The Steps to the Empty Throne

“That was Sir Nicholas Segrave, who captains it at Lochmaben,” he called urgently.

“Hear me. Robert Bruce.”

There was a pause, short enough no doubt but seeming an eternity to the man who sat there as target for a second flight of arrows. Helmeted and armoured in chain-mail he might be, but these marksmen could wing their bolts to his unprotected face;

besides, at that range, a shaft, even if it failed to pierce the mail, could drive the same bodily into a man’s heart or lungs.

No arrows hissed meantime, but a woman’s voice, high, thin but clear, sounded.

“My lord-Eleanor de Louvain, wife to Douglas, speaks. Your father I knew. And his father before him.

Edward’s men both. What has the son to say to me, who would spit in Edward’s false face?”

Bruce let his breath go in a sigh of relief—although he was unprepared for the venom in that. This woman was herself English, a widowed heiress that Douglas had carried off without Edward’s permission, on the death of his first wife some years before; it appeared that he had made a good Scot of her.

“I say that I wish you no ill, lady. You or yours. This house must be yielded to the King-as, by his command, must every stone castle in Scotland. But there need be no bloodshed. Your people may come forth unharmed. Go where they will.”

“My people, sir? And my children? And myself?”

Bruce hesitated, as well he might. And as he did so, from behind him

sounded the drumming of hooves. Turning, he saw that perhaps a score

of riders had detached themselves from the host, and were cantering

back towards the village, three quarters of a mile away. One glance

sufficed to establish that they were all English men-at-arms of the

Lochmaben garrison. The young man had no least doubt as to their mission.

He turned back, face set.

“If you yield the house, no hurt shall befall you, lady. On my knightly word,” he cried.

“Why should I trust your word, when you come in Edward’s name, my lord?” The high voice was less firm and certain now.

“That tyrant cares naught for promises. Have you forgot that my husband was Governor of Berwick?”

“It is my word—not Edward’s …” Bruce was returning, when, like the hissing of a pitful of snakes, a flight of many arrows sliced the air above him. Flinging himself low over his mount’s neck, he nevertheless saw three men throw up their arms on the parapet of the gatehouse tower, and one to topple headlong and fall with a splash into the moat.

Uproar followed. Swearingly savagely, amidst angry shouts from both front and rear, the lone horseman dragged his charger’s head round, and rode furiously back the two hundred yards or so to his own people.

Segrave’s bowmen, dismounted and kneeling, were already fitting second arrows to their strings.

“Hold I Stop, fools!” he yelled.

“I commanded no bloodshed .”

Segrave gestured with a scornful forward wave of his hand.

The second volley of long feathered shafts sped towards the castle.

“I said no, man I How dare you …!”

“You may command these cattle-thieves and shepherds,” the knight said, as Bruce came up, and threw himself down from his saddle, “But even so, only by the King’s permission. These I command, my lord. And to better effect!”

“Better? You have ruined all, man. They will hold out against us now.

Have no faith in our word. And you have soiled my name.”

“Then your name is easily soiled! Have I not told you—this is war? We are not here concerned with the honour of highborn lord lings I have my duty to do …”

“You call slaying during a parley duty?”

“Parley! Talk! You win no wars with talk, young man. I know my duty, if you do not.” He turned away, ordering his archers to raise their aim to the parapet of the keep itself, targets having all disappeared from closer at hand.

In wrath and frustration Bruce watched-and even in his ire could not withhold his admiration for the magnificent shooting of the English bowmen. That keep’s topmost parapet was more than three hundred yards away, yet straight and true the arrows flew to it, zipping between the gaps and crenellations. As he gazed, a scream came thinly to them from that lofty exposed platform.

Arrows were shot back at them from the castle, to be sure, but they all fell far short. Archery had never been highly developed or favoured in Scotland. The English long bow, high as a man and shooting a yard-long arrow, made of yew, a tree unknown in Scotland, had fully double the range or the Scots short bows of arbalests. It was also infinitely more accurate. Here, only the odd spent shaft from the castle came anywhere near them.

Quickly the Douglases perceived how ineffectual was their fire.

Their shooting ceased, and no more men showed themselves at parapet or loophole. Sir Nicholas called a cease-fire. Bruce left him without another word, and mounting his horse again, rode off in a rageful silence.

He made a circuit of the castle—no easy task amongst the knowes, bog land and river-channels. He noted how thinly spread even six hundred men looked, when extended round a wide perimeter. From a strategic height he surveyed the scene and its possibilities, and thereafter set about regrouping his force. Instead of trying to maintain any unbroken ring, he concentrated his moss troopers in parties of fifty or so, where they might best command a comprehensive view of the castle and surroundings.

Night-time patrols were going to be difficult.

This took time. When he returned to the main gatehouse front, it was to find Segrave’s men hacking and hammering now, erecting a crossbar supported on two uprights, out of the timbers of a nearby cow shed The bar stretched about ten feet above the ground. Men were being sent in search of ropes.

“Segrave,” Bruce announced tensely, at sight of all this, “I tell you, I will not permit the hanging of innocent hostages. Nor even the pretence at it. I have not forgotten my knightly vows, if you have!”

Permit, my lord? Permit, you say? How think you to permit, or not to permit, what I do? I am King Edward’s captain here, what are you?”

“I am the Earl of Carrick, and commander of this host.”

For so long as I permit it! You are a name only, man. You no more command here than you command at Lochmaben Castle, king Edward has more trusted servants than you, sir. And needs by God!”

”There will be no hanging, Segrave.”

“I have my orders.”

“From that clerk? From Benstead? I congratulate you!”

Sir Nicholas looked grim but said nothing.

“Very well. We shall see.” Bruce rode away again.

Back he went, to the first of the groups of fifty moss troopers

“Half your men to come with me,” he told their leader, and proceeded on round the perimeter.

When he had made the circuit of Douglas Castle for the third time, he had some two hundred rough horsemen at his tail.

As this company rode back towards the causeway area, Bruce could see that there was now some major activity going on beside the completed gallows, with men clustered around in a close circle. Exclaiming, he dug in his spurs.

Faces turned as the newcomers pounded up-including three notably white faces in the midst of it all. Three children, two boys of eight or ten, and a girl somewhat older, were being held on the backs of three horses, their hands tied behind their backs, rough gags in their mouths. Already a rope was around the girl’s neck and slung over the crossbar above her. The same was being done for the boys. The youngsters’ terrified eyes made eloquent appeal.