Page 165 of Bound By Honor
Pushing forward, the Scots began to gain ground, trampling over the English dead and wounded. Driving home their assault with cries of “Press on! Press on!” the Scots’ attack forced many in the English rear to flee back across the Bannock Burn, the wild careening of their wounded steeds making the preservation of order impossible.
In spite of this success, the schiltron of Douglas and the Steward was taking heavy casualties, leaving the left flank of the Scottish line exposed. Desperate for action, Angus turned to the king. “If the English push hard on their right, they can break out and fatally flank Randolph’s and Edward’s schiltrons. Douglas is too pressed to support them.”
King Robert met Angus’ intense gaze. “I agree. The time has come. You are my last resource, Angus. I have saved you until now. Go with your Islesmen and the Highlanders and win me this day. Capture King Edward if you can. My hope is constant in you.”
Knowing the king risked everything with this last move, Angus said, “From the time we were lads, I have been bound to you by my honor. I will not fail you.” Turning to Iain MacDonald standing with the men of Glen Coe, Angus shouted, “You and your men stay behind me, lad.” To Duncan and John, he shouted, “Protect him!” Then, with the Galley of the Isles banner raised high, Angus shouted his war cry and swiftly led his men down the slope, his long axe to hand.
His galloglass, echoing his war cry, ran forward to meet the enemy, streaming out of the tight formation in all directions, wielding their six-foot, razor-sharp axes. Like a sharp scythe through ripe wheat, they moved over the battlefield, cutting down all before them. With them were the Highlanders of Argyll and the men of Carrick wielding their swords.
Angus and his Islesmen struck hard and fast, fighting as if in a rage. Where their blows fell full and straight, they inflicted a terrible wound no armor could stop. Charging against all they could reach, with their long sparth axes and swords, they rendered blows that cleaved helmets and heads.
The English disputed every inch of ground, but they could not stand against a force compelled by so much courage and ferocity.
Gazing ahead, Angus saw King Edward mounted on a destrier, his red surcoat with three golden leopards and golden crown calling attention to his royal person. He had not quit the field. Instead, he was rushing upon the Scots like a lion robbed of whelps, shedding the blood of many.
Angus commanded his men ahead of him to grab the English king’s horse. “Take his bridle! Capture the king!”
Only King Edward’s desperate wielding of his mace thwarted their efforts. Still, they used their axes to take down his horse. Angus ran to join them but before he could reach the bridle, Aymer de Valence, Earl of Pembroke, Sir Ingram de Umfraville and Sir Giles de Argentine, pulled the protesting king onto another mount and fled the battlefield, riding fast toward Stirling Castle. Hundreds of English knights rode in their wake.
James Douglas, once again on horseback, begged King Robert for leave to pursue King Edward. “Take sixty horse, no more,” said the king. “We need the others for order.”
Seeing their king deserting the field, the English turned to flee. Angus and his Islesmen pressed forward against the increasingly exhausted English army. The cry went up, “On them! On them! They fail. They fail.”
Giles de Argentine suddenly reappeared on the field, a steel-tipped lance in his hand. “I have never run and I will not this day!”
He threw his lance with deadly accuracy. Angus, too far away to intercede, watched in horror as the lance pierced Gilchrist Macduffie of Colonsay. Undaunted, Macduffie rose against the spear that held him and swung his sword at de Argentine, striking the knight from his horse. Once on the ground, he was quickly slayed, pierced with many wounds.
Angus hurried to his dying friend, kneeling beside him to cradle his head and remove his helmet. Gilchrist’s red hair fell to either side of his face. Duncan and John came to stand guard.
The Macduffie chief smiled as life ebbed from him. In a halting voice, he said, “I have well repaid his mortal thrust with my blade.”
“You have done well, my friend,” said Angus. “He was the third best knight in Christendom. No man could have done what you did, wounded as you are.”
Duncan handed Gilchrist’s sword to Angus, and he placed it in The Macduffie’s hand.
The MacDuffie chief smiled and closed his eyes, as his spirit left him. Angus crossed himself as the heart-pounding fever that had thrummed through his veins only a moment before subsided, replaced by a heaviness settling over him.
Hearing a great noise of shouting and cheers, Angus rose from the body of his dead friend to see the crowd dubbed “the small folk” emerging from behind Coxet Hill north of the New Park. Cooks, camp followers, pages, servants and clergy shouted as they waved drying cloths and sheets as makeshift banners. Wielding knives and clubs, they poured down the hill toward the field of battle.
The English who remained watched the oncoming flood of newcomers with looks of terror. “The Scots are reinforced!” one yelled before turning to flee.
Chased by the Scots, some of the English fled to the Bannock Burn, Pelstream Burn or the River Forth where those mounted and wearing armor sank beneath the waters. Others, losing their footing in the pools of blood in the Carse were quickly slain.
A roar of victory rose from the Scots when they realized they had triumphed over the might of England. Angus’ spirit soared within him, so great was his joy.
Once Duncan informed Angus that Brian and Iain MacDonald lived, Angus asked him and John to see Gilchrist Macduffie’s body returned to his clan. “I must find King Robert.”
He found the king on the battlefield, splattered with blood and mud, but very much alive. “We have won, my king!”
“We have indeed, Angus. England is humiliated and Scotland is free. A victory due in no small part to you and your Islesmen.”
The king allowed his schiltrons to disband and pursue the English foot, which they did with a vengeance. He asked his captains and knights to take as prisoners any wearing noble surcoats. “We will not treat them as the English treated us.” He directed some of his men to seize the English baggage train. “It will feed our men and the people for months.”
The king turned to Angus. “How many lay slain, do you think?”
“I cannot say for certain,” said Angus. “Tens of thousands on the English side. Hundreds of their knights. Half the English army at least. There were English knights who never entered the fray and some of their foot fled without fighting. On our side, mayhap only hundreds. It is owing to your training and command that held our men in order, to the land that fought for us, as you predicted, and to God that we owe this great victory.”
The king nodded as he surveyed the battlefield strewn with the bodies of men and horses, the sun reflecting off weapons and armor. “I thank God for the victory.”
