Pembroke knight.
‘He fled north into the mountains. We believe he will make for Aberdeen. Some of those we captured told us he sent his queen and the womenfolk there while he campaigned in Galloway.’
‘Return to Sir Aymer,’ Edward told the man. ‘Tell him, if he cannot capture Bruce, he is to trap him in Aberdeen until I arrive. Tell him to use MacDouall and his followers to hunt down the rest of Bruce’s supporters – any who weren’t with him on the field. I want them picked off, like ticks.’ He felt a sudden twist of pain in his gut. Edward doubled over, dropping the gold cloak. Humphrey was at his side in an instant, but the king pushed him away. Sweat trickled down his cheeks. ‘ Go! ’ he hissed at the knight, who bowed and hurried to his horse.
As the spasm subsided, Edward straightened, his face clenched. ‘Summon my son, Humphrey. It is time for the new bloods to win their spurs. I will send them west to Bruce’s lands.’ He scanned the plain that stretched from the grassy slope on which his pavilion had been raised. The fields were covered with a sprawling mass of tents, wagons, men, horses and mules, all shrouded by a pall of smoke from countless campfires. His own body might be failing him, but this army arrayed before him was his iron fist and by its strength he would hammer Robert Bruce into the ground. ‘We will leave no allies, no strongholds – no rock for the renegade to hide behind.’
At Edward’s feet, the fallen cloak rippled in the breeze, the red lion distorted, its one eye staring up at the ashen-faced king.
Chapter 5
Aberdeen, Scotland, 1306 AD
It was a ragged company that appeared before the gates of Aberdeen late that evening. The towering clouds that had shadowed them all afternoon had finally opened on their approach to the north-eastern port and rain poured from the heavens, drenching the column of men to the bone. It trickled down faces drawn with exhaustion, caused rust to bloom on broken rings of mail, soaked through bloodstained clothes and pooled in the depressions of empty saddles. Several of the animals were injured, some wounded in battle, others crippled during the desperate flight through the mountains. They limped along the road, barely able to carry their burdens these last unforgiving miles.
The guards who manned the town’s south gate at first refused entry to the company, shouting down from the gatehouse that it was past curfew. It was only when they were commanded to open up in the name of their sheriff and the king himself that they obliged, allowing the line of men to trudge across the earthen bank that bridged the wide ditch.
Once inside, the procession wound slowly through the streets. Rain ran in rivers along the gutters, carrying the stink of night soil down to the Dee. As they made for the castle, which squatted on a hill above the town, faces appeared in doorways and windows, the people of Aberdeen summoned by the clatter of hooves and tramping feet. The gazes of the townsfolk lingered on the litters being carried in the midst of the company, bearing those too badly injured to walk or ride. Some nudged their neighbours and pointed out the king, riding beside the sheriff on a grey palfrey. Whispers became rumours, darting from house to house as the people of Aberdeen questioned what had happened and why the king had returned with less than half the army he had set out with in spring.
By the time the company reached the castle, word of their coming had spread before them and the guards were already hauling open the gates.
As the portcullis clanked up, Robert rode through the arched darkness of the gatehouse into the bailey beyond, where torches sputtered in the rain. His men funnelled in behind him. He caught a few voices lifted in relief as the weary and wounded saw the end of their journey, but to him these encircling walls that promised rest and shelter were cold comfort indeed. He slid down from the
‘He fled north into the mountains. We believe he will make for Aberdeen. Some of those we captured told us he sent his queen and the womenfolk there while he campaigned in Galloway.’
‘Return to Sir Aymer,’ Edward told the man. ‘Tell him, if he cannot capture Bruce, he is to trap him in Aberdeen until I arrive. Tell him to use MacDouall and his followers to hunt down the rest of Bruce’s supporters – any who weren’t with him on the field. I want them picked off, like ticks.’ He felt a sudden twist of pain in his gut. Edward doubled over, dropping the gold cloak. Humphrey was at his side in an instant, but the king pushed him away. Sweat trickled down his cheeks. ‘ Go! ’ he hissed at the knight, who bowed and hurried to his horse.
As the spasm subsided, Edward straightened, his face clenched. ‘Summon my son, Humphrey. It is time for the new bloods to win their spurs. I will send them west to Bruce’s lands.’ He scanned the plain that stretched from the grassy slope on which his pavilion had been raised. The fields were covered with a sprawling mass of tents, wagons, men, horses and mules, all shrouded by a pall of smoke from countless campfires. His own body might be failing him, but this army arrayed before him was his iron fist and by its strength he would hammer Robert Bruce into the ground. ‘We will leave no allies, no strongholds – no rock for the renegade to hide behind.’
At Edward’s feet, the fallen cloak rippled in the breeze, the red lion distorted, its one eye staring up at the ashen-faced king.
Chapter 5
Aberdeen, Scotland, 1306 AD
It was a ragged company that appeared before the gates of Aberdeen late that evening. The towering clouds that had shadowed them all afternoon had finally opened on their approach to the north-eastern port and rain poured from the heavens, drenching the column of men to the bone. It trickled down faces drawn with exhaustion, caused rust to bloom on broken rings of mail, soaked through bloodstained clothes and pooled in the depressions of empty saddles. Several of the animals were injured, some wounded in battle, others crippled during the desperate flight through the mountains. They limped along the road, barely able to carry their burdens these last unforgiving miles.
The guards who manned the town’s south gate at first refused entry to the company, shouting down from the gatehouse that it was past curfew. It was only when they were commanded to open up in the name of their sheriff and the king himself that they obliged, allowing the line of men to trudge across the earthen bank that bridged the wide ditch.
Once inside, the procession wound slowly through the streets. Rain ran in rivers along the gutters, carrying the stink of night soil down to the Dee. As they made for the castle, which squatted on a hill above the town, faces appeared in doorways and windows, the people of Aberdeen summoned by the clatter of hooves and tramping feet. The gazes of the townsfolk lingered on the litters being carried in the midst of the company, bearing those too badly injured to walk or ride. Some nudged their neighbours and pointed out the king, riding beside the sheriff on a grey palfrey. Whispers became rumours, darting from house to house as the people of Aberdeen questioned what had happened and why the king had returned with less than half the army he had set out with in spring.
By the time the company reached the castle, word of their coming had spread before them and the guards were already hauling open the gates.
As the portcullis clanked up, Robert rode through the arched darkness of the gatehouse into the bailey beyond, where torches sputtered in the rain. His men funnelled in behind him. He caught a few voices lifted in relief as the weary and wounded saw the end of their journey, but to him these encircling walls that promised rest and shelter were cold comfort indeed. He slid down from the
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