Randolph was overpowered and dragged away, a prisoner. One by one men dropped and died on the blood-soaked grass, the faithful Hugh amongst them. As dawn finally came to the devastated wood, and the sun rose, first in a mist of pearl, then in a blaze of crimson across the sky, the carnage was terrible to see. The King and the Earl of Pembroke had fought hand to hand. Two horses had died beneath Robert as he saw his friends captured and killed but still he fought on, exhausted though he was, his sword arm never failing, until at last he was forced to recognise the inevitable. To save the lives of those who remained he must flee from the field and recoup his strength in safety.

With his army dead, scattered or captured, the King fled into the dawn with some five hundred men out of the thousands who had been with him, and he vanished into the hills.

Behind him the King of England’s army began methodically to search for survivors.

Neil was standing by the bed in the leaping shadows of the candlelight. Again the room was ice cold. Slowly he brought his hand up before Clare’s face and moved it up and down. Her eyes were open; she blinked slightly, but her gaze was turned inwards; she wasn’t looking at anything in the room. He glanced at the dog. It was cowering in the corner again as it had before, staring into the distance, but at a very definite point in the room. He watched as its head moved slowly, tracking someone or something Neil couldn’t see.

‘Christ!’ He could feel his own hackles rising like the dog’s. Abruptly he caught hold of Clare’s shoulders and began to shake her.

‘What the hell is the matter with you, woman? You’re at it again, for God’s sake. Wake up!’

As Clare’s eyes moved vaguely to his face he shook her again. ‘What are you, some kind of lunatic? Wake up!’

Clutching her negligée around her Clare scrambled to her knees on the bed, in a state of shock, still seeing the blood, hearing the screams of the wounded men and horses, still present, at least in her mind, on the battlefield. She stared at Neil disorientated and confused.

‘Oh, God, no!’ She was shaking her head. ‘So many dead …’ She was sobbing now as she stared at him, still not recognising him as slowly the dream began to fade.

Neil watched her, frowning, as gradually her face cleared and he saw her focus on him. Behind them the room was gradually growing warmer again.

‘What are you doing in here?’ she cried at last, upset and angry. ‘Get out! How dare you barge in like this! Get out!’ Her hair fell across her eyes and she pushed it back frantically. ‘What is it with you? Are you some kind of peeping Tom or something?’ She was shaking as she crawled backwards away from him across the bed and felt for the floor with her feet on the far side of it. She stood up. Casta whined.