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Authors: Charles Randolph Bruce
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lord.
“Save this smithy… burn the rest,” ordered Robert. “ Gi’e me half the men to go up the hill!”
“Aye, Milord,” answered the noble.
Within the half hour the town was ablaze and Robert and his men were sitting beyond arrow reach in from Caesar’s Tower.
Fifty-five year old Baron Roger Clifford stood at the top of the four story keep and looked down on his would be attackers. He had archers at every crenellation and more to take their place if they were to fall. But seeing the Earl of Fife’s small force he was not overly concerned.
The smoke from the burning village wafted uphill and, by intention, the castle was aware of the Scot’s potential for destruction.
The villagers, who were escaping the burning buildings, realized they were trapped between the village and the castle so they hid as best they could in the sparse bush along the bluff.
“I am Robert de Stewart, Earl of Fife, and we’ll burn this castle, Castle Brougham, Castle Pendragon , and Castle Brough to the ground!” shouted Robert up to the lord.
“Shit! You ain’t a’gonn’a go all the way down to Pendragon and I know it!” crowed Clifford.
“Will if ye don’t pay!” growled Robert. “Got men all o’er these parts a’reivin ’ and killin ’.”
“We’re safe locked here!” replied Clifford snobbishly. “What do you want me to pay, Scotch?”
“Two thousand pounds sterlin ’ for a year of peace for all four of yer castles,” said Robert loudly.
“You can’t mean that! What do I have worth two thousand pounds?”
“Spent more than that just fixin ’ Brough year last,” rationalized Robert.
“You can’t know my spendin ’,” argued Roger strongly.
“Be takin ’ half that in horse this day,” came back Robert changing the argument point.
Clifford ignored Robert’s point and wanted to get in another point of his own.
“I’ve heard tell stories of your great uncle Edward raidin ’ through Eden Valley a’burnin ’ and killin ’ ere he went to Ireland and got his goddamned head lopped off!” shouted Clifford. “And my grandfather was killed by your grandfather at the Second Battle for Stirlin ’, too… so you can pretty well figure I have a hate for the Bruces a-n-d the Stewarts!” He shook both fists to be easily seen by the men below and grit his teeth when he screamed those words into the air.
Robert shook his head knowing he had pricked his pride. “Here for ancient history, I’m not. Just the coin or I’ll be a’killin ’ e’ery citizen and burnin ’ e’ery castle I can lay hand to within yer bailiwick!”
Clifford’s seneschal of the garrison pointed toward the fair grounds. Raidin ’ the horses, they truly are… not just talk!” he shouted in panic.
Robert smiled upon hearing the words and tone. “We can be back at the first part of June when yer horse tradin ’ is at the fullest.”
Clifford paused to think… but he thought and anguished too long to suit Robert.
“The price is three thousand pounds for one year now…” he announced and sarcastically adding, “Milord” to his say .
“I’ve not got that amount here?” pleaded Clifford with his brows pushed up in the middle.
“It stands at three thousand now… pray I don’t alter it to four thousand and that will be yer last offer for the safety of yer four castles,” barked Fife meaningfully.
Clifford panicked. The man had not laid finger to his person yet his spine then quivered at the sound of his voice.
“Three thousand, Milord?!” he asked halfheartedly.
Robert smiled. “Send it out by yer seneschal,” he ordered. “I know ye won’t want to risk gettin ’ taken’ for ransom!”
Clifford glanced to the fair grounds at his beautiful, carefully managed, livestock being carried off by heathen and wished he had a better army. That, however, would cost more that three thousand to maintain for very long. “I’ll have it sacked up directly,” said Clifford. He and his seneschal left the
“Save this smithy… burn the rest,” ordered Robert. “ Gi’e me half the men to go up the hill!”
“Aye, Milord,” answered the noble.
Within the half hour the town was ablaze and Robert and his men were sitting beyond arrow reach in from Caesar’s Tower.
Fifty-five year old Baron Roger Clifford stood at the top of the four story keep and looked down on his would be attackers. He had archers at every crenellation and more to take their place if they were to fall. But seeing the Earl of Fife’s small force he was not overly concerned.
The smoke from the burning village wafted uphill and, by intention, the castle was aware of the Scot’s potential for destruction.
The villagers, who were escaping the burning buildings, realized they were trapped between the village and the castle so they hid as best they could in the sparse bush along the bluff.
“I am Robert de Stewart, Earl of Fife, and we’ll burn this castle, Castle Brougham, Castle Pendragon , and Castle Brough to the ground!” shouted Robert up to the lord.
“Shit! You ain’t a’gonn’a go all the way down to Pendragon and I know it!” crowed Clifford.
“Will if ye don’t pay!” growled Robert. “Got men all o’er these parts a’reivin ’ and killin ’.”
“We’re safe locked here!” replied Clifford snobbishly. “What do you want me to pay, Scotch?”
“Two thousand pounds sterlin ’ for a year of peace for all four of yer castles,” said Robert loudly.
“You can’t mean that! What do I have worth two thousand pounds?”
“Spent more than that just fixin ’ Brough year last,” rationalized Robert.
“You can’t know my spendin ’,” argued Roger strongly.
“Be takin ’ half that in horse this day,” came back Robert changing the argument point.
Clifford ignored Robert’s point and wanted to get in another point of his own.
“I’ve heard tell stories of your great uncle Edward raidin ’ through Eden Valley a’burnin ’ and killin ’ ere he went to Ireland and got his goddamned head lopped off!” shouted Clifford. “And my grandfather was killed by your grandfather at the Second Battle for Stirlin ’, too… so you can pretty well figure I have a hate for the Bruces a-n-d the Stewarts!” He shook both fists to be easily seen by the men below and grit his teeth when he screamed those words into the air.
Robert shook his head knowing he had pricked his pride. “Here for ancient history, I’m not. Just the coin or I’ll be a’killin ’ e’ery citizen and burnin ’ e’ery castle I can lay hand to within yer bailiwick!”
Clifford’s seneschal of the garrison pointed toward the fair grounds. Raidin ’ the horses, they truly are… not just talk!” he shouted in panic.
Robert smiled upon hearing the words and tone. “We can be back at the first part of June when yer horse tradin ’ is at the fullest.”
Clifford paused to think… but he thought and anguished too long to suit Robert.
“The price is three thousand pounds for one year now…” he announced and sarcastically adding, “Milord” to his say .
“I’ve not got that amount here?” pleaded Clifford with his brows pushed up in the middle.
“It stands at three thousand now… pray I don’t alter it to four thousand and that will be yer last offer for the safety of yer four castles,” barked Fife meaningfully.
Clifford panicked. The man had not laid finger to his person yet his spine then quivered at the sound of his voice.
“Three thousand, Milord?!” he asked halfheartedly.
Robert smiled. “Send it out by yer seneschal,” he ordered. “I know ye won’t want to risk gettin ’ taken’ for ransom!”
Clifford glanced to the fair grounds at his beautiful, carefully managed, livestock being carried off by heathen and wished he had a better army. That, however, would cost more that three thousand to maintain for very long. “I’ll have it sacked up directly,” said Clifford. He and his seneschal left the
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