Chapter Twenty-Two
Robert may as well have been in a dungeon for how closely he was guarded. He could not set foot outside his bedchamber without three armed guards coming immediately to him. It would have been near impossible to flee given his weapons had all been confiscated, but even if it had not been a more than daunting task, he had considered every eventuality over the long, painstaking hours trapped in his chambers. He had to ensure Elizabeth’s safety before he threw off the cloak of homage, and he was not in a position yet to do that.
As Edward gathered hundreds of thousands of troops to storm Scotland, Robert spent his days roaming the castle and listening carefully. He learned they were to head to Roxburgh first, and one day, as he passed Fraser, who had returned for a short time to the castle from one of Edward’s scouting parties, Robert decided to take a chance and try to give Fraser a message for their men in Scotland. Robert could not get away from his guards, but he prayed he could convey the message in front of them without their realizing it. He was in a unique position to foil Edward’s success if he did so carefully.
When Fraser passed by Robert in the great hall, Robert feigned tripping, stumbled into the man, and whispered, “Warn them in Roxburgh that Edward comes.” Fraser’s eyes widened, and he nodded as Robert shoved away from him.
“Move along, Bruce,” Robert’s guard said.
Robert did as he’d been told; he had no other choice.
Late that night he dreamed of himself in Roxburgh, riding in with Edward to a land that had been destroyed of all use before the king got there. He could only hope the people got his warning. The dream haunted him from that night until more days had passed than he could count, and suddenly, he found himself in Roxburgh at the head of Edward’s army. As they rode into the town, he could barely see his hands in front of his face for all the smoke, and pride swelled in his chest. His countrymen had destroyed the land before the English had arrived. They had received his message.
Edward was furious. There was nothing he could do in Roxburgh but ride through the town and continue on to the next one. There were no Scots to be found to kill, hang, dismember, or imprison. They had all fled, burning their lands—his home—rather than submitting to the rule of the King of England. Robert saw hope in the black embers, for when the burned layer was wiped away by the cleansing rains and the sun alighted on the land, the Scottish people would return to a free nation.
Each territory they rode through was the same. Robert knew that Fraser and, no doubt, Lamberton were doing their best to learn the king’s intended locations and then warn the people. Every new village Edward came to, the land had been burned, riverbanks broken for flooding, ditches leveled, and cornfields ruined—nothing left for Edward to destroy. But the luck could not last. Edward grew wiser, changing his route at the last minute and heading to Edinburgh instead of the next village on his plan. Edinburgh Castle stood as a symbol of freedom to the Scottish people and Edward meant to take it.
Night had fallen, but they rode in, a thundering force with torches blazing. Robert’s heart and mind both raced as he tried to figure out how to save as many Scots as he could without detection. It was Edward himself who gave him the way.
He pointed his sword at Robert. “You!” he bellowed as fighting commenced around him. “These Scots are your people! They rise with the hope that one day a Bruce, or a Balliol, or a Comyn will sit on the throne against me. You will show them that you serve me. You will show them that the mighty warrior Robert the Bruce has been humbled. Take a contingent of men to the east side of Edinburgh Castle and gain control of it.”
Robert knew the stronghold well. It would be easy to slip away from the English in the dark and later attribute it to their being separated by happenstance. “As ye wish,” he replied over the roar of fighting around him.
“Those men there,” Edward commanded and waved his hand to a group of ten knights.
Robert nodded, and with a whistle to his horse, he urged his destrier forward, keeping a tight hold on the reins to maneuver the horse through the running people without trampling anyone. The reins bit into his palm and cut through the skin of his right hand, which he used to control the horse, while he wielded his sword with his left hand, swinging it down only to meet those who tried to strike him directly. It was a dance of danger, and he swung. His sword clanked with others, and he had to pull back more than once so as not to kill a fellow Scot. His shoulder burned with the effort.
“Ye filthy Englishman!” a Scot yelled at him.
Robert flinched, the words stabbing him in the heart even as the man tried to knock him from his horse. Robert’s sword met the man’s, and he easily divested the Scot of his weapon, leaned down, and grabbed him by his plaid while the men he’d been assigned fought their way through behind him, as he had just done. “I am Robert the Bruce,” he hissed at the man. “Loyal to Scotland. Now make haste!” The man stared at him with wide eyes. “And spread the word that we will gain freedom from English rule!”
He shoved the warrior away, then turned his horse and rode hard toward the wall they would have to scale in order to enter the castle. They dismounted their horses, the beasts scattering among the horde of fighters, and Robert turned to the difficult task of scaling the wall. Footing was hard to find, and rock cut deep into his palms. Warm blood trickled from the cuts to make his grip slippery, but he clenched his jaw and kept climbing steadily, remembering that he did so for freedom for his people and for Elizabeth.
Once he made it to the top of the wall, with the garrison of ten English knights slipping over one by one after him, he swallowed hard, his gut twisting. “Ye three,” Robert ordered, “go to the left. And ye three, to the right.” He would leave four men in his company so none of them would become suspicious and refuse his order. A sort of numbness descended upon him, knowing the knights would likely meet their deaths. Scots would be lying in wait, hiding in the dark, for the knights to venture down these corridors, as had been planned long ago when he and the other Scottish nobles talked of the possibility of the castle coming under attack. “These passages circle back to each other. Take down any Scots ye see on the way.” His gut clenched at that statement, and he said a quick prayer for the safety of his countrymen. “We will enter the great hall together. I’m certain many are hiding there.”
With nods and grunts of agreement, the men fled in opposite directions down dark passages that led nowhere near the great hall. With four men at his back, who would soon meet their fate by any Scots awaiting Robert and them, and his heart pounding, Robert raced down the long passage before him, which led directly into the great hall. They did not get more than twenty steps into the shadows before fire suddenly lit the space. Anticipation swelled within him, and men came out of the darkness. Scots poured like water from every direction, having been pressed against the passage walls, no doubt.
“Bruce!” the Englishman closest to him shouted. “We’re trapped.”
Swords hissed through the air, and the Scots swarmed inward to circle them before any of the men with Robert could even wield their swords. Robert swung his out and met with the sword being thrust at him, deflecting a blow that vibrated in his bones. He swiveled around to parry a blow behind him, saw two of the Englishmen cut down in a flash, and then had to duck as a blade sliced across his cheek. He felt the sting of the cut but instinctively knew it was not deep, but he would die soon if he did not tell the Scots of his identity.
“I’m Bruce!” he bellowed as a man lunged at him.
“Ye think I care?” the man roared, launching an attack. To Robert’s left, the last two Englishmen were disposed of. “Ye’re a turncoat!” the man snarled. The circle of Scots was closing in on Robert. “Ye’ll die this day!”
“Nay!” a deep, angry voice bellowed. “Stand down. Bruce is nae a turncoat!” The man in front of Robert lunged forward, and Robert deflected the blow once more, cutting his sword to the left. When he turned around, Angus stood there, torch in hand, and the Scot who had been fighting Bruce was lying crumpled by Angus’s feet.
Angus grinned. “Dunnae mind MacBroid. He’s stubborn, but he’ll come round when I explain the way of it to him. Robbie!” Angus said, gripping Robert by the arm. “How in God’s teeth do ye come to be here? Why have ye nae contacted anyone?”
“Edward has been keeping me a prisoner,” Robert said, grasping Angus in return. “How do ye come to be here?”
“By horse,” Angus said with a chuckle. “Where else would I be after hearing Edward was headed this way to try to take Edinburgh once more? And ye are here now, so ye will be freed from Edward’s clutches.”
“Nay,” Robert replied grimly. “Edward is at the door of the castle with over a hundred thousand men. The English are slaughtering their way inside these walls.”
“Good Christ!” Angus said on a ragged breath. “We dunnae ken the numbers.”
Robert nodded as the Scots with Angus came closer. “We must get whoever is hiding in the great hall out down the back wall or they will be slaughtered. The king does nae have any mercy this day.”
“Ye will come with us, aye?”
Robert shook his head. “I can nae. If I flee, the king will take Elizabeth, and I will nae ever see her again. I’m also in a position at the king’s side to foil him if I’m careful.”
“Where is Elizabeth?” Angus asked.
“Kildrummy,” Robert replied, his chest clenching at the thought.
“A wise choice. The Snow Tower there is impossible to breach. If I go for yer lady, they may well kill her to spite ye.”
“Aye… And she is in de Beauchamp’s care,” Robert snarled.
“That is nae care I’d wish for my lady,” Angus said gravely. “I’m sorry, Robert.”
Robert clenched his teeth. He could not think upon it. He had not really allowed himself to since the day she was taken from him. He would go mad if he did. She would survive, and they would be reunited; there was nothing that would make him not love her. “There is nae much time. Let us rescue those we can from Edward.”
He and Angus turned as one to race down the passageway to the great hall. Once the door was unbarred and Robert entered the hall, he was speechless at the number of women and children who had been crammed into the room. His throat ached to think how many more would lose their lives.
“Robbie!” Niall Campbell rushed toward him with a grin. “I did nae believe I would see ye again in this life after we stopped receiving messages from ye.”
Robert nodded and clutched Niall to him. “Angus will fill ye in. But right now, the English are almost upon us. We must make haste and save as many as we can. I fear the castle will fall into Edward’s hands, but as long as a Scot lives, our hope lives. Spread that word, aye?”
“Aye, I will,” Niall said.
They moved fairly quickly getting the women and children out of the great hall and to the east wall. The landscape sloped more gently there and they lowered the women and children with rope to the rocky ground below. The would have to make their way down the rocks and flee into the woods. Behind them, flames began to illuminate the town.
“He burns all,” Angus growled, his words heavy with grief.
“Aye,” Robert said. “Will ye see Wallace soon?”
“I kinnae say,” Angus replied. “He and his men are like ghosts in the woods. They try to stay ahead of the English forces to fight them off, but it is becoming increasingly harder.”
“What of Comyn?”
Angus spat toward the ground. “He fights hard for Scotland, I give him that, but he fights with his wealth and yer death in mind. He always criticizes ye and makes sure anyone near kens ye are a traitor, though I have told him—as have Wallace, Niall, and yer brothers—what ye have done for us. The message ye managed to get to us about Roxburgh saved countless lives.”
Robert nodded, emotions he could not afford now rising within him. “I will do all I can to foil Edward from his side. As soon as I have Elizabeth safe, I will return, and I’ll look for a way to communicate once more.”
“God go with ye, Robbie.”
“And with all of ye, as well,” Robert replied and then motioned to the wall. He lowered Angus and Niall, and then dropped the rope before fleeing the way he had come.
The noise in the great hall was deafening when he entered it. There were Englishmen everywhere Robert looked, and the king was up on the dais, bellowing orders to have people slaughtered.
Robert approached the dais warily, and the king grinned at him. “See here what happens when we work together, Bruce? Edinburgh Castle will soon be ours, and then we will conquer the rest of Scotland!”
It was dawn before Robert was able to find a moment alone. The sounds of the continued bombardment of Edinburgh Castle filled the air, as he wandered away from the English knights who had made camp surrounding the castle and headed for the woods. He needed space from his enemies. He sat on the cold, hard ground with his back against a tree and closed his eyes to rest briefly. But the wails of a child had him abruptly wide-eyed again. He looked up to see a little girl, face darkened with soot and clothes torn, wandering in the woods just near him. He rose quickly, picked his way around piles of his dead countrymen who had not yet been burned, and scooped up the child.
“Shh,” he cooed to her, stroking her head and looking around for her mother or father, anyone who might take her to safety.
He walked toward a spot where the trees were especially thick, hoping maybe a relative of the child had hidden there and fallen asleep. When he entered the overgrowth, he stumbled over a man and nearly fell, clasping the weeping child.
The man surged to his feet and withdrew a dagger. “Give me my child!” he bellowed.
The little girl in Robert’s arms reached out. “Da!” she babbled. “Da! Da!”
Robert handed the little girl over, overwhelmed with relief. “Make yer way to Selkirk Forest,” Robert told the man, tugging off one of his rings and holding it out. “Tell whomever ye encounter that Robert the Bruce vouches for ye.”
“Bruce?” the man gasped. “Ye are the Bruce, the Earl of Carrick?”
Wary, Robert nodded.
The man glared at him while clutching his daughter. “Where have ye been?” he demanded, his voice harsh. “Where is yer father? Where were ye when they killed my wife? I heard it said the Bruce family would rise up and free us from English rule, but here is what I think of that.” The man spat at the ground.
Robert’s throat clenched as doubt and regret washed over him. “I’m doing all I can.”
“Then do more,” the man thundered. “Have actions worthy of a king.” With that, the man snatched the ring Robert still held out, and then he scurried into the darkness with his daughter.
Robert slid to the ground, the cold of the dirt seeping into his skin, the stench of death heavy and making his nostrils flare. Water dripped from the tree limbs above him onto his hands with a pat, pat rhythm. He stared at his hands and saw the blood of all those he had failed. The emotions he had been holding back for long years broke through his defenses. His throat spasmed with the effort not to cry out his rage and grief, and he hung his head between his knees as doubt battered him like a violent wind. How had he failed his people? His wife? Had he made critical errors in how to proceed? Should he have aligned with Comyn, an evil, rather than playing the turncoat to defeat Edward, another evil? Who was the greater evil?
God help him, he did not know. But one thought began to roar above all others: if he was to be a great leader, he could not think like a mere man. Men allowed emotion. He had to stop his, control them, and harden himself when necessary.
The days bled one into the other, battle after battle. Scottish strongholds fell so fast that Robert scarcely had time to grieve one loss before another was upon him. He did what he could to avoid fighting, to send the men under his command too late, or in the wrong direction, but it was not enough. Before him, his country was being crushed under Edward’s heavy boot. The rebellion they had planned, that he had sacrificed for, played the turncoat for, lost his wife for, was failing.
Numbness set in for the losses he saw, the helplessness he endured.
As winter approached, the king turned his sights to John Comyn’s lands. While the man had long been his enemy, sworn to bring Robert low, he was still a Scot, and Robert found he could not wish that Edward conquered Comyn. They pursued him into Selkirk Forest, and the man who had once more taken on the role of Guardian of Scotland, making him the supreme authority in Scotland until a legitimate king was again on the throne, surrendered rather than fight to the death.
Robert’s compassion for the man disappeared as he stood in the dark, beside the king as commanded, on the opposite side of Comyn.
The tent was packed with the king’s council, guards, Comyn and two of his men—only allowed to accompany him there to talk terms of surrender—and Lamberton, who had joined them from a traveling party only an hour before.
“I’m told you wish to surrender,” Edward said, his tone smug.
Comyn jerked his head in a nod. “I would save my men.”
Edward snorted. “You would save your lands.”
“If I save my lands I save many men,” Comyn countered. Robert’s hands curled into fists. Rage that Comyn would, even now, seek only to protect himself overcame Robert.
“A moment…” Edward moved to the corner of the tent where Lamberton was writing the terms of surrender furiously on a scroll as Edward had directed. Taut silence stretched across the tent as Edward murmured to Lamberton in a voice no one else could hear. When Lamberton glanced up, his eyes wide and his mouth parted, Robert knew it was not good news for Scotland. Slowly, the prelate handed the scroll to Edward, and the king leisurely walked over and passed it to Robert. “Read your enemy our terms.”
Robert’s heart seemed to stop beating. His blood rushed, and his tongue would not work.
“Bruce!” Edward roared.
Robert stared at the foolscap and began to read. As he said the words aloud, his voice sounded far away. He felt suddenly as if he were floating above himself, watching his own death, watching the death of his country. The terms were generous in the beginning; Edward must have been in an especially good mood. Scottish nobles would not be disinherited or killed. They could keep their lands by paying fines, though some would be exiled. Then Robert came to the terms regarding William Wallace, who was to be brought to the king by Comyn and his men. And no mercy would be shown to the man, who had been a ruthless rebel leader and a thorn in the king’s side. Wallace was a rallying cry on the people of Scotland’s lips, and Edward wished to silence that cry with his death.
Robert lowered the scroll, and his gaze met Comyn’s. He was aware, as one is that they still breathe without noting each breath one takes, that he was speaking, but it was not until he fell silent and the king turned enraged eyes upon Robert, that he could recall what he’d said. “Ye can nae accept these terms, Comyn. Wallace must have safety as all the Scottish nobles have safety.”
Comyn’s lips curled back from his teeth as he glared at Robert. “I accept these terms.”
Robert reached for his sword and Comyn flinched, but Edward gripped Robert’s arm. “I’d remind you that you are loyal to me and that your wife awaits a reunion with you.”
Shaking, Robert let his hand fall from his sword and stood swaying with grief in a sea of enemies.