By the time I reached the Roxburgh, the sun had dipped low in the sky. The towering castle gleamed, whitewashed in the sunlight on the narrow neck of a rocky hill that projected into the junction of the River Tweed and the Teviot Water. Curtain walls, eight ells high, were surrounded on three sides by the swift running water at the base of the cliff. The gate was approachable by a steep, twisting road cut off by a deep moat crossable only by a drawbridge.
The castle town was at the west base of the hill, a bustling place. For a century, it had attracted tradesmen and merchants for the many men who served at the castle and nobles who often came and went. Even the town was walled and had sturdy gates, but none so strong that a powerful army could not take it. The second an English army appeared, it would surrender since there was no hope of relief with the army of Scotland destroyed. And Robert Stewart somewhere plotting in his own lands. No one would be foolish enough to depend on him or Dunbar.
At a water mill, the miller’s lad was loading sacks of flour into a handcart. A man in a baker’s apron stood ready to push it away. Both nodded a greeting as I passed. Along the River Tweed was a water meadow where the heather was still thick and tall, and reeds bordered the river.
I wended my way past traders with barrows and handcarts arriving for the next day’s market. When I reached the gate, the guard saw I was not carrying goods to sell, so he waved me through without asking for a fee. The town was filling up for the weekly market on the morrow, but that did not keep peddlers from importuning passersby with trays of meat pies, sweetmeats, and trinkets while merchants had their shutters down to serve as counters for their displays of woven goods, jewelry, pottery, and leatherwork. Against one wall, a one-handed beggar in filthy rags held his palm out.
Ignoring the hubbub, I made my way to a stone building. A leafless bush hanging from the eaves beside the door identified it as a tavern, and the wind streamed the smoke from its hearth northward from the thatch roof. A smith in a scorch-speckled leather apron stood at the window counter as someone slid him a mug.
Around in the backyard, a boy hurried to take my mount and the garron I led. I gave him a quarter-pence to see that the horses were well cared for and strode to the front of the tavern.
The inside of the tavern was long and narrow, with a low ceiling. I felt I had to duck to avoid bumping my head on the dark crossbeams. They stood on pillars that marched to the end. The air had a miasma of woodsmoke, ale, and sweat. A short man stood behind a wooden barrier that stretched across the room on the right; behind it stood kegs of ale and cider. At the opposite end was a stone fireplace and a crackling fire. A lanky lad dodged between the tables carrying a platter that held bannocks and a couple of steaming bowls of pottage. Sitting with his back to the wall on the far side of the room, Will nodded to me.
The half score of men seated at tables gave me a long glance, and the chatter paused. But in Roxburgh, a knight was too common a sight to gather much interest. They went back to their drinking, and at the far end of the room, a lively game of dice resumed.
When I greeted the pleasant-faced proprietor, he recommended his wife’s freshly brewed cider. The sweetly tart drink drew an honest compliment that made the man beam with pleasure.
“It is kind of my lord to say so. My goodwife prides herself on her ale and her cider.”
“I am nae lord, my good man.” I held out my hand. “Archie, I am called by my friends.”
The tavernkeeper looked startled but, after a second, shook my hand. “Name is Malise.”
“The cider is worth supping.” I turned to give an obvious scan of the men sitting at the tables, mostly gray-haired gaffers. “I suppose the levy drew away much of your trade.”
“Aye, but my wife makes the best ale and cider in Roxburgh, so we does well enough.”
Motioning toward Will, I said, “My friend and I need a palliasse for the night.”
“That we can provide you as well.” He leaned toward me, resting his elbows on the boards of the divider, dropping his voice. “You are nae from the castle, but you are obviously a knight. Were you with the King’s army?”
I paused. Local sources of news would be important if we were to learn about English movements. A trade of news with someone who knew everything that happened in Roxburgh would be a start. “Draw yourself a cup.” I dipped my head toward the table. “Join my friend and me, and I shall tell you anent it while your lad brings us some of yon pottage.” I pushed an uncut silver penny toward him. It was well worth overpaying to make a local contact. I hoped the food was as good as the cider since Will and I had been on short rations while we fled the battle.
Will scooted down so I could sit beside him, his eyebrows raised. “How did it go?”
I shook my head. “Some well and some ill.”
The proprietor jerked his thumb toward the other table when he took his place opposite. It drew a frown and puzzled glance, but they moved. He leaned forward and said in a low voice, “One of the castle guards said there be word from Dunbar Castle. The earl rode back like the devil were on his heels, and none of his men were injured. But what about the others? The ones with Liddesdale? The levy took near every man of fighting age from here to follow him.”
“Robert Stewart and the Earl of Dunbar ran from the battle like dogs with tails between their legs.” I leaned over and spit into the rushes on the floor to get the taste of treachery out of my mouth. “They left the rest of us to be slaughtered. Sir William was captured. I dinnae ken how many of his men escaped.” They had been in the worst of the fighting, so I feared few would return home. I squeezed the mug tight to keep my face bland. “I crawled through the bodies of the slain to escape.”
Malise shook his head. He picked up his mug, looked deep into it, shook his head again, and took a long drink. “We hoped….” He took another drink. “We hoped never to go through it again.”
“They will be nae far behind us. If Roxburgh, Lochmaben, Caerlaverock, and Hermitage dinnae surrender at the sight of them—” I snorted. “They will surrender. The lot of them hereabouts because all their lords are dead or prisoners. Castle Dunbar will hold if the earl’s lady has anything to do with it.”
“Aye. the English will rule us again. The last time they burnt the town and looted Kelso Abbey.” He narrowed his eyes. “That pretender to the throne—Edward Balliol—said we nae be Scots now. Handed over all of Lothian to that English king. Made us pay them taxes. The talk was our lads would have to go fight in France. Then Lord Liddesdale drove them out.” He slapped his palm down on the table. “Why should we fight the French? Or pay taxes for a war against them? They never done nothing to us. Balliol is nae but a lickspittle, same as his father.”
I nodded in agreement. A pretender Balliol was and always would be. The pretender’s father had been King of Scots until he cravenly surrendered his crown. The current English king’s grandfather had ripped the very symbols of regality from his surcoat. Ever after he had been scornfully known as Toom Tabard—Empty Jacket. And now, his son wanted to steal the crown his father had foresworn? He could not.
The lad set bowls before us that sent up steam with a scent of mutton, beans, rosemary, and onions. My mouth watered. I took my spoon from my scrip and took a bite. It was the first food I’d had since the night before at the abbey, and the savory warmth made me bite back an embarrassing groan. “A fine pottage,” I told the man. “Almost as good as the cider.”
“Thank you, sir.” He smiled, but it did not go to his eyes, and he immediately returned to his worries about the war. “Dead men dinnae plow fields, you ken. More bairns is fatherless. Liddesdale’s called most men of fighting age for the levy. If most is dead—” His brows met in a scowl. “Dead men willnae drink my wife’s ale. They willnae gather in barley crops to make it. And the English lords will squeeze us for every pence.”
“Not everyone was killed,” I told him. “Some will make their way home.” He was right, though. There would be places empty at family tables and unplowed fields.
“Symon, my youngest lad, planned to follow his cousin in a few years. He hoped to be a guard at the castle. He has friends there. And we both….” He broke off, shaking his head.
I wiped the last gravy from the bowl with a bit of bannock. “But Alexander Ramsay and Sir William fought the English. I expect someone will take their place.” I looked past him, not ready to say I would be one of them. “This war isnae over. They have nae won yet.”
“Aye, but I will nae let my lad fight the English.” The look on his face said he was not sure at all that he could prevent it. He stood. “God’s protection go with you, sirs. If that be what you plan, you need it.” He motioned the potboy over and told him to show us our beds where we could leave our rolls of possessions.
We followed the lad up the ladder into a long space beneath the thatch of the steep roof that was communal sleeping lined with palliasses. Each of the two open-ended cubicles at the end held a paillasse large enough to sleep two men. We took the one in the back corner that might get less noise and dropped our things.
Once the lad was out of earshot, I sat on the edge of the straw-stuffed mattress and tested it with a bounce. “We need supplies. Sir John gave me some food, but we need more. Oats, salt, oil.” I tilted my head. “If we are going to make the cave our main camp, then we need plaids to use as blankets or cloaks. A pot for cooking.”
“We need palfrey for transporting it all. Do we have enough siller between us?” He wrinkled his forehead. “I have about ten merk in my scrip. And I suppose we could sell our armor. My cousin is going to join us when he can. He will bring more supplies.”
“I have about fifteen merks from wagering on tourneys, and Sir John gave me the garron I used to ride. No need to buy that. He said Sir William had meant it as a gift.” I tugged my earlobe as I thought. “Nae need to sell our armor. We will need it. But the courser I stole would need too much feed.” I held up my hand where I wore the gold ring with a small ruby that I won riding at the rings in Berwick. “If we pool all that and I sell my ring and the horses, we should have ample coin.”
“You should keep the horse. I brought a good mount from home that I like besides the one you stole for me. We should get enough for that since you have the extra garron.”
I chewed my lip. “You may be right. We shall need spare horses when others join us.” I did like the gray courser I had taken in England. I called it Gràsmhor for its agility.
As he tested his side of the mattress, Will asked, “I fear we dinnae have long.”
“The prisoners had to be dealt with. That will have slowed them, but I think you are right.” I stood. “I recall from last time I was here, the stablemaster near the east port does horse-trading if you are sure.”
Will jumped to his feet. “That is well thought on. I have an itch between my shoulder blades. We shouldnae tarry here.”