Sisters of The Bruce 1292-1314 (Abridged Version )

Sisters of The Bruce Chapter 8.3&4

                                                                                                     III

Norway

Bergen

June 1298

My dear Kirsty,

Bethoc and Aiofe send their love and greetings. We are overjoyed at your news. It is as well Murchadh came to meet you. You may have need of him in the future, especially if war is being waged around you. You must come to us here.

Besides, I desire nothing more than to welcome you to safety and to show you my home though I expect you might find Bergen a busy place. Almost seven thousand souls reside here plus many foreign visitors and traders.

Now would be as good a time as any to tell you about an unusual craftsman who brought his wares to the castle. One day, a knock sounded on my solar door.

"Entrez!" I called, expecting it to be one of the maids. To my surprise, in came a man with a wolf-grey thatch of hair, dressed in a dusty surcoat and carrying a leather satchel which he proceeded to lay down upon a trestle beside the window. His face was a most arresting sight. A black moustache drooped around his mouth down to his jaw line giving him the look of one with an unhappy disposition. When I caught the glint of humour in his eyes, I realised this was not so. His name was Erling Kappen.

On a piece of rough fabric, he laid out a range of combs made from the antler of the reindeer - beautifully crafted, each section cut with the grain of the antler rather than across it, riveted together for greater strength. On my last visit to the market, Erling took note of my passing interest in his stall. He hatched a plan to bring his wares to me knowing full well this was frowned upon by the king. Once one had access, all would demand it and traders would harry the king for their loss of profits.

Canny as a fox, he created a diversion with a young lad chasing a cur into the castle grounds. Once the guards were fully occupied, the craftsman slipped through the gates, edged around the bailey's perimeter and stole up the tower stairwell. Knowing not which door to seek, he sent a plea to Frey,  god of all abundance. Hiding in the shadows along the corridor, he saw a maid leave a chamber, carrying a gown and silk undergarments for laundering. Frey had smiled upon his venture. With his heart hammering in his chest, he knocked and boldly entered. Chuckling at his own brilliance, he paused in the telling – just as the door was pushed ajar. Soon, the trestle was surrounded by my serving ladies, examining his intricate wares. Seated by the hearth with a beaker of ale in hand, Erling recounted the history of this style of comb and its connection to Bergen.

High on the mountain plateau of Hardangervidda, a trapping system existed of stone cairns and fences which led the reindeer onto a spit of land out in a lake. Here, they were killed on the beach beside a shelter, home to the trappers for many months of the year: Erling's father and his father before him. It was a massive production, gathering meat, bone and antler all to be sold in Bergen,  headquarters of the trade. Indeed, the craftsman boasted he pioneered the riveting process of the reindeer antler to make the combs so strong.

Unravelling my coiled plaits, Bethoc began to work one of Erling's combs through the rough tangle. It remained true to its function. Well, do I remember the trouble we had as young girls. Then and there, I determined to send the good women of Kildrummy a bundle of these precious combs: a small gift, to cheer you in such dark times.

Your loving sister

Isa

                                                                                                               IV

Scotland

Kildrummy Castle

August 1298

Isa, dear heart,

Great adversity has befallen Scotland! After King Edward's return from France, he began his own meticulously-planned war, relocating his entire administration to York. As the massive army lumbered northwards, his ominous intent could not be mistaken. In desperation, the inhabitants of the border lands fled to the hills. With supply ships delayed, the army lived off the land,but when relief did arrive, empty bellies found little sustenance in the plentiful cargo of wine. Rebellious Welsh troops, threatening to desert to the Scots, became embroiled in a fight and a few English priests, protesting at the drunken disorder, were killed. More fighting broke out and eighty or more Welsh died in reprisal. Amidst the chaos, fortune smiled upon the English king; news had come, the Scots were camped not far away at Falkirk.

On the feast day of Mary Magdalene, the mismatched armies met. With only hand weapons and little in the way of cavalry, Wallace made use of the lie of the higher land and marshy ground below, aiming to trap the heavily-armoured destriers of the English knights. Formed into four great schiltrons of men armed with outward-facing spears, lances and halberds, the Scots' hedgehog formations were held in place by rope and stakes in the ground. Between each group, Wallace wedged the archers of the forest led by Sir John Stewart, brother of the Steward. By day's end, the Scots' army faced annihilation, unable to withstand the might of Edward's war machine. The powerful range of the Welsh longbow and lethal bolts of the French crossbow made short work of the Scots. It seemed only two English knights, both Templar commanders, lost their lives, but more than one hundred horses lay dead or dying; evidence, it is said, of Wallace's rule to maim the horse and unhorse the knight. This time, his strategy failed and many Scots lay dead or dying.

With the battle lost, our nobles panicked and rode away to hide in the forests and hills. Despairing, Wallace followed them into Tor Wood  to escape the horror midst its dark vales, leaving behind the stench of the battle ground and ever-widening circle of raptors. Though we had sound information from the abbot of Arbroath Abbey, none knew of Robert's whereabouts.

Battles can be won or lost, but the strategists busied themselves in the background. In place of Bishop Fraser, Master William Lamberton, a staunch supporter of the Scots' cause, was elected as the new bishop of St Andrews. He and his colleagues canvassed the Pope and the French king, who wrote letters to King Edward urging him to release Balliol from custody in the Tower and cease his attacks upon our countrymen. 

Edward continued his victory march - thankfully nowhere near us. When the English king arrived in Ayr, Robert had already evacuated the town, burning the castle to stop King Edward from retaking it. The latter then pushed onto Lochmaben which his forces took with ease.

It is as well Grandfather was buried in Guisborough, otherwise English soldiers would have been tramping o'er his grave. After all this, William Wallace, heavy-hearted from defeat, felt compelled to resign his role as sole Guardian.

Where all this will end, the good Lord only knows. We mourn the dead as does all of Scotland.

Kirsty