A Common Victory.

 

" Son, will yie rise?"

 

Dougie kicked his son’s feet. He was lying wrapped in his plaid. His cheek was resting on his pike, and his arms cradled and comforted the weapon. His cheek,moved lovingly and slowly up and down,caressing the hard wood as he slept. 

 

Dougie kicked him again.

 

“ Son, will yie rise?”

 

Donald opened his eyes and stared for a second, recognising his father, he rolled onto one knee, and using the pike, he climbed unsteadily to his feet. He bent down and lifted his targe. He swung the shield on its leather strap round and onto his back. While retying his nine yards of plaid, he said, 

 

“Aye faither, guid morning. It’s early is it no? I could have slept on there. I was in the long grass with Marjory Scrogie. She was just making herself available to me when you woke me. She’s an enticing girl Marjory, and I’ve thought of her on many a cold night. There was no reason to ask me to rise father… I already had.

 

Dougie, shaking his head and smiling, squeezed Donald on the shoulder,saying. 

 

“ Cumoan son, let’s see if we can find breakfast somewhere.” 

 

After suffering curses by not quite stepping over sleeping bodies, they left the bell-tent. The sun hadn't quite risen and it was a liquid light. Their noses took them through the busy camp to a larger square tent with the three white stars flying, proclaiming it to belong to the Earl of Douglas. Men sitting on logs and large boulders surrounded the food tent. A few stood, but most importantly all were chewing. 

 

A fire was warming a large black kettle. Hanging from a rail above the long fire, were pots of various sizes holding something that looked like fish stew.  The two men approached the tent. They nodded to the men they knew and said hello to the ones they knew better. The fat cook, chewing, was standing at a range dropping vegetables into a large pot with one hand, while stirring with the other. A young woman of about twenty was scraping the vegetables beside him. 

 

 “Aye, morning Callum, said Dougie." Is the bread there available fur twa hungry men about tae go tae war?”

 

Saying nothing, the cook patted the girl on the buttocks and nodded towards the pile of black bread behind him. She completely ignored him and continued scraping the veg. 

 

“ A think yie better eat some ae that bread yirsell man, fur yir in a full scale battle in there by the looks ae it."

 

The cook turned round and grabbed two large chunks of the bread, which he threw at the two men saying, 

 

“ Here, huv these, yi’ll need the strength fae this, but don’t worry aboot me Dougie, A’ll soart her afore the day’s oot.” 

 

The girl looked him up and down, and with a twinkle in her green eyes she smiled a wicked smile and said,

 

 “ If yie wurnae sae busy hand rearin yir ain meat, yie wid hae mair time fur the real thing. If yie know whit A mean.”

 

“ Aye Callum the lassie kens yie weell enough,diz she no?” 

 

The cook swung a backhander at the young woman, which she easily avoided.

 

Dougie took the bread and handed a chunk to Donald, he reached inside his plaid and pulled out a small wooden bowl; he dipped the bowl into one of the pots and filled it with the thick spicy stew. Donald, with his own bowl, followed suit. The two men balancing food and pikes walked over to a small tuft of reeds and sat down to eat.

 

“ Whit’s gonnae happen the day faither? Huv yie oany idea at all?”

 

“ A wid love tae gie yie a wee bit ae hope son and tell yie that they’ll huv a parley and come tae some soart ae deal, but the signs are aw wrang here son. Good king Robert has his back tae the wall Donald. He stabbed the Red Comyn on sacred ground at Greyfriars in Dumfries. That gave him nae option but to take the crown of Scotland. 

 

We’ll huvtae fight the day son. The English huvnae come aw this way tae blether. They hud their party last night. Did yie no hear them singin and hollerin abuse at us?”

 

“ Aye, and some ae the men were sayin they were firin flamin arrows intae the air through the night. It’s jist tae intimidate. Whit is it yie mean by hope faither? A’m looking fur a fight the day. A’d love tae git ma hauns roon wan ae thae Englishmen’s throats A wi…”

 

Dougie put his hand on his son’s back to quieten him, he said. 

 

“Wheesht Donald, wid yie listen tae yirsell? Never mind cloudin yir thoughts wie stupid ideas ae glory. Or some misguided need fur revenge. We huvnae goat time fur that son. We huvtae survive the day. That’s oor plan, and nuthin else. Promise me Donald. Yi’ll dae whitever the Lairds man tells yie. Keep close tae me if yie can.You watch ma back and A’ll watch yours. Nuthin else matters. We will survive no matter whit, and maybe one day the lovely Marjory will get her field ploughed. Noo cumoan,finish yir meal and we’ll head back.”

 

They walked back the way they had come and were soon met by Jamie Cliffton, master at arms for the Douglas Clan. He was a short stocky man with a ready smile and a sharp wit. He spotted them immediately. 

 

“ Oh were you two just away fur a wee stroll? It’s a lovely morning for it. Or huv yiz been up tae Balquhiderock fur breakfast and a wee blether wae the King ae England. They tell me he’s a passionate man, and has an eye fur a man in a skirt.”

 

“ Naw Jamie, we were hidin ahint the supply tent makin a noise like a lettuce tryin tae catch a rabbit.”

 

“ Aw is that right, well git yir erses doon tae the quartermaster and git a handaxe each. Bring them tae me at the edge ae the woods yonder, and I’ll test the axes oan yir heids and we’ll see whit other noises yiz can make. Noo run, we huvnae goat much time. We’re movin oot very shortly tae have a parley wae yir wee pal Eddie.”

 

Half an hour later with the string of a handaxe wrapped round their wrists, they were both lined up in phalanx, facing Balquhidderock wood. Dougie looked to his left, the sun was rising behind a large group of men walking towards them. Two standards were being carried to either side of the tall man walking confidently at the front. He was wearing heavy black chain mail. With a white surcoat emblazoned with the red lion rampant of Scotland. He had a gold crown surrounding a heavy black conical helmet with sidebars. Black plate armour covered his legs. He was carrying a large targe with the lion rampant on the face. In his hands he comfortably held a wicked looking battleaxe.

 

To his right hand side walked their leige lord, The Guid Sir James Douglas, carrying the Scottish Saltire. To his left was, Earl Randolph Moray,holding aloft the Royal Standard Of Scotland, The Red Lion Rampant. Behind, came squires and retainers carrying shields and replacement weapons in case the king should lose one in battle. 

 

As the royal party approached the pikemen began to kneel. The King handed his shield and axe to his squire and in a loud and strong voice he called out. 

 

“ On your feet men of Scotland, no Scots will be bending their knees to anyone on this day. On this day men of Scotland, we fight. It is not for glory we fight;  It is not for goods or landed estates we fight. We fight today for Scotland. For our grandchildren and their grandchildren.” 

 

As he gave this talk, the king walked backwards and forwards along the line. Squires ran along the front ranks repeating his message to those who couldn’t hear.

 

“ To allow them to live in freedom, peacefully and in comfort. To live amongst the beauty and bounty of this.. Our Scotland. Our children’s Scotland. These English would deny us this. Let’s send them back to their flat, boring  land, with a scar to remember us by, and an eye over their shoulder.”

 

The men began to roar, but Bruce held his finger to his lips and his hand up for silence. 

 

“Wheesht, we do this silently. We'll slip down from this plateaux to the Carse below and sneak up to where the two burns meet at New park. We Will, crush the English there. Follow me men of Scotland.” 

 

His squire handed him his battleaxe and targe. Robert, by the grace of God, King of Scots, turned his back on his army, and walked alone, into the trees.

 

Jamie Clifton, master at arms, looking impressive in his helmet and breastplate, held his gauntleted arm up to attract the attention of his men. He faced them while calling.

 

“ Right lads, lower yir pikes. As yie enter the wood, trail yir weapon ahint yie as though yie were leadin an unfortunate wee lassie by the hand intae yir warm bed. She’ll be disappointed as usual, but yie can tell her aboot the time yie shoved yir pole up an Englishman’s arse at Bannockburn. Careful now, it’s dark and the hill is steep.”

 

Donald, smiling, looked over and caught the eyes of his father. Dougie, three ranks to his right nodded his head and smiled nervously back.

 

They stepped into darkness. The tight packed trees and shrubs made the slope almost impossible to navigate. Tufts of wild grass and long trailing vines snagged their feet and threatened to trip the men as they kicked and stomped their way down. Dougie jumped with fright as a young boar broke cover and screamed as it fled from the invading host. The noise was mixed with the curses of men, as they lost their footing on the steep slope. Sharp brambles and whipping branches assaulted the army as they forced their way through. The close, humid air, filled with the sweet musky odour of vegetation as the feet of the host stirred the forest floor. Biting and stinging insects buzzed around, highlighted by sharp, bright lances of light bursting from the leaf canopy far above.

 

The host endured, and by degrees they reached the bottom and stepped onto the long yellowing grass of the Carse. They were instructed to dress off and to fill the expanse of the plain. In silence they formed into three long lines of five thousand, one to the left at the edge of the Bannock burn, the central formation slightly behind, and the third on the banks of the Pelstream, forming a pincer. 

 

Robert the Bruce, King of Scots, stood exposed in the centre with James Douglas and The Earl of Moray. Two well-built, hardy squires were standing to either side of the King holding large kite shields. These were to deflect any arrows fired by the English bowmen at the Scottish monarch. The hand picked youths were wearing light armour and Scottish hand and a half bastard long swords, for the Kings protection, if required. The Guid Sir James and Thomas Randolph Moray, the Bruce’s nephew, holding pikes, departed for their positions, leaving the King with his two squires. 

 

The King, holding a pike of his own, raised his arm and waved the host silently forward. As one, with pikes pointing outward showing a bristling jagged front, the army of Scotland, marched towards a force with superior arms, heavy cavalry and four times their number. 

 

Dougie’s back was feeling the strain of holding the long pike outwards. It was only just beginning and already he was struggling.  The sounds of heavy breathing and the squeak of leather against metal was all around him. He could see the camp of the English directly ahead. Fires blazed and tent pennons with the three lions of England fluttered in the breeze. The silhouettes of English men at arms could be seen warming themselves at the fires. Horses were grazing lazily on long tethers tied to slip lines.

 

The English in their arrogance didn’t expect the Scot’s to have the gall to attack such a large force. The back of the King, fifty yards directly in front of him exuded confidence, as he strolled purposefully towards the English camp. Bruce knew he couldn’t beat the enemy in a pitched battle. He was also aware he had much less men, but he knew the English, and the way they thought and fought. They were here for what they believed was a foxhunt. They assumed the Scott’s would run before their massive force of cavalry. Bruce was already in the act of nullifying that cavalry. Edward’s army had camped on the New Park; a flat plain surrounded by two burns, the Bannock, and the Pelstream. 

 

The King was camped on a Knoll near the back of the plain, high enough to enable the monarch to view the slaughter of the Scot’s when ever he decided to begin his foxhunt. The Scottish army marched closer to their camp. Unbelievably, especially to Bruce, unhindered. They stopped at the narrowest part of the field, between the banks of the Pelstream, which over the centuries had gouged out a deep gorge, sixty feet wide and twenty feet deep, and Halberts Bog, a place, full of soft, quick mud, and deep hidden pools. The bog was a treacherous place, especially for men on horseback. 

 

Donald halted at the signal and began to dig a furrow to hold his pike. He placed the butt of the pike in the hollow and slid forward a few feet along the pikeshaft to enable him to guide the weapon with more accuracy in the event of an English cavalry charge. He looked for his father. Dougie was standing to his right holding his pike and looking calm. 

 

“ Faither, here, over here.”

 

Dougie turned and looking at his only son, he smiled and said. 

 

“ How are yie son are yie okay?”

 

“ I’m fine faither. This stick seems tae be a guid yin. If a staun ahint this and wave it aboot aw dangerously and menacingly, it should see me through the day.”

 

The man next to Dougie tapped his shoulder and smiling and nodding he swapped places with him and the next man  nodded and swapped also. Dougie thanked the men and soon he was standing next to his son. They embraced and stood back to back. 

 

“ Aye faither you watch ma back and a’ll watch yours.”

 

“ Aye, this’ll soon be over Donald, jist take everythin wan thing at a time and keep yir heid oan. “

 

A shout went out and they both turned. An English Knight, alone and on horseback was attacking. He galloped towards the front line swinging his longsword high in the air. He was shouting an illegible warcry as he bore down… on Dougie.

 

“ Faither, you take the horse, and A’ll take him.” 

 

Dougie bent his knees and held tightly to his pike. The noise of the huge Destrier’s hooves got louder as it thundered towards him. The earth was being chewed up and flung high behind the galloping horse. The Knight’s face was contorted in rage and he was screaming. Saliva was running along his cheeks and his arm was solidly pointing his sword at Dougie’s chest. Everything slowed as if the world had stalled. Dougie with his whole body shaking, lined the pike up with the horses chest armour. At the last minute he raised the point. 

 

The pole entered the throat of the horse. Blood and skin came flying from the animal, the pike bent, then snapped with a loud crack. The horse screamed and skidded into the packed men, cutting them down and dragging them along the ground. Its legs kicked and its head with the broken spear sticking out of its throat bucked and lolled. Air and blood was forced noisily from the dying horse's flared nostrils. Its head came to rest heavily on Dougie’s chest, pinning him solidly to the ground. The animal panted and snorted before quickly expiring. Dougie looked up to see the knight unharmed, rising to his feet. 

 

He stepped forward and lifted his sword high, with both hands, he began to swing. The sun flashed off the highly polished silvery blade as the knight began his downward, killing stroke. The mans neck suddenly bulged, his eyes glazed over and he dropped the sword as a sharp spearhead was forced beneath the back of his helmet and out through his throat, killing him instantly. A wave of scarlet covered Dougie’s face. Gilbert De Clare 8th Earl of Gloucester and cousin to the King of Scots, crumpled, as his legs gave way; he fell in a heap to the earth. Killed by a twenty five year old ploughman from Lanark. Dougie wiped his face and opened his eyes to see Donald bend down and say, 

 

“ Are yie okay faither? Yir covered in blood. A’ll git yie oot fae under this wee hoarse's heid and well see how yie are. Ach yir covered in blood right enough, but thankfully its no yours.”

 

Donald playfully kicked his father, and holding his hand towards him, he said. 

 

“ Faither, will yie rise.”