Sisters of The Bruce 1292-1314 (Abridged Version )

Sisters of The Bruce: Part 2; Chapter 2.4

                                                                                    IV

Scotland

September 1308

After more than two years in her cage perched on the walls of Roxburgh Castle, Mary Bruce was perilously close to madness. Her body was riddled with pain and disease, whilst her thoughts were a tangle of mismatched memories, pierced occasionally by a frightening return to reality. From time to time, she would screech and flap her arms as if she might fly from her high nest. Villagers gathered at a distance, laughing at her outbursts. When she cursed them and their vile prodigy, they jeered and pelted her with stinking refuse. The following day, a vicious storm flattened their crops. From then on, they quailed in fear whenever they had to pass her cage.

Mary felt choked by humiliation and rage. She yearned for space and the comforts of her former life. The suffocating blackness at night frightened her, but she longed for it as for a lover; only then could she sink back into her old life and wrap her precious childhood memories around her like a warm, protective cloak.

Sleep was no longer a natural state for the prisoner. In the biting cold, the nipping insects, which scurried around her person, kept her wide-eyed. To sustain a precarious hold on her sanity, Mary began to work her way through the past. It took concentration, and the dark velvet of night was best; as a parched soul gulps water from a spring, so too did Mary gain sustenance and exquisite pleasure from her night-time dreaming. To recall these joys brought searing pain and tears with the light of day, but necessity demanded she develop this skill. To drift and fall effortlessly upon demand through time's lucent barrier was her only path to freedom.

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The sharp tang of burning wood in the guards' iron brazier set Mary's memories tumbling back to the aromatic fires lit with driftwood on the shore near Turnberry, where she joined Edward and Robert as well as her sisters, Kirsty and Isa. Stars pierced the dense, black raiment above them. Away from the castle and village, the air was fresh, overlaid with brine. Upon a makeshift grill, fish caught earlier that day turned brown and crisp. Juices sizzled in the heat. Cheeks grew hot as salt-laden wood hissed and shot out sparks of iridescent blue. Ravenous after the day's activities, the siblings heaped slabs of flaky white flesh onto oatcakes. Edward dropped his, muttered a quick curse, brushed off the grit with soot-blackened fingers and devoured the lot – much to everyone's amusement. So vivid was the image in her mind, that Mary's senses were activated. From within her belly, a low growl rumbled and she began to salivate.

Mary heard the murmur of waves rippling upon the sand. Rob told stories of Roman legions and tales of Viking warriors, creeping up on them in the dark. Edward wove visions of deathly-pale spectres arising from wrecked vessels to gather upon the rocky shore.

As he approached, Earchann cursed the rough ground, giving the youngsters time to scatter around the rocky shoreline. With his lantern swinging, he searched the shallow caves until the girls' smothered laughter gave them away. All were rounded up to the sound of fierce Gaelic scolds. To prevent any further escapes, the stocky serving man used all his strength to drag Edward and Robert, ignominiously by their ears, back through the castle gates. No doubt he would have liked to take a switch to their backsides as well.

Enduring Earchann's wrath, the girls followed dutifully behind with the lantern. But they knew Maihri would have a warm drink and honey cakes waiting for them and, up in their chambers, their beds would be cosy from the warming stones placed there earlier by Bethoc. Their maid often sang them to sleep. How strange it was – her eyes grew soft at the sight of her wild charges, whilst others blazed in frustration and fury. Whenever the girls came in, skirts torn by brambles or covered with smuts, the young maid said nary a word. She would gather up the discarded garments to wash and mend once more. Nothing seemed too serious or onerous and the future had held such promise.