Insurrection (56 page)

‘After this he went into hiding, along with the friends who had defended him. But even with a price on his head, he would go disguised into Lanark, courting danger because of his uncommon size. He had a young wife there, you see, the heiress of a wealthy Lanark man, whom he’d fallen for and wed the year before. William will not speak of Marion now and his companions keep silent, but I know that by spring she bore him a child. One day, Hesilrig’s men caught him venturing into the town to visit her and his newborn daughter. William, outnumbered, was forced to barricade himself in Marion’s house. When Hesilrig came and demanded entry, William escaped, while Marion spoke with the sheriff to delay him.

‘As I heard it, the sheriff, on discovering her deception, shut her and her child up inside the house and had his men set fire to it. Whatever the details, Marion and her daughter died that day and William was crazed with grief. That night he returned to the town and fought his way through the English guards to get to Hesilrig. He murdered the sheriff in his bed.’ James drained his wine. ‘They say Hesilrig wasn’t recognisable as a man by the time William was done with him. After that there was no going back. William and his companions set out to continue the violence. They started by assaulting English companies on the road and setting fire to garrisons. When other men, dispossessed by Cressingham’s taxes, joined them, they began attacking more officials. It didn’t take much for William’s personal crusade to become an insurrection.’ After a moment of silence, James rose and faced Robert. ‘Outlaw and murderer he may be, but he has a gift for leadership as well as for violence and we cannot deny his authority here. The men who follow him would not follow us. William Wallace has achieved something few of us would have managed. He has brought together men from all parts of this kingdom, from beggars to lords. These men have no obligation to him and he has neither pressed nor paid them. They stay with him out of loyalty, because he has bled and suffered as they have.’

Robert had known nothing of this: these struggles lesser men had faced through the occupation. It made him think of the people of Carrick. Had some of them suffered the woes of Wallace? He felt guilt, a familiar weight these days. James knew so much about his vassals. He himself hadn’t even been aware of any difficulties the men and women of Carrick had been facing until Affraig confronted him. In his efforts to remain true to oaths he had taken, he had broken so many others. ‘I want to make amends,’ he said suddenly. ‘I know I have no reason to expect your trust, but in memory of your friendship with my grandfather, I’m asking that you let me earn it. I can be of help here. I will be the first earl openly to declare my support for the uprising, but, more than that, I know the English and I know their king. They might listen to me in any negotiations we may offer.’

James appraised him for a long moment. ‘Yes. I believe you can be of help.’ His scrutiny seemed to lessen and he motioned to the tent flaps. ‘Come, settle in with your men. I will speak to William. He may be leading this army, but he will listen to my counsel.’ The steward paused in the entrance. ‘For what it is worth, Robert, I realise it cannot have been easy for you under your father’s command these past years. I know the Lord of Annandale hoped to gain the throne after King John’s imprisonment. I know, too, that it wasn’t his to be claimed.’

As Robert headed out of the tent the high steward watched him go. He saw the relief in the faces of the young earl’s retinue, some distance away. The tight group hadn’t touched the food they had been given, clearly waiting for Robert to return to them.

A large shadow loomed out of the dusk and Wishart appeared in the entrance. James stood aside to allow him to enter.

‘Well?’ asked the bishop.

‘I think we should let him stay, your grace,’ answered James, moving back into the warmth of the interior.

‘Master William could be right,’ growled Wishart, following. ‘He could have been sent here as a spy.’

‘It is possible. But I do not believe it to be the case.’

‘I know you respected his grandfather, James, as did I, but blood does not make a man worthy. Look at his father.’

James turned away, closing his eyes in thought. ‘He was right though, wasn’t he,’ he murmured. ‘We supported his grandfather’s claim over Balliol’s.’ He looked back when Wishart didn’t respond. ‘And now we fight in the name of a king we never wanted.’

‘Whatever our personal misgivings, you and I both swore an oath to John Balliol in the sight of God.’

James thought about saying something further, but he didn’t. It wasn’t the time for such a discussion. Instead, he offered the bishop some wine. ‘Will you support my decision to allow him to stay?’

Wishart accepted the drink from the steward’s servant. ‘With one condition,’ he said, taking a draught. ‘We keep the plan from him.’

‘He could be of more help if he were told of it.’

Wishart was adamant. ‘No. Not until we know for certain he can be trusted.’ The bishop drained the wine with a tilt of his head. ‘We’ll know that soon enough. Our scouts say the English are approaching along the Nithsdale valley. Percy and Clifford will arrive any day.’

51

The day was cooled by a strong wind, the grass in the fields shivering in great silvery waves. On the banks of Irvine’s river, the trees surged. Beyond the waterway, the wide track that led to the port was crowded with a host of men, their banners livid against the sullen sky.

Robert stood in silence, his eyes moving over the cavalry to the slow-marching ranks of infantry that followed behind, visible due to the level of the land. Estimating there to be several hundred horsed and triple the number of foot, he returned his gaze to the front lines where two standards were hoisted high. He lingered on the blue lion on gold of the house of Percy, growing clearer.

When told it was Henry Percy and Robert Clifford who were headed for the port, Robert hadn’t been surprised. Percy had been granted governorship of Galloway and Ayr and, with Bishop Bek gone and the Sheriff of Lanark dead, he had become the chief English commander in the west of Scotland. Coupled with the fact that Percy could raise levies quickly from his nearby Yorkshire estates, this made him the most likely man Cressingham would send to confront the rebels. Despite his apprehension at the prospect of meeting his former comrades, Robert had been privately confident that they would at least listen to him. He had fought alongside them, faced death with them, been embraced as one of their own. They had counted him as a brother.

Now, with the formidable army approaching, his optimism faded.

Beside Robert the Bishop of Glasgow stood, his legs apart, hands clasped behind his back, rooted like some obstinate plant. The steward was to the left, his expression impenetrable. With them were the truculent Lord of Douglas and William Wallace, towering over them all. Wallace’s stance was the most relaxed, but his blue eyes betrayed a fiery impatience. Strapped to his back was a massive sword. The scarred, naked blade was five feet long and the leather-bound hilt above the cross-guard another foot. With him were two of his commanders. One was the bald man, whom Robert had since learned was Wallace’s cousin. The man, Adam, still wore the incongruous fur cloak, apparently a trophy he’d taken from the hall of the justiciar at Scone.

The vanguard of the English host moved off the track and into the field, their horses cutting lines through the long grass. They spread out as they came, revealing to the waiting Scots the rows of cavalry behind. All were mounted on barded destriers, lances up-thrust from mailed fists. The foot soldiers from the northern counties of England who tramped behind the knights seemed equally matched by Wallace’s army, but in terms of cavalry the Scots were vastly outnumbered. If a battle was to be fought here, Robert knew, with mounting unease, that they would lose.

At the call of a horn, the English host came to a halt, their horses shifting and settling. A small group broke away and spurred their destriers towards the Scots. Even without the distinctive banner, Robert would have known Henry Percy by his seat. The Lord of Alnwick, whose lance was borne by his squire, had one hand on the reins, the other resting on his thigh, his stocky frame moving languidly with the horse’s rhythm. A great helm adorned with three snowy swan’s feathers covered his head, but he wore the visor up, revealing a red face, fleshier these days, and a mouth curled in contempt.

As the group came to a stop, they didn’t dismount but remained in their saddles, looking down on the Scots. Percy’s war charger stamped and snorted. The lord’s gaze moved over them, lingering on Wallace, then settling on Robert.

Robert felt himself coil tight under that threatening stare, but he met Percy’s gaze determinedly.

Wishart was first to speak. ‘Good day to you. I am Robert Wishart, by God’s grace Bishop of Glasgow and former guardian of Scotland. I will treat with you, along with my noble comrades.’ He introduced the others.

Percy didn’t take his eyes off Robert. ‘I heard it said you had betrayed your king.
Oath-breaker
.’ Before Robert could respond, Percy turned on the bishop. ‘Noble comrades? I see a clergyman, three traitors and an outlaw.’

Lord Douglas growled an obscenity, but Wishart stepped in swiftly. ‘We are here to parley as men, not to swap insults like schoolboys.’

Clifford, whose eyes had also lingered on Robert, responded. ‘Our orders are to arrest any who have disturbed the king’s peace and raised arms against him.’ Clifford pointed a mailed finger at Wallace, who met his gaze unerringly. ‘This man has a price on his head. All of you have forfeited your lands by the breaking of the fealty you swore to the king. There will be no parley. You will surrender yourselves to our authority, or we will respond in force.’

Robert braced himself for a stout denial and a statement of angry defiance from Wishart.

Instead, the bishop met Clifford’s gaze calmly. ‘There is no need for that, Lord Clifford. We will surrender.’

Robert pushed his way through the tent flaps behind the steward. The tent’s sides undulated, buffeted by the wind. ‘Did you know the bishop was going to do this? Why in God’s name would you go along with it?’

James’s eyes narrowed at his rough tone.

‘I thought we were going to make a stand? I thought that’s what you came to Irvine for? In defying my father’s order, by declaring my support for the uprising, I risked everything! My lands, my family. For what?’ Robert wheeled away. ‘I didn’t come here to yield to their demands at the first parley.’

‘Doughty men we may be, but we are poorly equipped to face the English on the field. You know that as well as I do. Better, I would wager. You fought with them in Wales. You must know their strength. Tell me, can an army of ill-disciplined foot soldiers beat English heavy cavalry in battle?’

Robert didn’t answer. There was no point. The steward was simply stating what he himself had known watching the English ride on to the field. ‘We needn’t have faced them in battle. We could have negotiated. I could have spoken to Percy, offered him terms to take to the king. At the very least we could have bought ourselves more time. I could have fortified Carrick. Now . . .’ He cursed and stalked the tent, his voice rising. ‘I have no time to raise my vassals for its defence!’

‘Could you have negotiated?’ asked James, watching him pace like a caged lion. ‘Would they have listened? Percy’s enmity towards you was clear.’

Robert sat heavily on a stool, wondering if he had been a fool to come here. He should have seen that his betrayal of the king was greater than any other man’s. Far from being some sort of a bridge between the two sides, his presence might have made matters worse. He wondered if he should have gone to Edward himself, implored the king to listen, but even as he thought it he realised how laughable that was. Not even the king’s closest advisers could persuade him to do something he did not wish to do. ‘I cannot believe Wallace went along with this,’ he said, thinking of the acceptance in the rebel’s face when Wishart delivered the blow.

For their part, Percy and Clifford had appeared as surprised as he’d felt when the bishop offered the surrender, but before they had been able to give any answer, Wishart had suggested they return on the morrow to discuss terms. He had proposed a site for their encampment, a mile distant. Rather grudgingly, having lost some of their impetus with the enemy’s instant capitulation, the English lords had acquiesced.

Robert stared at James, caught by the thought of  Wallace’s calm ­reaction. ‘After all you told me I would have thought Wallace would rather die with a sword in his hand, than give in to the English without a struggle.’ As the steward looked away, Robert rose. There had been something in his expression, some flicker of awareness. ‘Sir James?’

The steward turned to him. For a moment his face remained impassive, before a look of resignation set in. ‘I was asked to keep it from you.’

‘What?’ Robert demanded, moving in front of him.

‘Our plan. Wishart and Wallace contrived it some weeks ago. They hoped to draw here the force they knew King Edward would send to quell the uprising. Irvine is close enough to Galloway and Ayr to ensure Percy would discover our intent to make a stand, but far enough away from the east coast and our key strongholds.’

‘Far enough for what?’

‘Robert Wishart intends to entrench them in negotiations for our surrender, so William can continue his campaign in the east. He and his men were the bait that drew the English. Now, we will hold them here while Wallace slips away to finish what he started. He plans to join up with the rest of his men in Selkirk Forest and from there meet Moray’s forces in the north. The aim is to take enough strongholds so that when Cressingham manages to launch any offensive from Berwick we will be able to counter him effectively.’