Ravaged Lands: Son of Scotland, #2 by J. R. Tomlin

Author:J. R. Tomlin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Albannach Publishing

He led them across Linlithgow Bridge at dawn, two hundred men at arms and two half-grown lads to handle the spare horses. The horse’s hooves clattered loudly on the stone bridge as they left behind the columns of smokes that told of crops burned to keep them out of the invaders’ hands. Linlithgow town, beneath the walls of the peel on high earthworks, they bypassed. They crossed the marshy edge of the loch where water puddled beneath pondweeds. His scouts reported that the main English force was only a few miles to the south.

There was little panic when they commanded villagers to take all their goods and drive their animals into the hills. All Scotland had been ravaged so many times, people knew that they must flee at the sight of an army. But still, there were wails of anguish when they set fire to rigs filled with ripe barley and to barns and houses they would need to rebuild.

Thomas swerved east to circle the hill south of Bo’ness, climbing higher and expecting to see English foragers at any moment. Already the vast army would be running low on food, especially fodder for their huge destriers. He had scouts riding well ahead, and it was midmorning when Symon, his lead scout, waved his arm over his head as he came to signal that he had seen something to alarm him. So he cantered to the hill’s crest.

Beneath the late summer sun, the headland was patches green and gold. Beyond was the blue of the Firth of Forth. It was peaceful with small rigs of ripened barley and the thatched roofs of the village of Bo’ness. But no smoke rose above the rooftops, although that did not mean that English foragers were not there. Scouts had reported no enemies, but the thick pines could have hidden a whole host of the English.

“My lord, people were running.”

“How many?” Thomas asked.

“Three women and a handful of children, my lord. They ran that way.” He pointed to the west.

So people were fleeing the village. They were no longer where the scout had sighted them. He rubbed the back of his neck and then turned his horse toward the road below the skyline.

Sgòthan pawed the ground and snorted his impatience, so Thomas patted its neck. If foragers were in Bo’ness, and he was sure that there were, his first job was to stop them, kill them if he could, and take back any captured supplies. Thomas turned his horse’s head and led his men below the skyline around the hill. The sound of birds fleeing, the clink of their harness, thumps of their hooves in the leaf mold were the only sounds. Overhead, a brown kestrel, its wings spread wide, hovered, the only living thing anywhere in sight. The road into Bo’ness was cloaked with trees, and by mid-day, he had his men hidden in the woods east of the village.

Symon had squirmed on his belly through a rig to get close. He reported that

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