Bannockburn by Alistair Moffat

Author:Alistair Moffat
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: Birlinn

6

Black Monday

Vigils. The Feast of the Nativity of St John the Baptist,

in the Year of Our Lord, 1314, the eighth year of the reign of

Robert, first of that name, King of Scotland, Lord of Man.

The sun was rising over the Ochils away to the north-east and as its yellow glow melted down the flanks of the hills, the warming glint of the Forth meandered below Stirling Castle rock and a day dawned that would make a nation. By 4am it was light enough to see, to make out more than the grey shapes of the half-dark night moving around the English camp in the carseland below. Those men who had managed a few hours of fitful sleep roused, scratched, stretched and shook off the stiffness of their damp beds before looking for somewhere to relieve themselves. Many will have done no more than doze, knowing what was to come in the morning. Squires and pages will have slept very little as they attended tethered destriers, always alert even when the war-horses stilled and slept a little, their eyes flickering shut, bottom lips loose. Many had been tacked up and bitted all through the night, fearful of a surprise Scots attack, and few will have buckled their legs and sighed down to the ground to sleep. As the great beasts snuffled at what little forage their grooms could find, their riders began to wake and bark out orders for help to armour themselves. Around the royal pavilions messengers scurried off with orders for the great magnates and their retinues to make ready. Farriers moved amongst the destriers, nails and shoes in the pouches of their leather aprons, clawed hammers in their hands. Occasionally a squire would raise a hand and a clench-nail would be driven home and bent over to grip the hoof tight.

Archers bent their backs in the cool of the morning, flexed and stretched their arms and made certain of spare bowstrings. Each man walked to the carts and took a sheaf of 24 arrows. A warm and sunny day was dawning – and in the early stillness there seemed not to be a breath of wind. If the weather held fair and fine, death might rain down from the skies and the Scots would fall in their hundreds, maybe thousands, on this midsummer day. Infantrymen looked for their spears and helmets, pulling the laces of their padded jackets tight and cinching their belts. All of the men who had bivouacked on the damp carse looked for water, especially those who had wassailed in the short night, and all chewed on dry bread and perhaps a morsel of hard cheese. It was the Feast of St John the Baptist and on holy days good Christians ate frugally – and on the morning of battle, at the outset of a day when many men would meet their maker, all soldiers were good Christians. Thoughtful sergeants took something out to the pickets who had been set on the edge of the carseland, men who looked towards the dark woods of the New Park and the Scots camp.

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