Ravaged Lands, page 14
Robert let out a heavy sigh. “A year to prepare. We do have that.”
Thomas took a breath he had not realized he was holding. He really did believe it might be less of a disaster than Robert thought. If, that is, they could survive the English bringing yet another army to Scotland, and this would no doubt be a vast one. “Hugh, more wine. And ask my lady when we will dine.” He turned to Edward. “You will join us, my lord? My lady wife sets a fine board.”
#
A breath of air made its way through the serried crowd of men to ruffle Thomas’s cloak. The summer sun was warm, and the bells of Elgin Cathedral, the Lantern of the North, tolled overhead. For an hour, they had waited as the nobles, and leading burghers of Scotland gathered. He tilted his head back and looked up at the clouds that floated in waves across the sky.
“It cannae be much longer,” grumbled Boyd.
Suddenly, trumpets blared out their powerful and stately call for the royal procession to being. The arched double doors were thrown open, and the huge rose window threw shards of colored light across the floor. The Lord Lyon and his heralds led in King Robert, resplendent in a yellow silk tunic with an embroidered and bejeweled lion rampant, through a path formed through the crush. Following in colorful episcopal finery walked the Bishops of Saint Andrews, Dunkeld, Moray, Brechin, Ross, and Dunblane. The earls followed, the King’s brother now Earl of Carrick, and the Earls of Lennox, Hugh’s father, the Earl of Ross, the bent and decrepit Earl of Sutherland, and the twelve-year-old Earl of Menteith.
Thomas wiped the sweat from his forehead as he joined the privy council, who came next. The lords provost and magistrates of the burghs bustled in last to take the benches furthest from the dais.
The rood screen was covered with painted canvases of saints and angels to hide the altar. The nave was now furnished with groupings of wooden benches for the different degrees of participants at the parliament. A choir hidden in the chancel began an anthem but mixed with it was the usual scraping of seats and murmurs of ‘let me by’ and ‘pardon me’ as feet were trod upon and everyone looked their proper place. So large was the magnificent cathedral that there was even room at the rear for onlookers.
A dais had been built before the chancel steps where a throne draped in red silk sat. A chair and table for the Chancellor, Abbot Bernard, was beside it. Robert de Keith took his place behind the throne holding the great sword of state. As the earls took their places at the very front of the throne, Thomas squeezed past. James of Douglas was already standing next to Robert Boyd. Angus Og tilted his head to the next place on the bench, and Thomas joined him. Gilbert de Hay shuffled sideways past them to take a place alongside James, the High Stewart. He looked over his shoulder and saw his Alexander, squeeze through the crush a little way behind him and exchanged nods.
The King stood before the throne as the bustle went on. At last, he nodded to the chancellor, who banged his carved ceremonial mace on the floor until there was silence. The herald signaled for another fanfare and abbot proclaimed, “I declare this parliament of the kingdom and realm of Scotland in the presence of the High and Mighty Lord Robert, King of Scots, by the Grace of God, with the three estates of the realm here assembled to be in session. God save the King!”
The King took his seat, allowing all the assembly to do so as well. Thomas blew out a breath. At last, they were started.
The Bruce raised his hand. “My lords and lieges, a pressing issue is the friendly relations and trade with our neighbors and allies in Norway. In the past, there have been unfortunate conflicts and grievances which must be settled. To that end, I sent Abbot Bernard to Norway, and he will present the agreement to which I request your approval.”
The abbot bowed to the King. “After some discussion, King Hakon has agreed to resume the Treaty of Perth if Scotland will resume the promised annuity in the future. For the kidnapping of the seneschal of Orkney by certain pirates—” He cast a significant look toward Angus. “—I agreed to a compensation of 600 merks. Goods seized from burgesses of Saint Andrews when they were in Norway for trade will be restored. The matter of Shetland having been plundered by pirates is to be put to an investigation by bishops of the church.”
The was quiet whilst that was digested, and then the Stewart stood and moved to accept the treaty.
The King held up his hand again. “I promised my nephew, Thomas Randolph of Nithsdale, a reward if he would win back the Isle of Man to my peace. In this, he was ably aided by Angus Og, Lord of Islay and Andrew Stewart of Bonkyl, but his was the command. I mean to redeem my promise of a reward. To that end, I desire to create him Earl of Moray.” Thomas’s breath hitched, and there was a buzzing in his ears. “Is this confirmed?” his uncle said in a faraway voice.
Angus was pounding him on the back. There were cries of “Aye!” from Alexander Stewart and his uncle.
The King’s brother jumped to his feet. “Sire! This is nae well done! It is nae long since he fought for the English. He was—”
“As did a number who sit in this parliament,” the King snapped. “He made previous errors but has since proved himself loyal and able. He fought beside us at Brader Pass and was at my side in the taking of Perth. He defeated William Oliphant in single combat in the taking of that city. And no one could have done better in taking the Isle of Man. Sir Thomas even argued that you are less of a...” The King took a breath. “I am grateful and mean to redeem my promise of a fitting reward to him as my near kin.”
There was quiet as the King swept a stern look over the parliament and turned it on Edward, who bowed. “I withdraw my objection.”
“If there are no contrary motions, the grant stands,” Abbot Bernard said.
Thomas swallowed, his heart racing. He rose, bowed low to the King totally at a loss for words, and resumed his seat. The ancient earldom of Moray, defunct for a hundred years, included all the lands that the Earl of Buchan had forfeited and much more. His lands would run from the Spey to Lochaber, the largest earldom in Scotland. He pressed his hands hard on his thighs, so he could not possibly jump up and shout.
At the King’s nod, Abbot Bernard continued. “As a token of the King’s gratitude for the Lord of Islay’s assistant on divers significant occasions, he grants the former Buchan lands of Lochaber and the Isle of Mull to his lordship.”
Thomas nodded at Angus, who nodded with a satisfied smile. As was typical, there was a list of more minor appointments to be dealt with that the chancellor read out and had approved in a businesslike manner, but for Thomas, it was but a faraway hum. In a dream, he stared through the walls of the cathedral to the vast moors and mountains of Moray.
#
February 1314
Fists on his hips, Thomas glowered at the massive fortress built on the towering Castle Rock. At the top of the keep, England’s Cross of Saint George proudly whipped in the wind beside the smaller blue pennant of Sir Pierre Libaud, the castle’s commander. Crossbowmen moved beyond the battlements on the ramparts.
Calum tromped toward him, rubbing his hands together, face chapped and reddened. “I let a score of the men go down into the town, my lord.”
Thomas had agreed that giving men by turns a day’s leave to be away from camp would help reduce fights and grumbling. He did not enjoy the boredom of a siege camp any more than his men, and in the cold on a high crag whipped by winter wind was even worse. “Make sure they dinnae bring any the whores back to camp though. I’ll nae have it turned into a brothel.”
Calum laughed. “I doubt they can pay enough for any strumpet to bide here. They’re more likely to come back drunk.”
“That they can sleep off, but—” Thomas’s eyes widened at the sight of a white flag being waved above the castle barbican.
On the barbican, someone shouted, “Tell Lord Moray that I would have words with him. I will raise the portcullis and meet him before the gatehouse.”
Thomas spun and called, “Sandy, bring my horse! And Hugh’s!”
Exclamations spread across the camp. Alexander strode toward Thomas’s pavilion, looking over his shoulder at the castle. Men were pointing and calling out questions about what the English might want.
“Hugh, my armor!” Thomas pushed into his pavilion.
His squire held up his cuirass and buckled the front piece to the back and then knelt to fasten his closed greaves. “Do you think they want to surrender?”
“By the Mass, I hope so.” He waved away the helm. It would be better to clearly see the man he would speak to. It must have been Libaud who shouted from the barbican. He had not dared raise the portcullis to send out a herald. “Take out the peace banner. You’ll ride with me.”
Sandy, face flushed with excitement, was holding the reins of both horses, draped in caparisons. Thomas nodded. “Well done, lad,” he said as he swung into the saddle. He took a deep breath and turned his horse’s head. Hugh shook out the white banner and followed half a horse’s length behind.
They rode through the midst of tents and cook fires. The stink of the latrine ditch and men’s sweat mixed with the smell of smoke and overhead the peace banner snapped in the wind. Their horses’ hooves clattered on the hard stone of the road. Thomas could feel the eyes upon him’ the Englishmen upon the battlements, his own men staring from the camp. Dozens of crossbows poked out through the crenels.
Chains grated loudly on stone as the inner portcullis was raised. A knight, Libaud Thomas supposed, pulled up beneath it as three mounted knights surrounded him. LiBaud flung his arm, angrily gesturing them back, shouting, “I command! It is my decision,”
Thomas’s mouth dropped open. He snapped it shut as one of the knights struck Libaud’s head with the flat of his sword. Libaud slumped. Another grabbed his arm and hauled him from his horse.
“Back!” Thomas wheeled his horse, and Hugh threw down the peace banner and rode. The black needles of arrows flew before him as he put his heels to his horse’s flanks. It lunged to a gallop. He leaned forward and shortened his reins. He jerked as one seared the side of his neck, cursing. Then the thud of arrows hitting the ground was behind him.
Blood was dripping onto his shoulder from a gash on the side of his neck. He said a silent Thank you, Jesu, and resolved to be the first one on Edinburgh’s battlements.
At the camp, Alexander held his bridle while Hugh gave him a hand down from the saddle. He waved them away. “It’s a scratch.”
“By all that’s holy, what happened?” Alexander asked.
Hugh was prodding Thomas toward his pavilion, muttering about stopping the bleeding, and Alexander followed.
“Libaud was attacked by his own men and dragged from the gate.” He sucked his breath through his teeth when his squire pressed a cloth hard on the slice. “He shouted that it was his decision as commander. He must have wanted to surrender and rebelled.”
“If he wanted to surrender, they must be short on supplies,” Hugh said.
Alexander grunted. “Mayhap short on water. I’m told that the well in the castle gives less than enough for so many men.”
“But nae short enough for the rest to agree to surrender.” Thomas pushed Hugh’s hands away and craned to try to see the injury. He tossed the cloth aside and motioned to the wine flagon on a small table, Hugh filled the wine cups. “The English saw they are well stocked, and they must ken that there is an army gathering in England. They only have to hold out a few more months, so... I have never heard of a garrison attacking their commander, but they dinnae intend to surrender.” He accepted a cup from Hugh and took a deep swallow. “I wouldnae.”
A man-at-arms put his head through the opening and said, “My lord, I carry a message from the King.”
Thomas scratched his chin, holding the folded letter in his hand. He unfolded it and then gave a bark of laughter. “Och, that is a prod to hurry me up if ever I had one.”
“What?”
“The Douglas just took Roxburgh Castle at night by a coup-de-main. The King has dispatched Edward to slight it.”
Alexander poked his tongue in his cheek and grinned. “That Jamie, he is a tricky one.”
“O mhic Ifrinn! There must be a way up on thon battlements.” Thomas tossed the letter onto the table and took another drink of his wine, squinting to see the castle in his mind. “We’re going to build scaling ladders. We will need enough wood for at least twenty of them. See to the purchase of wood.”
Alexander’s grin faded. “Storming the walls will be a bloody business. Hardly a coup-de-main. Are you sure?”
Thomas stood up and patted Alexander’s shoulder. “I have an idea, my old friend. I just dinnae want to say what it is until I ken if it has even a chance to work. I’ll nae throw our lives away.”
He walked out of the pavilion, his mind racing. There had to be some to reach the top of the ramparts. He motioned to Calum. When the serjeant joined him, he put a hand on his shoulder and leaned close, “I want to find someone for me. Someone who knows how to climb the north side of the crag. There must be someone who has done it. So, find him for me. And if he can lead me up, he will be a wealthy man.”
“My lord.” The serjeant raised his eyebrows nearly to his hairline. “Are you sure it can be done? I swear I’ve never heard of it. The cliff goes straight up.”
“There will be people who explored it, man and boy. Someone must have climbed it. But find him secretly.” He tilted his head toward the castle. “Those inside there must nae hear of what I am about.”
#
Thomas watched a line of wains ascending the curved, winding road, like ascending the tail of a dragon to the collar he had built around its rearing head. It had taken Alexander a week to find enough wood. Thomas would set his men to building scaling ladders.
“We will need thirty-foot ladders to reach the top.” Alexander crossed his arms, frowning. “If we can get men up the ladders.”
Alexander was right. In a rain of arrows and hundreds of men on the battlements, it would be a blood bath. But he was reluctant to say what his plan was even to his goodbrother—yet. “I will figure something out.” Thomas rubbed the back of his neck. Calum swore he was making very discreet inquiries. Thomas spent every night staring at the canvas ceiling of his pavilion, wracking his head for some other way. But the castle backed to the very edge of the cliff, so there was no access to the north side. The only way to the approach in secret was to climb the cliff itself, and everyone claimed it had never been done. Thomas chewed his lip because he could only hope that everyone was wrong.
“Did you find enough for twenty ladders? We will need to force them to split up the defenders along the wall.”
“Aye. And extra wood because none of the men are experts at building siege ladders.”
“My lord,” Sandy said, ducking his head.
“Aye?” The lad had grown into an excellent groom. Perhaps he’d not been merely soft in taking him on.
“The serjeant is down yon.” He pointed to the base of the long rise. “He said he had something that you would want to see. Should I bring Sgòthan?”
“It willnae hurt to stretch his legs. Aye, I’ll ride him. Dinnae bother with any caparison, lad.”
Thomas turned back to Alexander. “We can soon start on them then. How long do you think to build them?”
“We want them to hold up for being climbed, so I’ll put men who have good experience with carpentry on them for most of the work. I found ten who I’ll trust with the task. The wood will have to be split and planed. A week for that many ladders.”
Sgòthan was tossing his head and pawing as Sandy brought him. He hadn’t had enough work lately, but hopefully, that would not last much longer. Thomas took the reins and swung into the saddle.
He nodded to Alexander. “I had better see what Calum thinks is so important.”
Thomas trotted at the edge of the stony road past the wagons stacked high with wood. At the end of the long tail of the crag, Edinburgh town was a large place, the air above its hundreds of thatched roofs thick with smoke from cooking fires. It was built on the Firth of Forth’s southern shore where gulls circled and dove like spears to the shimmering waters below, and a long wharf and piers were thickly lined with fishing coracles.
“My lord!” Calum waved his arm from beneath a copse of oaks off the side of the road, so Thomas turned his horse’s head and went to meet him.
When his serjeant tilted his head toward the shadows of the trees, Thomas dismounted and looped his reins on a branch. Calum motioned for a dark-haired man to step forward. “My lord, Will Francis here has a tale you want to hear.”
He was a wiry man in a grey tunic and leather shoes, sturdy but well-worn and a short beard. “Lord Moray.” He bowed respectfully low but then tilted his head and paused. “The serjeant telt me that you’d pay well to a learn secret way into the castle.”
“And so I would if someone truly kent such a way.” Thomas raised an eyebrow. “How would you learn a secret way in?”
“Afore the English captured it, I was part of the garrison.” A gap-toothed smile spread across his face. “I was nae more than a lad. I had a thirst for ale and a liking for the lassies days, so I often went to the taverns in town...and I didnae always return before the gates were closed.”
“Which hardly made you popular with the commander, I suppose.”
“It wouldnae had he kent. But I discovered that there is a way to climb the cliff if you be nimble enough. And there be a low place in the north wall, no more than twelve feet high, so I’d leave a ladder hidden there to climb back inside when the guards werenae looking.”
Thomas rubbed his chin. The man had an open-faced, honest look about him. Did that mean he really had climbed the cliff, though? “Show me.”
“This way, my lord.”
They crunched through the litterfall to just past the road winding up the steep slope. Baer tree limbs scraped and creaked in the light breeze. They followed the high edge north to where it soared higher and higher overhead. Once they were on the north side of the castle, Thomas craned his head back. The cliff went straight up, like a rough, lumpy wall. The western sun struck the very top and cast a golden light on the top of the castle.
Thomas took a breath he had not realized he was holding. He really did believe it might be less of a disaster than Robert thought. If, that is, they could survive the English bringing yet another army to Scotland, and this would no doubt be a vast one. “Hugh, more wine. And ask my lady when we will dine.” He turned to Edward. “You will join us, my lord? My lady wife sets a fine board.”
#
A breath of air made its way through the serried crowd of men to ruffle Thomas’s cloak. The summer sun was warm, and the bells of Elgin Cathedral, the Lantern of the North, tolled overhead. For an hour, they had waited as the nobles, and leading burghers of Scotland gathered. He tilted his head back and looked up at the clouds that floated in waves across the sky.
“It cannae be much longer,” grumbled Boyd.
Suddenly, trumpets blared out their powerful and stately call for the royal procession to being. The arched double doors were thrown open, and the huge rose window threw shards of colored light across the floor. The Lord Lyon and his heralds led in King Robert, resplendent in a yellow silk tunic with an embroidered and bejeweled lion rampant, through a path formed through the crush. Following in colorful episcopal finery walked the Bishops of Saint Andrews, Dunkeld, Moray, Brechin, Ross, and Dunblane. The earls followed, the King’s brother now Earl of Carrick, and the Earls of Lennox, Hugh’s father, the Earl of Ross, the bent and decrepit Earl of Sutherland, and the twelve-year-old Earl of Menteith.
Thomas wiped the sweat from his forehead as he joined the privy council, who came next. The lords provost and magistrates of the burghs bustled in last to take the benches furthest from the dais.
The rood screen was covered with painted canvases of saints and angels to hide the altar. The nave was now furnished with groupings of wooden benches for the different degrees of participants at the parliament. A choir hidden in the chancel began an anthem but mixed with it was the usual scraping of seats and murmurs of ‘let me by’ and ‘pardon me’ as feet were trod upon and everyone looked their proper place. So large was the magnificent cathedral that there was even room at the rear for onlookers.
A dais had been built before the chancel steps where a throne draped in red silk sat. A chair and table for the Chancellor, Abbot Bernard, was beside it. Robert de Keith took his place behind the throne holding the great sword of state. As the earls took their places at the very front of the throne, Thomas squeezed past. James of Douglas was already standing next to Robert Boyd. Angus Og tilted his head to the next place on the bench, and Thomas joined him. Gilbert de Hay shuffled sideways past them to take a place alongside James, the High Stewart. He looked over his shoulder and saw his Alexander, squeeze through the crush a little way behind him and exchanged nods.
The King stood before the throne as the bustle went on. At last, he nodded to the chancellor, who banged his carved ceremonial mace on the floor until there was silence. The herald signaled for another fanfare and abbot proclaimed, “I declare this parliament of the kingdom and realm of Scotland in the presence of the High and Mighty Lord Robert, King of Scots, by the Grace of God, with the three estates of the realm here assembled to be in session. God save the King!”
The King took his seat, allowing all the assembly to do so as well. Thomas blew out a breath. At last, they were started.
The Bruce raised his hand. “My lords and lieges, a pressing issue is the friendly relations and trade with our neighbors and allies in Norway. In the past, there have been unfortunate conflicts and grievances which must be settled. To that end, I sent Abbot Bernard to Norway, and he will present the agreement to which I request your approval.”
The abbot bowed to the King. “After some discussion, King Hakon has agreed to resume the Treaty of Perth if Scotland will resume the promised annuity in the future. For the kidnapping of the seneschal of Orkney by certain pirates—” He cast a significant look toward Angus. “—I agreed to a compensation of 600 merks. Goods seized from burgesses of Saint Andrews when they were in Norway for trade will be restored. The matter of Shetland having been plundered by pirates is to be put to an investigation by bishops of the church.”
The was quiet whilst that was digested, and then the Stewart stood and moved to accept the treaty.
The King held up his hand again. “I promised my nephew, Thomas Randolph of Nithsdale, a reward if he would win back the Isle of Man to my peace. In this, he was ably aided by Angus Og, Lord of Islay and Andrew Stewart of Bonkyl, but his was the command. I mean to redeem my promise of a reward. To that end, I desire to create him Earl of Moray.” Thomas’s breath hitched, and there was a buzzing in his ears. “Is this confirmed?” his uncle said in a faraway voice.
Angus was pounding him on the back. There were cries of “Aye!” from Alexander Stewart and his uncle.
The King’s brother jumped to his feet. “Sire! This is nae well done! It is nae long since he fought for the English. He was—”
“As did a number who sit in this parliament,” the King snapped. “He made previous errors but has since proved himself loyal and able. He fought beside us at Brader Pass and was at my side in the taking of Perth. He defeated William Oliphant in single combat in the taking of that city. And no one could have done better in taking the Isle of Man. Sir Thomas even argued that you are less of a...” The King took a breath. “I am grateful and mean to redeem my promise of a fitting reward to him as my near kin.”
There was quiet as the King swept a stern look over the parliament and turned it on Edward, who bowed. “I withdraw my objection.”
“If there are no contrary motions, the grant stands,” Abbot Bernard said.
Thomas swallowed, his heart racing. He rose, bowed low to the King totally at a loss for words, and resumed his seat. The ancient earldom of Moray, defunct for a hundred years, included all the lands that the Earl of Buchan had forfeited and much more. His lands would run from the Spey to Lochaber, the largest earldom in Scotland. He pressed his hands hard on his thighs, so he could not possibly jump up and shout.
At the King’s nod, Abbot Bernard continued. “As a token of the King’s gratitude for the Lord of Islay’s assistant on divers significant occasions, he grants the former Buchan lands of Lochaber and the Isle of Mull to his lordship.”
Thomas nodded at Angus, who nodded with a satisfied smile. As was typical, there was a list of more minor appointments to be dealt with that the chancellor read out and had approved in a businesslike manner, but for Thomas, it was but a faraway hum. In a dream, he stared through the walls of the cathedral to the vast moors and mountains of Moray.
#
February 1314
Fists on his hips, Thomas glowered at the massive fortress built on the towering Castle Rock. At the top of the keep, England’s Cross of Saint George proudly whipped in the wind beside the smaller blue pennant of Sir Pierre Libaud, the castle’s commander. Crossbowmen moved beyond the battlements on the ramparts.
Calum tromped toward him, rubbing his hands together, face chapped and reddened. “I let a score of the men go down into the town, my lord.”
Thomas had agreed that giving men by turns a day’s leave to be away from camp would help reduce fights and grumbling. He did not enjoy the boredom of a siege camp any more than his men, and in the cold on a high crag whipped by winter wind was even worse. “Make sure they dinnae bring any the whores back to camp though. I’ll nae have it turned into a brothel.”
Calum laughed. “I doubt they can pay enough for any strumpet to bide here. They’re more likely to come back drunk.”
“That they can sleep off, but—” Thomas’s eyes widened at the sight of a white flag being waved above the castle barbican.
On the barbican, someone shouted, “Tell Lord Moray that I would have words with him. I will raise the portcullis and meet him before the gatehouse.”
Thomas spun and called, “Sandy, bring my horse! And Hugh’s!”
Exclamations spread across the camp. Alexander strode toward Thomas’s pavilion, looking over his shoulder at the castle. Men were pointing and calling out questions about what the English might want.
“Hugh, my armor!” Thomas pushed into his pavilion.
His squire held up his cuirass and buckled the front piece to the back and then knelt to fasten his closed greaves. “Do you think they want to surrender?”
“By the Mass, I hope so.” He waved away the helm. It would be better to clearly see the man he would speak to. It must have been Libaud who shouted from the barbican. He had not dared raise the portcullis to send out a herald. “Take out the peace banner. You’ll ride with me.”
Sandy, face flushed with excitement, was holding the reins of both horses, draped in caparisons. Thomas nodded. “Well done, lad,” he said as he swung into the saddle. He took a deep breath and turned his horse’s head. Hugh shook out the white banner and followed half a horse’s length behind.
They rode through the midst of tents and cook fires. The stink of the latrine ditch and men’s sweat mixed with the smell of smoke and overhead the peace banner snapped in the wind. Their horses’ hooves clattered on the hard stone of the road. Thomas could feel the eyes upon him’ the Englishmen upon the battlements, his own men staring from the camp. Dozens of crossbows poked out through the crenels.
Chains grated loudly on stone as the inner portcullis was raised. A knight, Libaud Thomas supposed, pulled up beneath it as three mounted knights surrounded him. LiBaud flung his arm, angrily gesturing them back, shouting, “I command! It is my decision,”
Thomas’s mouth dropped open. He snapped it shut as one of the knights struck Libaud’s head with the flat of his sword. Libaud slumped. Another grabbed his arm and hauled him from his horse.
“Back!” Thomas wheeled his horse, and Hugh threw down the peace banner and rode. The black needles of arrows flew before him as he put his heels to his horse’s flanks. It lunged to a gallop. He leaned forward and shortened his reins. He jerked as one seared the side of his neck, cursing. Then the thud of arrows hitting the ground was behind him.
Blood was dripping onto his shoulder from a gash on the side of his neck. He said a silent Thank you, Jesu, and resolved to be the first one on Edinburgh’s battlements.
At the camp, Alexander held his bridle while Hugh gave him a hand down from the saddle. He waved them away. “It’s a scratch.”
“By all that’s holy, what happened?” Alexander asked.
Hugh was prodding Thomas toward his pavilion, muttering about stopping the bleeding, and Alexander followed.
“Libaud was attacked by his own men and dragged from the gate.” He sucked his breath through his teeth when his squire pressed a cloth hard on the slice. “He shouted that it was his decision as commander. He must have wanted to surrender and rebelled.”
“If he wanted to surrender, they must be short on supplies,” Hugh said.
Alexander grunted. “Mayhap short on water. I’m told that the well in the castle gives less than enough for so many men.”
“But nae short enough for the rest to agree to surrender.” Thomas pushed Hugh’s hands away and craned to try to see the injury. He tossed the cloth aside and motioned to the wine flagon on a small table, Hugh filled the wine cups. “The English saw they are well stocked, and they must ken that there is an army gathering in England. They only have to hold out a few more months, so... I have never heard of a garrison attacking their commander, but they dinnae intend to surrender.” He accepted a cup from Hugh and took a deep swallow. “I wouldnae.”
A man-at-arms put his head through the opening and said, “My lord, I carry a message from the King.”
Thomas scratched his chin, holding the folded letter in his hand. He unfolded it and then gave a bark of laughter. “Och, that is a prod to hurry me up if ever I had one.”
“What?”
“The Douglas just took Roxburgh Castle at night by a coup-de-main. The King has dispatched Edward to slight it.”
Alexander poked his tongue in his cheek and grinned. “That Jamie, he is a tricky one.”
“O mhic Ifrinn! There must be a way up on thon battlements.” Thomas tossed the letter onto the table and took another drink of his wine, squinting to see the castle in his mind. “We’re going to build scaling ladders. We will need enough wood for at least twenty of them. See to the purchase of wood.”
Alexander’s grin faded. “Storming the walls will be a bloody business. Hardly a coup-de-main. Are you sure?”
Thomas stood up and patted Alexander’s shoulder. “I have an idea, my old friend. I just dinnae want to say what it is until I ken if it has even a chance to work. I’ll nae throw our lives away.”
He walked out of the pavilion, his mind racing. There had to be some to reach the top of the ramparts. He motioned to Calum. When the serjeant joined him, he put a hand on his shoulder and leaned close, “I want to find someone for me. Someone who knows how to climb the north side of the crag. There must be someone who has done it. So, find him for me. And if he can lead me up, he will be a wealthy man.”
“My lord.” The serjeant raised his eyebrows nearly to his hairline. “Are you sure it can be done? I swear I’ve never heard of it. The cliff goes straight up.”
“There will be people who explored it, man and boy. Someone must have climbed it. But find him secretly.” He tilted his head toward the castle. “Those inside there must nae hear of what I am about.”
#
Thomas watched a line of wains ascending the curved, winding road, like ascending the tail of a dragon to the collar he had built around its rearing head. It had taken Alexander a week to find enough wood. Thomas would set his men to building scaling ladders.
“We will need thirty-foot ladders to reach the top.” Alexander crossed his arms, frowning. “If we can get men up the ladders.”
Alexander was right. In a rain of arrows and hundreds of men on the battlements, it would be a blood bath. But he was reluctant to say what his plan was even to his goodbrother—yet. “I will figure something out.” Thomas rubbed the back of his neck. Calum swore he was making very discreet inquiries. Thomas spent every night staring at the canvas ceiling of his pavilion, wracking his head for some other way. But the castle backed to the very edge of the cliff, so there was no access to the north side. The only way to the approach in secret was to climb the cliff itself, and everyone claimed it had never been done. Thomas chewed his lip because he could only hope that everyone was wrong.
“Did you find enough for twenty ladders? We will need to force them to split up the defenders along the wall.”
“Aye. And extra wood because none of the men are experts at building siege ladders.”
“My lord,” Sandy said, ducking his head.
“Aye?” The lad had grown into an excellent groom. Perhaps he’d not been merely soft in taking him on.
“The serjeant is down yon.” He pointed to the base of the long rise. “He said he had something that you would want to see. Should I bring Sgòthan?”
“It willnae hurt to stretch his legs. Aye, I’ll ride him. Dinnae bother with any caparison, lad.”
Thomas turned back to Alexander. “We can soon start on them then. How long do you think to build them?”
“We want them to hold up for being climbed, so I’ll put men who have good experience with carpentry on them for most of the work. I found ten who I’ll trust with the task. The wood will have to be split and planed. A week for that many ladders.”
Sgòthan was tossing his head and pawing as Sandy brought him. He hadn’t had enough work lately, but hopefully, that would not last much longer. Thomas took the reins and swung into the saddle.
He nodded to Alexander. “I had better see what Calum thinks is so important.”
Thomas trotted at the edge of the stony road past the wagons stacked high with wood. At the end of the long tail of the crag, Edinburgh town was a large place, the air above its hundreds of thatched roofs thick with smoke from cooking fires. It was built on the Firth of Forth’s southern shore where gulls circled and dove like spears to the shimmering waters below, and a long wharf and piers were thickly lined with fishing coracles.
“My lord!” Calum waved his arm from beneath a copse of oaks off the side of the road, so Thomas turned his horse’s head and went to meet him.
When his serjeant tilted his head toward the shadows of the trees, Thomas dismounted and looped his reins on a branch. Calum motioned for a dark-haired man to step forward. “My lord, Will Francis here has a tale you want to hear.”
He was a wiry man in a grey tunic and leather shoes, sturdy but well-worn and a short beard. “Lord Moray.” He bowed respectfully low but then tilted his head and paused. “The serjeant telt me that you’d pay well to a learn secret way into the castle.”
“And so I would if someone truly kent such a way.” Thomas raised an eyebrow. “How would you learn a secret way in?”
“Afore the English captured it, I was part of the garrison.” A gap-toothed smile spread across his face. “I was nae more than a lad. I had a thirst for ale and a liking for the lassies days, so I often went to the taverns in town...and I didnae always return before the gates were closed.”
“Which hardly made you popular with the commander, I suppose.”
“It wouldnae had he kent. But I discovered that there is a way to climb the cliff if you be nimble enough. And there be a low place in the north wall, no more than twelve feet high, so I’d leave a ladder hidden there to climb back inside when the guards werenae looking.”
Thomas rubbed his chin. The man had an open-faced, honest look about him. Did that mean he really had climbed the cliff, though? “Show me.”
“This way, my lord.”
They crunched through the litterfall to just past the road winding up the steep slope. Baer tree limbs scraped and creaked in the light breeze. They followed the high edge north to where it soared higher and higher overhead. Once they were on the north side of the castle, Thomas craned his head back. The cliff went straight up, like a rough, lumpy wall. The western sun struck the very top and cast a golden light on the top of the castle.
