It was the same dream again.
The one that haunted his every moment of sleep since he arrived at this barren hideout. A nightmare from which there was no escape.
They were camped on the hills overlooking Methven. Resting under a bronzed dusk, exhausted from many hard days march. De Valence was an honourable man and they had agreed for battle to be joined the following morning.
Then, like thunder over the mountains, the enemies cavalry was upon them.
Some were trampled underfoot by the mighty war horses as they tried to rise, whilst many more were skewered on lances, easily piercing flesh and bone with no armour for protection. Men butchered and damned from treachery and deceit.
Twice his guard tried to form a phalanx to break through but with no success. There was too many of them and their was much confusion.
At last, in a final desperate manoeuvre, they managed to puncture the lines and flee like thieves in the night, leaving behind the screams of friends and colleagues being cruelly slaughtered.
Those screams would awake Bruce, grasping his sword and whimpering in the night, scared to cry out in case of detection, only to see the pale spectre of Wallace standing at the mouth of the cave, his tunic bloody and torn, his hollowed out eyes boring into the cowering mans soul, as he pointed to the east and opened his mouth in a silent howl of rage.
In the morning, when he came to, exhausted and sore, he would eat what meagre provisions he had left, and watch the only other living companion he had in this damnable hideout as it scuttled and wove, in a desperate attempt to build its web.
Many a time, in his own rage, he felt like crushing this feeble insect against the walls of the cave as it tried to jump between the rocks and complete its silken home, only to fall time and time again, before starting the agonising process once more.
It was clear what tale the fates were trying to tell him. He was no fool.
King of the Scots he may have been, but nothing more than Longshanks puppet. William Wallace had been a simple, uncomplicated man who’s mistakes had cost many lives. His mission and purpose were a folly, but he did not deserve the death he was dealt. There could be no more bending the knee after that.
And thus he had gathered his men at Methven, but had been a naive, trusting fool, so now he was a king without a crown and a rebel without an army.
Listening to the waves crash against his island refuge that particular morning, he gnawed on the last of his stale bread and knew he would have to make a trip for supplies soon.
Suddenly a scattering of pebbles made him look up.
Once more, Wallace stood looking down on him, but this time Bruce knew it was no dream, but rather an omen.
“They are coming,” the wraith said in a deep voice that seemed to echo through the earth. Then he was gone and the scrambling noise came again.
Quickly, he grabbed his sword and rushed out the cave.
Two men stood there. They looked scrawny and desperate, so all the more dangerous. One armed with a sharp two handled axe and the other a crossbow that was pointed straight at his chest.
“We’ve found him, John. I don’t believe it. The Bruce. I told you. We’ll be rich.”
The mans voice was high with excitement, but his eyes were the steel of his axe.
“Take it easy, lads,” Bruce said quietly. “Think about what you’re doing.”
“Just like you did with Wallace?” the one holding the crossbow sneered. “You’re the traitor, not us. Now, drop the sword.”
Bruce, watching both men carefully, placed his weapon on the ground and took a step back.
“Pick that up, Angus. I’ve got this on him if he tries anything.”
The one called Angus lowered his axe and crouched to pick up the sword. As his eyes flicked down, Bruce took his chance.
Lunging forward, he pulled the dagger from his belt and thrust it into the mans neck, whose startled shout soon turned into a scream of pain.
“You bas …” John began saying as he swung the crossbow to where the traitor now crouched, but he never finished his sentence.
Bruce pulled the gore drenched dagger out the dying mans neck and threw it at his remaining assailant. His aim was wild, but it caused the man to duck out the way and discharge his weapon uselessly against the rock face. Bruce took that vital second to grab up his sword. His blow was just as hasty, but accurate enough. It caught the man a slicing wound across the chest and he went down with a groan, as the crossbow clattered to the ground.
Panting and drenched in sweat, he frantically scanned the hillside to see if these two had been alone. All was quiet, yet he knew time was now racing to catch up to him. The future king of Scotland looked down at his two fellow countrymen and cursed. He had not wanted this, but by his actions and his deeds this has been brought upon him. No more.
It was then that he noticed the one called John was still alive and crawling towards his fallen crossbow leaving a trail of dark blood across the sandstone rocks.
Bruce sighed, retrieved his dagger, and knelt down next to the struggling man. Without a word, he stabbed the blade through the back of the mans neck and it was over.
“I’m sorry brother,” he whispered.
Suddenly a figure caught his eye and, for a moment, he thought he had been discovered, but it was only Wallace. His wavering and bloodied spectre far off in the fields. Pointing east. Always east.
Reaching back into the cave to grab his provisions, he noticed the spider sitting in the middle of its web, still and resting after it’s exertions. The work now complete.
Robert the Bruce pinned on his cloak and sheathed his sword. Walking from the cave, with the morning sunlight on his face, he followed the ghost of the man he had betrayed, and knew it was time to go home.
Robert the Bruce is a complicated character. He is famously known as the King of the Scots who won the Battle of Bannockburn against the English in 1314 and paved the way for Scottish independence. However, as I have mentioned before, he did fight for the English at the battle of Falkirk against William Wallace, and murdered John Comyn, his competitor for the crown, in Greyfriars Abbey in 1306.
It was after this sacrilegious event that King Edward I of England ordered Aymer de Valance, special lieutenant to Scotland, to show “no mercy” on the battlefield at Methven against the Scots, with any men taken in arms to be executed without trial.
Clearly, Bruce wasn’t aware of this and trusted de Valance when he said they would wait for morning before joining battle. For someone who had betrayed so many people to get to the top, this was ridiculously naive on Bruce’s part.
After the battle, Bruce went into the hiding and this is where the tale takes its leave from truth and becomes legend.
In 1827, Sir Walter Scott first told the story of Bruce, whilst despairing at his losses, watching a spider struggling to build it’s web and thus we get the expression, “if at first you don’t succeed try and try again,” which supposedly inspired him to reclaim his crown and country.
The location of the cave, where he allegedly hid, is also hotly disputed with various sites around Scotland claiming legitimacy. I’ve based my story in Kings Cave on the Island of Arran in the West of Scotland, which is just a short ferry ride from where I now sit. And, once again, as is often the case with these stories, I never knew that such a cave existed until I wrote this!
However, as suggested in the story, I just wonder if someone else was also there, keeping him company.
The first battle that Bruce really did win when he returned from exile was also in Ayrshire, not far from Arran, which I suppose gives more strength to the legend of him hiding out there.
At the Battle of Loudon Hill, Bruce deployed the same tactics that Wallace had used at Stirling Bridge to funnel the much larger English force, once again commanded by de Valance, through a bog and a series of ditches, that he had commanded his men to build, so his small army could pick them off more easily. It was a Bruce’s first victory and paved the way to Bannockburn where similar tactics were again used.
Who knows, maybe through all of this, Wallace was there whispering in his ear and guiding his hand after all. I suppose it’s no crazier than a spider inspiring a King to reclaim his crown!
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the story. Until next time.
I knew you had it in you for another episode lifted from the annals of Scottish history! 👏 I like the theory you explore here as well.
Great description! And charged-up action. And the spider was a nice touch.