the zigzag path into the deep ravine. As soon as the last man was through, the door was pushed shut and the bars dropped into place; behind it the small postern portcullis was lowered for the last time. Kildrummy was sealed.
III
Eleyne had retired to her solar after they had gone. She looked at the empty hearth, tempted to order a page to call for logs. Then she remembered: firewood and peats too must be conserved. If the siege lasted more than a few weeks – if it ran on for months – they would be glad of heat when the nights grew really cold. Huddled in a fur to keep her old bones warm against the chill of the September dark, she stood at the window which looked down across the broad strath. The candlelight turned the thick glass opaque with shadows; she could see nothing beyond the window and after a while she turned away.
The lookouts on the walls could see little either. The attack when it came took the whole castle by surprise. The shouts, the rain of arrows, the thundering upon the gates and the first hurled missiles from hastily erected siege engines bouncing harmlessly from the great walls, began almost exactly at midnight and went on for several hours. No one within the castle was hurt. From the walls the archers shot back at the enemy and hurled the first of their stockpiled rocks. Some fired flaming arrows to start a few harmless scrub fires in the dry grass and several found their mark, judging from the screams below. By dawn the enemy had pulled back to a safe distance.
All the next day they watched the besieging army moving into place around the castle, erecting tents and pavilions, dragging more and more siege engines into place and digging defensive ramparts behind which their archers could stand. Eleyne went up on to the battlements after mass and stood beside Nigel looking down through the arrow loops at the activity below. ‘I can’t believe it,’ she murmured. ‘Not here. Not Kildrummy. This place has always been so safe.’
‘And it will remain safe.’ Nigel put his arm around her shoulder.
‘Do you think the others got away?’ Eleyne peered towards the distant peak of Tap o’Noth and the hills to the north.
‘Of course they did. John Atholl would never let anything happen to them. You know that as well as I do. Besides,’ Nigel shrugged, ‘being totally realistic, we both know that, if they had been cap tured, young Edward there would not be able to resist letting us know. John’s head would be on a pole outside his tent by now.’ He shuddered. They both stared down at the largest pavilion which marked the prince’s base. Above it, on the huge banner, the three Plantagenet leopards ramped merrily across their scarlet field in the wind. It was twice the size of that of the Earl of Pembroke with its bars and birds, which flew beside it.
Once the siege was under way and the inhabitants of the castle had become used to the sinister presence beyond their walls, the days settled down to a routine once more. Food was carefully rationed, and the storerooms locked, though so much food filled the castle that much of it was openly available to those who wanted it. But there was good discipline amongst the people. Conscientiously they regulated themselves and obeyed the rules which Eleyne and Nigel had drawn up.
After the first onslaught, it was several days before the siege weapons were in use and a sense of almost peaceful anticipation filled the men and women in the castle. It did not last long. As the huge ballistas and trebuchets swung into action, hurling massive missiles at and across the walls, they had their first casualties. Two men from the Garioch died as they crossed the open courtyard. Roofs within the curtain walls collapsed; chunks of masonry flew from the massive walls and the walls of the chapel and the great hall both sustained hits which cracked the stone. After that people became more cautious.
A week later Prince Edward sent the first of many messengers to the castle gate under a white flag of truce to negotiate with Nigel and, they soon discovered, to try to establish if the Queen and Princess of Scotland were still at Kildrummy.
The castle flew two banners. The royal lion of Scotland and the cross-crosslets of Mar. On his first visit the messenger, Sir John Appleby, found out nothing save that they were well stocked with grain, and that Sir Nigel Bruce and the dowager Countess of Mar at least were there behind the granite walls and that they were confident and defiant.
On his second visit, three weeks later, he had another mission besides his message for Sir Nigel. As he walked across the courtyard beneath his white flag, his eyes were everywhere, scanning the faces of the men and women who stared at him from the shelter of the outbuildings. They were looking to see if the rumour that Englishmen had tails was true. He was looking for signs of a different kind: rebellion, frustration, avarice – the bag of jingling coins openly bouncing at his belt might possibly speak to one of the people who were watching him now.
Carefully trained by King Edward’s negotiators, the messenger looked to left and right, scrutinising the faces around him, and as he left the castle, ostensibly disappointed by his defiant reception, he smiled. He reckoned he had spotted his man.
IV
The dream came again. Not the battle, but the fire. Eleyne woke sobbing, to find Bethoc shaking her. ‘My lady, please, what is it?’ The woman was frightened.
Eleyne felt her pillows damp with her tears. The dream had gone. Elusive as a shadow, it had been there at the edge of her consciousness, then it had vanished into blackness. She stared across the room, lit only by the one tallow candle, and frowned. ‘The fire is out.’
‘It hasn’t been lit for weeks, my lady,’ Bethoc said gently. ‘Only the cooking fires are lit and those only during the day.’
‘Of course, I had forgotten.’ Eleyne closed her eyes. ‘Is it nearly dawn?’
‘Near enough, my lady.’ Bethoc glanced towards the window. The glow outside came from the great fires which burned all night in the camp around their walls, openly defying the cold darkness of the castle in the first rawness of autumn.
Bethoc tucked the covers around Eleyne once more and crawled back into her own bed, shivering. In minutes she was asleep.
Eleyne lay looking up at the grey shadows on the ceiling as imperceptibly it grew lighter. Without realising it, her hand had gone to the phoenix lying over her thin, bony chest. The enamel was warm, vibrant between her fingers; his hands, when they touched her shoulder, were gentle and persuasive, soothing her pounding heart, stroking away her fear, making her forget her aged, treacherous body. Beneath the warm covers of her bed, she began to smile.
V
Edward of Caernarfon was sitting in his pavilion when Sir John Appleby returned to the camp. At twenty-two, Edward was tall, cool, uninvolved, like his father in many ways, and yet different – a paler, weaker version. Always there was that soft centre, that lack of resolution, which meant he would never be the king his father was. It showed even now amongst his men. He sat back on his stool and looked at Sir John’s face. One glance told him what he wanted to know, and he threw down his quill. ‘You found someone?’ He stretched his legs in front of him with a groan. He was bored with the siege; he wanted quick results. And glory.
Sir John nodded. He bowed formally, then took the stool Prince Edward indicated and drew it forward. Above their heads, the sun threw dappled shadows on to the canvas of the pavilion. He could smell the crushed grass beneath the floor coverings. Outside, the brazier burned merrily; a page was feeding twigs into the flames. ‘Yes, sire, I think I’ve found my man. Strong, but disabled. Frustrated; angry and resentful. I saw his eye follow me, and I
