Neidpath Castle

Fortification of Clan Fraser

July, 1303

 

 

He would not give his life. Judgment would be passed, but Heath Fraser wouldn’t balk at his punishment for he’d committed a transgression so great his father would probably never forgive him. His father, Simon, the laird of their clan, swore fealty to King Edward. For his oath he had promised to give aid to the ruthless English king in his pursuits in Aquitaine.

Heath was not of like mind and did everything he could to sway his father from journeying to a war that bore little to their existence. Yet they went to retake the lands the English king lost. During the fray, Heath was captured along with his comrades and subjected to torture. After his escape, he tried to seek a way to aid his seized clansmen, but his recapture most definite and all he could do was flee with his life.

His cowardice was now called into question, and he reasoned what he’d done wasn’t due to fearfulness. He would’ve gone into the stronghold with his sword raised high if there was any possibility of saving his brethren. Standing before his father and the clan elders, Heath explained his situation, but it didn’t seem to be accepted.

“You say you tried to rescue your clansmen and your own brother. If ye did where are they? I see them not.”

He took a breath before reiterating his position, “I searched for someone to help me, but the Flemish well patrolled the area and there were too many to thwart. I was unable to get close to the fortification to rescue them. I didn’t want to leave them behind. Think you I wanted to leave without Roderick, my brother? I escaped with my life.” Heath despaired leaving his brother to his fate. The thought of his elder brother being imprisoned in the French dungeons sickened him. God only knew what perils his brother experienced.

His father raised both bushy eyebrows, aghast at his words. “Your life? You’re standing before us whole and sound. You should have fought to the death to save our clansmen. Do ye realize what you did, lad?”

He nodded, but wouldn’t speak the treasonous words.

“Did ye even kill one man during the battle?”

Unfortunately he had, and Heath disheartened at that because he detested killing a man for purposes which affected none. “I did what I had to do.”

“Aye? And so do I, and so does your clan. You cannot go unpunished for leaving your comrades to their imprisonment, Heath, and I’m sorry to say—”

His Uncle Andrew approached and his face bore an unending scowl. The similarities between a boar and his uncle were uncanny for his face wrinkled akin to a boar’s snout. “Mayhap he planned to have his own brother captured. Aye, so he might rule the clan after you’re gone, Simon. Ye should banish him. Aye, send the coward away. We shouldn’t have to look upon the treasonous swine.” He spat upon the ground, adding insolence to his view.

Heath lowered his head. He never expected such a harsh punishment. If that’s what they wanted, then he would have no choice but to abscond and never to set foot upon his ancestral land again. Being the second son should’ve put him in a position to follow his heart. His position was strictly a religious pursuit. Now that his elder brother was lost to them, he wasn’t certain what his role would be. He didn’t want to become laird, never aspired to such rule. The likelihood he’d be sent away disheartened him further.

When his father remained quiet, Heath discerned the rushed murmurs of his clansmen taking sides. If half the clan sided with him, his penalty might not be so detrimental. All was not lost. He waited for the sentence and would abide by whatever punishment they decided upon if even he disagreed. Heath wasn’t a coward and if there was a way to prove it, let it be with his acceptance of the chastisement.

His father held up his hand and quieted the clan. “Heath, you are my son. I shan’t banish ye, but must make ye understand that you cannot leave our men behind in battle especially when you are only intent on saving your own arse. I bid your brother to take charge of our soldiers during the jaunt. Even so, you were expected to set an example and lead with him, not cower and flee. I will send ye off to do service with the Bruce. Aye, for Robert is looking for men to attend him whilst he vies for recognition of the sovereignty. With him, you shall learn what it means to protect and defend. I bid ye to discover what loyalty means, lad.”

Heath bowed his head in acceptance. “I will attend mass before I leave.”

His father shook his head. “If ye wish to attend mass, you will do so on your journey, for you won’t spend another minute on this land. I will call ye home when your service is over, but I doubt that will be for many a year. Och you’re young and will grow to be a strong willful Fraser. I shall keep communication with the Bruce and when he gives ye leave, we will accept your return.”

His uncle stood beside his father, arms set across his chest, asserting his view. “Be it for five years at least, Simon. I deem that’ll be a good amount of time for the lad to learn his way.”

Heath tensed. Much could happen in such a vast amount of time, and what with the scuffles with the English by the borders and Scotland’s turmoil now with the English king, there was little he could do to aid his clan. With the unending riffs with their enemy the MacKintoshs, their clan had many conflicts to face.

He lowered his head and walked away, for there was nothing left to say. Heath strolled to the great keep and collected his belongings. Absolution for his sins during the battles would not be granted this day, but he hoped to gain such during his travel to the Bruce.

There was a way for him to account for his sins. Killing a man went against everything he believed in, and yet he’d had no choice. War did that to a man, forced him to go against his beliefs and enact heinous debaucheries. As he walked along to the garrison, he thought about how many men’s lives he’d taken. Since he’d taken to arms he had killed but a score of men, the rest he’d inflicted with non-life-threatening injuries.

He reached his bunk and grabbed the sack he kept his belongings in. With haste, he tossed in his garments and smaller weapons. He noticed a rolled ball of wool that unraveled from his tartan and used his dagger to make twenty strings from it. Before leaving the garrison and collecting his steed, he tied the strings to his boot. There they’d stay, to remind him of his desired restitution.

He wouldn’t remove a string unless he saved someone from certain death. If it was the last thing he’d do, Heath would keep track of these transgressions and make them right before he met his own end. In service to the Bruce, his end would probably come sooner than anticipated.