Knights Templar - Temple And The Crown Part 40

It wouldn't surprise me if the ?nal head count for infantry was close to ?fteen thousand."

Beside him, from their hidden vantage point in the Torwood, overlooking the English line of march toward Falkirk-and Stirling, beyond-Sir Robert Keith glanced aside at the third of their scouting party, young James Douglas.

"What do you think, Jamie?"

Douglas had the look of a wolf sizing up a herd of large prey.

"Not the odds I would've asked for," he said, "but then, we didn't ask for any of this, did we? And look at them! You'd think they were riding to a b.l.o.o.d.y tournament!"

Keeping well under cover, the three men had been shadowing the English army for the past hour.

Fortunately, the English were sticking to the road, and their outriders did not stray far from the main body, for years of ambush warfare by the Scots had taught them to fear being cut off and destroyed piecemeal.

The knights of Edward's vanguard, commanded by the earls of Gloucester and Hereford, did, indeed, make a brave show. Sunlight glanced in bold ?ashes off their polished chain mail and burnished weaponry. Their painted s.h.i.+elds and embroidered surcoats made a mosaic of lavish colors, as rich and jewel-like as panels picked out in stained gla.s.s. Their spirited destriers were larger and ?ercer than any mount ever bred in Scotland, ma.s.sive hooves kicking up clouds of dust from the dry roadbed.

"How much heavy cavalry do you estimate?" Arnault asked.

Keith pursed his lips. "Well over two thousand; perhaps as many as three."

"Aye, the ?ower of English n.o.bility, all coming to pay us a visit," Douglas said sourly.

"Enough to outmatch our own horse by three to one, at least," Arnault observed. "But you'd think, by now, that Edward would realize that heavy cavalry isn't the advantage he thinks, where we'll be ?ghting. I do wish we could tell how many bowmen they have."

Douglas gave a contemptuous snort, but Arnault recalled only too clearly the havoc that English bowmen had wrought upon the Scottish schiltrons at Falkirk, softening them up for the hammerblow of a mounted charge. He and Torquil had barely managed to rescue William Wallace from the ensuing rout.

"Och, there's no way to tell from here," Douglas said, restively ?ngering the hilt of his sword. "Maybe one of us should ride down there and see how many arrows he takes in his back."

Keith ignored Douglas's black humor. "The point is that they're here in time to prevent Stirling Castle surrendering," he said. "It might be best to withdraw and concede them this round."

"The king's in no mind for that," Douglas said.

Keith tipped a nod at the English host. "He hasn't seen this yet. Their baggage train is an army in itself. I must've counted at least two hundred carts."

Douglas snorted. "Aye, y'd think Edward's brought his whole palace with him, to set up in the middle of Scotland."

"It takes a lot of provisioning for an army this size," Arnault pointed out.

"Well, if they've come for a banquet," Douglas said grimly, "they'll ?nd blood in their goblets!"

"We'd best report back to the king and see what he says to it," Keith said.

As the other two headed back toward their ponies, tied in a coppice down the other side of the hill, Arnault lingered for another scan of the troops of English cavalry interspersed among the units of marching infantry and bowmen. He was looking for any sign of a band of Black Swan Knights, said by Armand Breville to be on their way from France to join the English army on its northerly march to Stirling. He was about to turn away when a ?utter of black-and-white silk caught his eye above a new ma.s.s of English chivalry just coming into sight.

He knew the banner could not be Beaucant-not in these times, and not among the English chivalry. But as his gaze quested for de?nition, darting to those who rode beneath the black-and-white banner, he singled out a small band of about a dozen knights, all wearing black cloaks over damascened armor. In that instant, the breeze lifted their banner enough to display its device: a black swan set against a background of silvery white.

Dimly Arnault was aware of the baf?ed whispers of his companions urging him to horse, of Keith even starting back toward him, and he made himself shake off the compulsion that had drawn him to the sight he had not wanted to see.

But it was proof that Breville's warning had been timely. Arnault had no doubt that the men beneath the Black Swan banner were members of Nogaret's sorcerous brotherhood, and their very presence con?rmed that the Black Swan Knights remained dedicated to the destruction of the Templars.

Undeterred by the death of their leader, Nogaret's successors had pursued the Order even here.

"Saint Clair!" Keith whispered sharply. "If you tarry any longer, then the ?rst battle will be fought right here, the three of us against Edward's whole army."

Finally acknowledging Keith's prompt, Arnault returned to his pony and vaulted into the saddle, falling in behind his companions as they cantered back toward the Scots' lines. But he could not repress a ?nal backward glance, like a man who fears there to see a ?end on his trail.

Bruce had made his camp on the wooded slopes below Stirling Castle. The New Park, as the area was known locally, had been established by previous kings of Scotland as a royal hunting preserve. Bruce had chosen the ground with care. Its trees and hollows provided concealment and protection for the Scottish army while the English approached openly from the south.

On the western fringe of the camp, the horses that comprised Bruce's small force of light cavalry were being fed a last measure of fodder. Leaving their mounts with a groom, Arnault, Keith, and Douglas went in search of the king. They found him sitting outside his weather-stained pavilion, sharpening his long-handled battle-axe. The surrounding encampment hummed with purposeful activity as men whetted their spear blades and strapped on leather hauberks.

Bruce listened impa.s.sively as each of the three scouts made his report and gave his a.s.sessment of the English muster. Once they had ?nished, the king surveyed their glum faces and ?ashed a predatory grin.

"You're forgetting that all this works to our advantage."

"How do you calculate that?" Douglas asked skeptically.

"Just think how con?dent they must be feeling," the king responded.

"Aye, and with good reason," Keith grumbled, as Douglas made a disgruntled noise at the back of his throat.

Bruce put his grindstone away and hefted the weight of his battle-axe.

"Be of good cheer, gentlemen. The English think the victory's already won, but we know the truth of it-that there's a battle yet to come. And we're ready for it."

"The numbers-" Robert Keith began.

"The numbers don't matter a d.a.m.n," Bruce interrupted, giving his weapon an expert ?ourish. "Our enemies are strung out on that road, and we've dug pits on either side to keep them there. How many men do you think they can present on a narrow front like that? It comes down to a man-to-man ?ght-and that, we can win."

Even the glowering Douglas was infected with Bruce's energy.

"That's true," he agreed with a hungry gleam of antic.i.p.ation in his eyes. "Man-to-man, we can slaughter them like sheep."

Bruce clapped the younger man on the shoulder. "Gather your men and tell them that."

As Douglas strode off to issue orders to his division of the army, Bruce glanced after him fondly.

"There goes one of the bravest ?ghters in the whole Scottish army," he said. "I don't know what I would have done without him."

Arnault nodded. Douglas's father had been a loyal supporter of Wallace, and had died a prisoner in the Tower of London-something that was never far from the young warrior's mind. Bruce turned to Keith.

"Sir Robert, muster our horse, but hold them in check," he ordered. "We can't afford to squander them."

With a nod and a crooked grin, Keith rode off to follow his orders. Left alone with the king, Arnault lowered his voice so that no one pa.s.sing might accidentally overhear.

"Sire, there is another danger that the others aren't aware of," he murmured. "But you must know about it."

Quickly he recounted his sighting of the Knights of the Black Swan. Bruce had experienced enough over the past few years to take the Templar at his word, and his expression darkened at this worrying development.

"I've drilled my spearmen until they're ready to ?ght in their sleep, if they hear my voice command it," he told Arnault. "They'll stand against anything Edward can throw at them. But what are these Black Swan Knights preparing for us? Some sorcerous attack?"

"I don't know," Arnault answered with a frustrated shake of the head. "Probably."

"Well, can you and the Columban brothers match them?" Bruce pressed him.

"With G.o.d's help, we can," Arnault answered.

"I'll take that as a yes," Bruce said. "I leave it to you and Father Ninian to decide how best to deploy your resources."

Waving his esquire over, he called for his horse. Retiring with a bow, Arnault sought out Torquil to warn him what was afoot.

"This battle is enough of a gamble, as it is," Torquil remarked when he heard the news. "What do you think those knights are here for? Bruce or us?"

"Probably both," Arnault replied. "I can only guess that, like their former master, they seek to expand their sorcerous power. So they will do whatever they can to destroy the Fifth Temple before it is established."

Torquil gritted his teeth. "And still no word from Aubrey and Flannan! What can be keeping them?"

"I wish I knew," Arnault replied, "but they'd be here if they could. Let's see what advice the Columbans have to offer."

Even the normally unshakable Ninian was taken aback when Arnault apprised him of the presence of the Black Knights.

"You and I must keep close to the king," he said. "If they do mean to mount some kind of sorcerous attack, we should form an effective bulwark, between us."

"With your permission, Father Abbot," the fair-haired Brother Fionn said, "Brother Ciaran and I will station ourselves among the forward contingents of the army. That will put us in position to watch out for the Black Swan Knights, and relay advance warning if they appear."

Bruce readily gave his consent for Fionn to join the right brigade, commanded by his brother Edward. To Torquil he gave the instruction to join Brother Ciaran on the left ?ank, commanded by Thomas Randolph.

"That is potentially our most vulnerable position," he noted grimly. "If our enemies attempt an out?anking maneuver, it'll be Randolph's job to get in their way."

"That will leave Douglas's brigade without the bene?t of an observer," Torquil reminded the king.

"I'll keep an eye on Douglas myself," Bruce replied. "You stick close to Randolph. If anything should happen to him, I'll be counting on you to contain the English and keep them from making a break for the castle."

Chapter Forty.

June 23, 1314 KING EDWARD II REINED IN HIS HORSE AND PAUSED TO take stock of his position.

Eleven miles to the south lay Falkirk, where the English host had spent the previous night. Three miles ahead and to the north lay Stirling Castle, a cl.u.s.ter of turrets perched atop a stony crag. To the west stretched the dense forests of the New Park. To the east, the open ?elds of the Ca.r.s.e of Stirling made a spongy green island between the waters of the Bannockburn and the River Forth. The burn itself ran like a ribbon of silver across their path. The ford leading across it, and the entry to the forest, lay unguarded.

"So, where is Bruce?" Edward said to Aymer de Valence, the veteran Earl of Pembroke. "Has he taken to his heels?"

"I think it most unlikely, Sire," Pembroke responded. "I recommend that we hold until our scouts can report."

Pembroke's advice carried the weight of twenty years' experience in the ?eld. On this occasion, Edward was astute enough to heed it. A royal order was relayed to the earls of Gloucester and Hereford, enjoining them to halt their advance. Soon Hereford rode back in person, seeking an explanation.

"What have we stopped for?" he demanded. "The way ahead is clear."

"I want to learn where the Scots are," Edward said testily. "We can't beat them if we don't know their whereabouts."

"I think I just saw some movement in the trees there," Pembroke interjected, pointing ahead.

Edward peered hard in that direction. "I can't see anything."

"Look, Sire!" said Sir Giles d'Argentan, the senior knight of the king's retinue. "Riders from the castle!"

Sure enough, a small band of hors.e.m.e.n was cantering toward them across the open ground, keeping well clear of the woods that ?anked the road to the west. They slowed to a trot to ford the burn, splas.h.i.+ng up spray as they came. Pickets surged forward to challenge them as they reached the other side, but their leader identi?ed himself and was allowed through the lines to approach the king.

"It's Moubray!" Pembroke exclaimed in surprise.

Sir Philip Moubray, the commander of Stirling Castle, drew rein before the royal party and paid his loyal respects to the king, breathless from his swift ride.

"Praise G.o.d, you have come in time, Sire," he exclaimed. "I've come to warn you. Bruce and his men lie hidden in the trees of the New Park."

"As I suspected," Pembroke growled. "They're skulking like robbers."

Edward drummed his ?ngers on the pommel of his saddle. "Is this some clumsy ambush?"

"More likely, they plan to use the woods to cover their retreat," Pembroke said.

"Then we must make haste to deploy our forces and catch them before they can escape," Hereford declared.

"They're not aiming to escape," Moubray cautioned. "Bruce has set traps. From the castle walls, we saw them digging pits on both sides of the road, then concealing them beneath a cover of branches and leaves."

"We need to ?nd out where their main strength lies," Edward said. "Send an advance party to probe the forest."

"I will go, Sire," an eager voice volunteered.

The speaker was Hereford's nephew, Henry de Bohun. A tall, powerfully built young man on a large roan destrier, he clearly was eager to brave the enemy face-to-face.

"Very well," Edward agreed. "Take a party of knights and scout the road ahead. But have your footmen follow behind to secure the way. Don't let yourself be cut off."

With an airy salute, de Bohun wheeled his big horse and galloped off to the head of the line, calling his mounted men-at-arms to gather round him. Pembroke watched their departure with a hint of reservation, hoping the hotheaded youth wouldn't do anything he might later regret.

From his vantage point amid the trees, Arnault peered out at the glittering ma.s.s of the English army on the far side of the Bannockburn, along with the other knights of Bruce's household. Too few in number to form a separate division of their own, they had left their horses to the rear and now stood ready to form the core of the king's schiltron, where their commanding presence would lend strength to the formation.

From where he was standing Arnault had a better view of the field than anyone but the king himself, who alone remained mounted.

Bruce had organized his army into four divisions, rather than the traditional three-a tactic that would afford him greater mobility and also, at any given moment, the ability to direct his soldiers to where they could mount the most effective attack against the English. In this way, he hoped to counter their superior numbers and block any attempt they might make to outflank him.

Against the advice of his counselors, the King of Scots had decided that he would personally command the leading brigade-a decision about which Arnault had decidedly mixed feelings. He fully appreciated that Bruce intended to set an example for the rest of the army by boldly leading his brigade into battle against the English invaders. But he could not overlook the mortal danger inherent in being the first to confront the enemy.