The Steps to the Empty Throne

made a notably better job of the difficult terrain than did the English

regulars’ cavalry horses. To the satisfaction of all concerned, Waster

Benstead had elected to remain behind, allegedly on account of

pressure of paper work, but, Bruce was pretty sure, actually to conduct a great search for hidden wool, while most of the able-bodied men and heads of households were away with their lord.

But there was some cause for dissatisfaction also. Hitherto, ostensibly in the interests of secrecy, so that they might descend upon the Douglases unawares, there had been none of the looked for and prescribed harrying and laying waste of the land. These barren uplands, of course, were scant of people and houses, and admittedly this was not the best time to encumber themselves with flocks and herds. But it made dull riding for so puissant a force.

In the early afternoon of the second day, with the richer broad bottom lands of Douglasdale opening before them, the temptations became much greater. There were still some four miles of populous country to cover before Douglas Castle, when Bruce halted his force and ordered all to gather round and attend well to what he said. Clad in a handsome suit of chain-mail under a heraldic surcoat of red and gold, girdled with a golden earl’s belt, a plumed helmet on his head, he caused his horse to mount a little knoll, and spoke from that.

“My friends—we are here, not for our own advantage but to bring this Douglasdale into the King’s peace. Remember it. There may well be pickings for one or two, when our work is done.

But not until then, I say. You hear me? Our task is to reach Douglas Castle quickly, before the Lady of Douglas and her folk have time or opportunity to put it in state of readiness against us.

For we are not prepared or equipped for a Seigle, as you must know. It is a strong house, and we have no engines to reduce it. So we hasten. It is understood?”

Men murmured or growled, but made no more specific protest at such a

poor programme for Border moss troopers

“I do not think to see much fighting,” Bruce went on.

“Even if they are warned of our approach, they cannot have had time to assemble any strength. We shall surround the castle and hope to rush the gates, demanding surrender in King Edward’s name.

Only if they hold against us need there be bloodshed. Have you anything to add, Sir Nicholas?”

The veteran nodded.

“If a woman commands here, we may save ourselves much trouble,” he said.

“We will take two or three children. Bring them before the castle with ropes round their necks. Threaten to hang them if the castle is not yielded. Hang one, if needs be, as example. No woman will hold out then, I wager.”

Bruce frowned.

“I do not make war on women and children, sir,” he declared, shortly.

“No? It is a woman and her cubs we have to oust from this house, is it not? If they resist, many will die. Which is better -one child or many grown men? And likely other children thereafter?

This is war, not a tourney, my lord!”

“Nevertheless, we shall do this my way,” Bruce said levelly.

He did not want to quarrel with the Englishman-was not sure indeed who was truly in command of this expedition. The mass of the men were his, and in theory he was the leader—but he knew that in fact he was little more than a puppet of the English, and Benstead would support this gruff and experienced soldier against him to the hilt. And Benstead, unhappily, stood for Edward Plantagenet in this.

So, when they rode on, the younger man went out of his way to be civil to the knight, to avoid any rupture. They had got on well enough together hitherto-largely thanks to a mutual reaction towards clerks in authority, though essentially they had little in common. Segrave would make a dangerous enemy, Bruce well realised.

Scouts sent ahead reported that Castleton of Douglas, the township clustered round the fine church of St.

“Bride near the castle demesne, was strangely quiet, with nobody stirring-though no visible sign of alarm.

“It could mean that they have gone. Learned of our coming, and fled,” Bruce commented, sounding more hopeful than he knew.

“Or moved into the castle. To hold it against us,” the knight countered.

“As like the one as the other.”

His companion had his own reasons for thinking otherwise, but did not say so. He was the more disappointed then, when, after clattering through the seemingly deserted village-and sending pickets round the back lanes to ensure that no armed men lurked there-they came to Douglas Castle on its mound above the bends and water-meadows of the river, to find the drawbridge raised, all gates closed, and the Douglas banner streaming proudly from its keep.

“I thought as much,” Sir Nicholas said grimly.

“This lady requires to be taught a lesson.”

“Not by hanging hairns, at least,” his companion returned.

Douglas Castle, though not so large as Lochmaben, and no fortress like

Berwick, was an imposing place, and because of the riverside cliff and the swampy nature of the approach, difficult to reach save by the narrow causeway which led to the drawbridge and gatehouse of the outer bailey. It was a typical stone castle of enceinte, consisting of a lofty stone keep, four-square and massive, having five storeys beneath a battlemented parapet, surrounded by twenty foot high curtain-walls to form a square, with circular flanking-towers at each corner. There were the usual lean-to subsidiary buildings within the curtain-walls, but these scarcely showed from without. Now, men could be seen pacing the parapets that surmounted curtains and towers.

With a trumpeter sounding an imperious summons, Bruce rode forward, Segrave at his side. At the gap of the deep, wide, water-filled ditch, where the drawbridge should have reached, they perforce halted. They were well within arrow-shot of the gatehouse here. The younger man raised his voice.

“I am Robert Bruce, Earl of Carrick, come in the King’s name.

I request that this bridge be lowered and that I be admitted to speak with whoever holds this castle,” he cried.

After a little delay a voice answered from a barred gatehouse window.

“This is Douglas’s house, and Douglas holds it. Bruce of Carrick is known. But in what king’s name does he speak?”

“There is but one king now. King Edward.”

“Douglas does not recognise King Edward of England as having any authority in this realm of Scotland, save what he holds with a sword,” came back the careful reply.

“Does Bruce bring Edward’s sword to Douglas Castle?”

The other knew a strange reluctance to admit that he did.

“I

bring Edward’s peace,” he said.

“And would speak with the Lady of Douglas.

There was something like a hoot from the gatehouse.

“We all know of Edward of England’s peace! Death’s peace is kinder!

And does Bruce require half a thousand men, to speak with the Lady Douglas?”

( Segrave raised his voice.

“Have done,” he shouted shortly.

“Douglas is traitor and outlaw. Has broken custody. His house and lands are forfeit. Must be yielded to the King. Yield, then.

Or suffer!”

“Ha—there speaks an honest voice, at least I Edward Plantagenet’s true voice. The Lady of Douglas speaks with none such.”

“Then the worse for her, fool…!”

Sir Nicholas bit off the rest of that. With a vicious hissing whine, three arrows came flying past the right ear of each horseman, close enough to fan their cheeks—and to cause each to duck involuntarily, and their beasts to rear and sidle in alarm.

Such carefully-placed shots obviously bespoke expert bowmen, and could equally well have been each three inches to the left and in the eye-sockets of the trio.

Segrave, cursing explosively, wheeled his heavy mount around, and went spurring back to the host, shouting that they would hereafter do things his way, the trumpeter crouching low in the saddle and nowise behindhand. But Bruce, seeking to quieten his horse, held his ground at the bridgehead. He raised a gauntleted hand-and hoped that any quivering would not be seen from the gatehouse.