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James joined Robert the Bruce and the Highlanders gathered in front of the king’s tent.
“We have an idea, James,” the Bruce intoned, and James inclined his head, ready to listen. “MacCollough’s man, Torin, has pointed out that there are two means by which the second contingent might arrive.”
The giant Torin held a stick in his immense hand and drew in the dirt with it.
“Here, on the road. We’ve seen naught of the soldiers, which means they are hiding or still traveling from the south. They will want to strike when we meet with the emissary at sunrise. That gives us time tonight to work. The trees thicken, here.” Torin scratched lines in the dirt. “We can halt them from the north, then ride in from the south, blocking them in. We can assume ‘tis a small contingent. They anticipate doing naught but lighting a fire, no’ fighting, aye?”
James nodded. “Any idea of how to trap them?”
“The trees are the most obvious,” MacCollough commented. “But if they see it from far off, then the trap won’t work.”
James crouched in the dirt, dragging his fingers over the lines. He narrowed his eyes in the pastel light pageant of the setting sun. The shadows of the trees cast long, purple shadows on the tents. James lifted his eyes to those trees, squinting at the dimming light that filtered through the leaves. Then he looked over at the king.
“I know how we can block them in. But there’s more. They may anticipate something, the Scots guarding the road at the very least, so we also want to prepare the meadow to the east. Fire would work best there, methinks. And we can have a scout at each place, signaling an alarm when we know for certain which path the English shall ride.”
The men had closed in on James and the king. Robert nodded sagely, his deep brown eyes blazing.
“Aye. ‘Tis sound, James. What is your plan to block them in?”
They worked throughout the night, following James’s instructions. One group of men rode for the easterly glen, pots of vitriol strapped to their horses. What they had intended to use on the manse with the emissary if needed would now be put to a better use.
The larger group of men had a grander challenge. James pointed at several thickening saplings that lined the road.
“We dinna need to cut them down, just make it impassable. Create chaos. If we cut the trees here, but no’ all the way through, we can use ropes to pull them to the ground as the English clear that brush there.” He pointed several yards down the trail. “Then do the same for the trees south of the brush, and they are trapped on the road. Once the horses are trapped, we can ambush them. Bowmen then can take out the men on horses. They will be the greatest threat if they can manage around the trees. At the same time, our warriors shall rush in and slay any men on foot, or horsemen who are injured but no’ dead. Or we can let panicked horses do the work and trample them where they lay.”
The Bruce stared at James, as though he’d never seen the man before. Then a sly smile tucked up the side of the Bruce’s beard.
“Och, Sir James. What ye will no’ conceive for a battle.”
Stout men who were built like barns hacked at the tree trunks with swords and battle axes until the trees sagged under their own weight. Then other men climbed or sat high on horses, fastening ropes nearer the tops of the trees. Even as the sun set completely, the dark of night made their task more difficult, and their bellies growled in protest, they worked non-stop until the complex trap was laid.
Only then did they rest their weary heads, dozing lightly with their weapons at the ready and praying to God beyond the stars. When their lookouts signaled, the Bruce’s army would be prepared.
Sunlight had not yet kissed the earth when a cawing sound woke James. He was immediately awake and rolling out of his plaid blankets with his sword in hand. The king had offered him a horse to ride in a place of command, but James preferred to have his feet on the ground, broadsword in hand.
The Bruce’s men melted into the trees as the night turned from black to gray, their tunics and plaids blending into the flora as they laid in wait. James played with the leather-bound hilt of his sword absently as his eyes scanned the trail. His heavy breathing helped him focus, helped his body adjust to the battle set before him. A confident man, James rarely feared a battle. This time, though, he had something to lose, and his chest clenched every time his thoughts wandered to his bold wife who waited for him back at Auchinleck, the woman he was going to build a life with once Scotland had her freedom.
Sending up a silent vow to the Heavens, James used his desire to return to Tosia to steel himself for this conflict ahead.
The high-pitched whistle of a lark broke the early morning quiet. The signal meant the English were on the trail, riding north on the road. James flicked his eyes to the Bruce who crouched near him in the brush, his own broadsword in hand. They nodded at each other, and the light sound of leaves on the wind accompanied the men who grabbed the ropes hidden in the bushes and grass. With unerring focus, they readied themselves to move.
The gray sky lightened as the sun broke the horizon, welcomed the earth with the clopping echo of horses’ hooves. James’s muscles shifted and his eyes narrowed as he waited and watched for the soldiers to clear the curve by the bush.
A sharp whistle sounded from the men to the south, and James’s arms moved without thought. He jumped up and yanked his ropes downward as hard as he could. The trees cracked and moaned as they collapsed into the road, forming a type of horizontally threaded wall blocking the soldiers’ path to the manse.
Neighing horses and clamoring men announced the first part of their plan was successful. The creaking sound of the trees to the south followed, and bowmen went to work on the trapped English regiment. Set back in the woods on horseback, the bowmen sent arrows whizzing overhead, and the shouts and screams that ensued heralded James, his King, and the rest of the men to break from their hiding spots.
Only a few men remained on their horses. The rest had either fallen to the ground as a result of panicked horses or the cruel hand of death from an arrow. James stepped over a dead man, assessing the enemy as he lifted his sword. Ten men that he could count.
Such a paltry number. Edward the Second had truly underestimated the Scots.
His sword swept the air with authority and skill, finding the soft belly of a soldier who was trying to pull his sword from its sheath. He died with a look of shock on his face.
The shouts of men surrounded him, and James spun on his toes, his broadsword before him, ready for the next man.
In less time than it took for the sun to spread its light on God’s earth, the English’s secret continent littered the dirt road in blood and fallen weapons. The Bruce signaled for his squires to collect the weapons and remaining horses, which now became property of the Scottish Army.
Robert spat on the bloody ground. “How arrogant are these English. Hugh Despenser’s contingent at the manse is larger than this. We can leave them here, but what do we do with the emissary? Leave him? Confront him as to what happened? Slay him and his men, anyway? They will be looking for us, and we dinna look like those who are on their way to a meeting.” He glanced at his blood-stained tunic and boots.
MacCollough approached, wiping his sword against his braies. “’Twould seem that Hugh and his men are no’ as innocent as they seem. They’d have to know of a secret plan to murder the king, even if they didn’t know they were part of the sacrifice.”
James rubbed his black scruff of beard that had thickened as of late and itched.
“Declan has the right of it. Even if they didn’t know the depth to which their involvement might be, they had to know that the offer of a treaty was false, that ‘twas part of a larger ploy to assassinate the Bruce.”
“What are we to do about it?” Declan inquired as he sheathed his broadsword on his back.
The king’s face turned to the misty morning sunlight, bathing his skin in the new light of day. He took a deep breath, inhaling the fresh aroma of the late summer morn.
“We shall turn their ploy against them. We might trick them as they strove to trick us.”
Then Robert’s eyes caught James’s and flicked to the slain men in the road. James returned the King’s gaze, understanding the king’s intentions.
“There’s but a dozen, and we can have them lead the entry with the rest of us to follow.”
“Entry?” Declan asked, his golden face a mask of confusion. “What?”
James pointed to the dead men in the road. “Strip the English of their clothing and gear. It turns out the second contingent will arrive right after sunrise for the meeting with the emissary after all.”
“What if we are still walking into a trap? If they have figured out we dinna plan on any sort of accord?” Declan’s questioning voice sounded apprehensive.
James’s flinty eyes flashed. “Weel, then ‘tis out of the pot and into the fire. Did ye really want to live forever, my lads?”
