The Guardian (24 page)

“Aye, it is, and most of those are safe behind high walls much of the time. Which leads me to something else he bade me tell you. You are to harass the garrisons in any way you can—to coax them out into the open and then smash them—but he doesn’t want you wasting any time in sieges. There’s no time for sieges. He said to tell you that you need to savage the lands outside and around the castles and garrisoned towns, burning crops and killing livestock to keep them out of English hands and bellies.”

“And the folk who live there? What happens to them?”

“They suffer. And that’s regrettable because they’re Scots, but you yourself just said that of all the folk in Scotland’s realm, those in Lothian have been more tolerant and supportive of the English. So now they must pay the piper for being too friendly to the enemy. Just as the townspeople of Lanark did when you went there.”

He stared at me, his eyes narrowing, but I did not look away, for I knew the truth of that story, as witnessed by Harald Gaptooth.

“And what will Wishart and the Steward be doing while that is happening?” he asked me.

“Keeping Percy and Clifford away from you for as long as may be, preventing them from striking at your back. They won’t dare march against you if it means leaving an undefeated army intact at their own rear. I can’t speak for Clifford, but I know not even Henry Percy would be that foolhardy.”

“So be it, then. Tell me exactly what their lordships want me to do.”

Half an hour later, he professed himself satisfied and went to the door, where he shouted to someone outside to summon his lieutenants to meet him at the command centre in one hour.

“So,” he asked me, coming back and sitting down at the table again, “how will you find Murray when you arrive up there? From what I’ve heard, his territories are vast beyond comprehension and mainly trackless, and he could be anywhere among them, high or low. Where will you even start to look for him?”

“I don’t know, to tell you the truth. I know his home is Auch Castle, on the promontory called the Dark Isle, but if he is campaigning as well and as widely as his uncle David of Bothwell says he is, I don’t expect to find him there. What I do hope, though, is to find someone there who knows where he is and will take me to him.”

“That makes sense,” my cousin growled, “but by the sweet Jesus, Jamie, that’s a long way to ride, all by yourself and in a hurry and through inhospitable lands. You’ll never make it in time.”

“I have to. I’ve no option. If I don’t reach Moray in time to send Andrew south to meet you at Dundee at the appointed time, then what the bishop said is likely to come true: all of Scotland will go down into slavery under Edward’s heel.”

I saw his eyes darken and his brow wrinkle as he absorbed that, but before he could comment I continued: “It’s not as bleak as it
sounds. We’ve calculated the total distance from Selkirk town to Inverness, erring always on the side of caution, and it’s close to twelve score miles. That is the farthest it can be.”

He stared at me as if he thought I had lost my wits. “Twelve score miles? Is that what you said?
Twelve score?
That’s nigh on two and a half hundred! Who did the calculation?”

“I did, with the help of some priests who know the terrain up there. If I leave here tomorrow morning, I’ll have three clear weeks to find Murray and ensure he can gather his people and meet you in time. Twenty-one days, to travel two hundred and forty miles. That’s less than twelve miles a day.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but I cut him off. “I know, twelve miles a day would be nothing in England with good English roads beneath my horse’s hooves, but there are no good roads north of Stirling. Depending upon the weather, among other things, twelve miles a day over open moors and mountains and up along the coast might turn out to be difficult, but I’m sure it won’t be impossible. And coming back south with Murray to Dundee will be more straightforward. According to his uncle David, the shortest route for him would be directly south from Inverness, using the mountain passes through the Highlands of Badenoch and the Mounth until he reaches Perth, and from there it’s scarce twenty miles east along the Tay to Dundee. He could do it easily in thirteen days and be waiting for you when you arrive in Dundee.”

Will was frowning at me. “Why Dundee, Jamie? Why would we meet up there? It’s a nothing place.”

I told him then about the supply ship full of armour and weapons that would be waiting for him there. “It’s a quiet place, too, don’t forget, away from normal traffic paths, and it has a garrisoned castle, a legitimate target for an attack. Taking that will give you and Murray time to blood your armies as a united force, to renew your friendship, and to become familiar with each other’s forces. All without too much attention or distraction from the English, who will have other things to occupy them elsewhere. The bishop expects the entire southwest to be crawling with English armies by the middle
of August. Percy and Clifford’s group are already there, of course, and they’ll stay there, but there are rumours of another force being sent north to reinforce them, a levy raised from the northern sheriffdoms of Lancaster, Westmoreland, and Cumberland and commanded by Cressingham. Three hundred horse, according to our source, supported by ten thousand foot. A rumour, as I said, but not unreasonable and more than likely probable.”

“How strong is Percy’s group, in terms of horse and foot?”

“That’s uncertain. The likeliest estimate I heard was two hundred horse—knights and mounted men-at-arms—and three thousand foot.”

“Hmm … You said
rumours
, as in more than one. What else is there?”

“Another almost certain to have substance. John de Warrenne, the Earl of Surrey, still holds command in Scotland although he detests the place and its climate and has not set foot here since last year. According to our friendly clerical sources close to Westminster, he will be coming back to do his duty, under threat of Edward’s great displeasure. And he will not come unattended.”

“Invasion strength, think you?”

“Invasion strength, for a certainty, the bishop believes.”

Will nodded. “Fine, so be it. I’ll go to Fife when I leave Lothian. But this route you named for Murray, straight south to Perth, why don’t you go up that way, instead of adding twice as much again by going along the coast?”

“Too hazardous to try alone, I’m told. There’ll be folk along the coastal route if I get into trouble.”

“Aye, and those folk along the coastal route could
be
trouble. Never trust anyone but yourself when you’re on the road, Jamie. You should know that as well as anyone by now. Besides, it’s summertime. The snow’s all out of the high passes by now, and that’s most of what makes that route hazardous for a man on his own. I think you’d be better off striking straight north and following the passes. Save yourself a hundred miles that you don’t need to ride.” He smoothed his shaven chin with thumb and forefinger—a
beard wearer’s mannerism. “You can cover
ten
miles a day easily, with a sound horse under you and a good pack horse. Either way, what if you run into trouble?”

“From whom?” I replied, smiling to disguise my own misgivings. “Only two kinds of people might cause a travelling priest trouble: Scots and Englishmen. If any Scots attempt to interfere with me, I’ll tell them you’re my cousin and threaten them with your vengeance, as well as with excommunication. And if any Englishman contests my passing, I’ll show him my letter of safe conduct from the King of England himself.” I had shown him the captured document earlier. “But nothing will happen to me while I’m on God’s business, Cousin,” I continued. “And this is most assuredly God’s business, so put your mind at ease. I’ll leave first thing in the morning, as soon as I’ve said Mass. If I can do ten miles a day north from Perth, it’ll take me but a fortnight to reach Inverness and start looking for Murray.”

He grunted. “And if you can’t, you’ll never be able to make up whatever time you’ve lost. Your plan leaves you no breathing space, Jamie. I think you should go by sea.”

“By
sea
?” The mere suggestion left me open-mouthed. The idea was so far removed from the reality of my life that it made no sense to me. I had
seen
the sea, of course—living in Scotland it was almost impossible not to, at some point—but I had never
been
to sea, afloat upon it in a boat.

“Aye, by sea. How much baggage are you carrying?”

I blinked at him. “Baggage? Not much. Not even enough to merit a pack horse.”

“What specifically?”

“Some clothing and a few personal belongings. My sacramental things. Oats and nosebags for the animals, and basic food and utensils to feed myself. Why?”

“What about vestments? Are you taking priestly robes with you?”

“No sacerdotals, no. I’ll celebrate my daily Mass alone in the dark before I take the road, and only God and I will know what I’m wearing.”

“What else would you absolutely need to take with you, if you were to travel by ship?”

“
What
ship, Will? We’re far inland. What are you—?”

“Just tell me, Jamie, what else?”

I thought about it for a moment. “Nothing, I suppose. Some underclothes, my cloak and staff. That’s all.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. Were I mad enough to contemplate such a journey, then yes, that’s all I would need. But I really have no idea why we’re even talking about such a thing.”

He gestured towards the sword in the corner. “D’you remember who made that?”

“Aye,” I said, glad to have the topic changed. “Shoomy’s brother, Malachy the smith. He finished it, anyway.”

“That’s right. And until Shoomy came back from the north that time, bringing the sword with him, I hadn’t even known he had a brother. Or certainly not that the brother had a grown son called Callum.”

I blinked at him, wondering where this was headed.

“Young Callum is here right now. He arrived from Aberdeen yesterday morning. His father, Malachy, is dead and Callum was brought south to his uncle Shoomy for his own protection.”

“Wait, wait!” I raised my hand to silence him. “Why would this lad come
here
? And how would he know where to find you?”

Will dipped his head in a slow nod. “Excellent questions. He came in the first place because he has been proscribed—he is an outlaw with a price upon his head. It seems that his father fell afoul of one of the English garrison commanders in Aberdeen—some dispute over smithing Malachy was never paid for. He was angry about it and, being Malachy, he made no secret of it. So the Englishman, Mowbray I think his name was, sent some of his garrison lads to have a word with him. Four of them went into his smithy and started throwing things around, and when Malachy picked one of them up and tossed him onto the fire in his forge, they didn’t like that at all. The noise brought young Callum running at
the head of a crowd, just in time to see his father being murdered in his own smithy. The boy snatched up a pitchfork and killed one of the soldiers. The angry neighbours took care of two more, but the last of the four escaped and ran back to the castle. And there, of course, he reported things to suit himself, and a manhunt was launched to find the murderous young Callum.”

“So how was he able to get away?”

“Because he was fortunate. A man called Sven Persson—some call him Big Sven, I call him Finn—was in Aberdeen that day. Finn is, or was, brother to Callum’s mother, who died a few years ago, and he’s a seagoing merchantman out of one of the Norse ports across the sea, well connected among the burghers of Aberdeen and other coastal towns. In late spring every year, Finn takes his ship to Aberdeen, where he seems to be related either by blood or marriage to half the folk in the region, and picks up a relative, a cloth manufacturer and merchant, and takes him down to the Firth of Tay, where the merchant drops off finished woollen goods all along the Fife coast, ending up in Perth. He then picks up a fresh cargo of raw winter wool from the warehouses in Perth and takes it back to Aberdeen for processing.

“Big Sven is no fool—I’ve met him a few times—and when he found out what had happened, he smuggled the boy aboard his ship as soon as it was dark and kept him out of sight until his crew could load their cargo and put out to sea again. He took the boy with him to Perth, then sent him here with an escort of four of the fighting men he employs to guard his ship. Those four will be returning to Perth come morning, and by the time they get there, Sven should be ready to head back to Aberdeen. I think you should sail with him. That’s why I asked you about baggage. There’s not much room for extra baggage aboard a seagoing ship.”

“But I can’t go by sea!”

“Why not? If there’s a ship available and willing to take you, of course you can. It’ll be a lot faster than going by land.”

“But what good would it do?” I asked. “I’d be in Aberdeen with
another sixty miles and more ahead of me and no horse to get me there.”

“At worst, you could buy another horse, but you won’t need to, because you’ll continue north by sea, still with Finn, all the way to Inverness. With favourable winds, you’ll be there in days, not weeks.”

“But … how can you know that? This Finn fellow, or Big Sven or whatever his name is, might be sailing back to wherever he lives as soon as he returns to Aberdeen.”

“No, he won’t. His next port of call is in fact Inverness. It always is. He has merchants up there, too, who rely on him from year to year—him and others, I mean—to ship their goods to market. As for why he should agree to take you, he’ll be glad of the passage money you’ll pay him. I’ll write to him and tell him you’re my cousin and under my protection.”

“But how do you come to know this man, Will? How do you meet a sea captain from across the eastern sea when you live as an outlaw in the depths of a great forest?”

He shrugged his huge shoulders. “I meet a lot of people nowadays, Jamie,” he said modestly. “And sometimes they arrange for me to meet other people. I know a lot of folk.”

“Evidently so,” I said, impressed in spite of myself. “And do you really think you can arrange this?”