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"You can't-"
"Stay here!" Arnault insisted. "Keep ?ghting."
Bruce resolved the issue by seizing upon two of his nearest retainers.
"Escort Brother Arnault from the ?eld," he ordered curtly. "Find someone competent to tend to his injury.
I can't afford to lose this man."
Reluctantly, Torquil surrendered Arnault into their charge, ducking with a grimace as more arrows hissed
and thudded about them.
"I want those English archers put out of action," Bruce said to him, gesturing with his axe. "Go slip Keith
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from his leash. Tell him to set the hounds on the rabbits."
Arrows continued to pepper the schiltron at his back as Torquil turned and galloped back through the
trees to where Sir Robert Keith and his ?ve hundred horsemen were mustered.
"The king's orders!" he announced, and pointed toward the formation of archers. "Remove that thorn
from his side!"
The Scottish cavalry had been cha?ng for the chance to join the battle. At Keith's command, they bolted
forward like starving men falling upon a banquet. Torquil whipped his own mount around to join the
charge. Baying like bloodhounds, the mounted Scots erupted from cover and streamed in a wave toward
the enemy archers.
Coarsely bred and undersized by English cavalry standards, their wiry Scottish ponies nimbly covered the
broken ground. Seeing them come on, the archer captains frantically ordered their men to redirect and
redouble their ?re.
The English longbows loosed their shafts with a sound like the wind booming through a cave. A dozen
riders fell at the ?rst volley, but the Scots opened ranks to present more scattered targets, for all knew
that they must close the distance swiftly, or be killed trying.
Keith urged his men to even greater speed. Shafts continued to rain down on them, claiming men and
horses at every round, but the Scottish charge never slackened, and seconds later they were within
striking range of the enemy.
The archers had not been able to fortify their position by planting stakes in the ground. With no knights or
spearmen to defend them, they had nothing to stand between them and the murderous spears and blades
of the Scottish riders. A scattered few stood their ground and ?red off a last desperate volley, but most
knew they were staring certain death in the face. Flinging down their heavy bows and quivers, they turned
and made a panic-stricken bolt for safety.
Some dashed back toward their own ranks. Others ?oundered across the boggy ground toward the
bend of the River Forth, their unprotected backs presenting easy targets to the pursuing horsemen.
Unrelentingly, the Scots swept after them, stabbing and slashing, so that soon the ?eld was clear of all but
the dead.
With the archers' threat neutralized, Torquil reined short and turned back to report their success to the
king.
"If Edward had brought those bowmen forward earlier in the day, we might have found ourselves in
trouble," Bruce commented with a wol?sh show of teeth.
"Aye, and it isn't over yet," Torquil agreed. "But if you can spare me, I'd better go see how Arnault is
faring."
"Go," Bruce said with a nod. "That arrow that struck him down was meant for me. Let's hope it doesn't
prove our undoing."
Chapter Forty-five
June 24, 1314
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NO LONGER MENACED BY THE LETHAL THREAT OF LONGBOW ?re, Bruce's army resumed
its advance. The English, ?rst to their chagrin and then to their dismay, were forced to give ground. The
schiltrons solidi?ed into a single bristling wall, thrusting inexorably forward. With the battle shifting in their
favor, ?erce cries rang out from the Scots' ranks.
"On them! On them! Push on!"
The English vanguard steadily disintegrated. Caught between the gorge of the Bannockburn and the
treacherous Carse, Edward's forces were further hemmed in by the River Forth. Chaos broke out among
the troops to the rear as they found themselves trapped within the shrinking con?nes of their previous
night's encampment-and on the verge of defeat.
From the extreme left of the English army, Bartholeme and his Knights of the Black Swan surveyed the
ongoing slaughter of the English chivalry with growing disdain. Mutilated corpses littered the ?eld, with
here and there a still-living body twitching and groaning in the bloody mire. Riderless horses careered this
way and that in wild-eyed panic, adding to the pandemonium.
"Who would have thought England's king would be such a fool as to squander his every advantage?"
Rodolphe said with contempt.
Thibault turned to Bartholeme.
"Why are we here?" he asked. "This battle is as good as lost. Leave the English to their humiliation. There
are better ways, surely, to ?nish off the Templars than to remain and risk being slaughtered by ignorant
peasants."
Bartholeme rounded on him with tight-jawed fury.
"The Templars are fewer and weaker now than they have been since their earliest beginnings! If we let
this opportunity slip through our ?ngers, we may not get another. If you fear death so greatly, then be
gone! Your departure will not hinder the rest of the Decuria from triumph."
An angry ?ush suffused Thibault's face, but the response came from Rodolphe.
"The time to prove your words is now, Bartholeme. If this Scottish rabble wins the day, the Templars will
be forever beyond our reach."
"They will not win," Bartholeme said coldly. "Scotland stands or falls by her king. I know a spell that will
kill a man dead in his tracks. I mean to unleash it at Robert Bruce."
Several of the knights recoiled uneasily, and Rodolphe's expression hardened as he lifted his gaze to
Bartholeme's.
"I also know that spell," he said. "The cost is the life of the alchemist who casts it."
"Or some equal indemnity of power," Bartholeme countered. "Why else do you suppose I have been
holding the Ring of Ialdabaeoth in reserve until now?"
He glared at each of his men in turn, inviting further challenge. None came. Satis?ed that he had made his
point, he went on.
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"For this spell to succeed, I must have Bruce in my line of sight. After remaining to the rear all the
morning, he has since advanced to the fore, the better to be seen by his men.
That ridge over there presents a good eminence. From there, Bruce should be plainly visible to me."
It was the same high ground that the English archers had brie?y occupied earlier.
"Getting there could pose a problem," said Guy de Vitry, a recently inducted member of the Decuria.
"The Scots have overrun the area. If we must ?ght our way through, there's no guarantee that any of us
would survive."
"Oh yes, there is," Bartholeme said. "Mercurius?"
Hitherto silent, the dwarf today was riding pillion behind his master. Keeping a grip on Bartholeme's belt
with one hand, he thrust the other into his belt pouch and produced a yellow glass vial. Inside was a
thick, bilious-looking liquid.
"All of you know of the demon that dwells in this ring," Bartholeme said, holding up his left hand, where
the dark stone glittered like blood. "A bargain has been struck. None who drink of that elixir can be slain
in battle, for Ialdabaeoth will protect him."
"And what is the price for such a victory?" one of the men asked.
"The price was paid after Castle Montaigre, when I brought the demon back from certain annihilation.
You need not fear to partake of its gratitude."
Eagerly the Black Knights crowded closer to take the vial from Mercurius and sip from it. When all had [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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