James the Good

All right, then, today, I'm going to give you a story about Sir James Douglas, one of Bruce's faithful followers and closest friends. He was also known as James the Good or The Black Douglas for his dark complexion--not because he was cold-hearted, for he was a very chivalrous knight.

The story I'm going to tell you today is about how Douglas took an English occupied castle in the middle of the night with hardly any problem whatsoever!

James Douglas watched the soldiers on the wall top as they marched back and fourth, studying their patterns. He beckoned to his men.

"They do not look down," he told the men. "We will sneak up on them that way."

"But they will see us coming from afar!" one of the men protested.

"They will see us. Be we will crawl. In the mirk, no one will know the difference between us and cows!"

The men approved this wisdom and they set out to cross the field, wrapping their weapons under their dark cloaks and some taking light rope ladders upon their backs.

Up on the wall top a woman sat with her baby, singing gently to it a lullaby that all the English mothers were singing at the time:

"Hush ye, hush ye, do not fret ye,

The Black Douglas shall not get thee."

She looked up as the guards spoke to each other then, pointing below to the grounds.

"What's that?" one asked his companion.

"Looks to be some cows runaway, man," the other guard replied. "If they're still there tomorrow, we can make a meal out of them."

They did not notice the ladders slipping over the battlements and as they continued their patrol, a dark clothed figure slipped over the wall top just as the mother finished singing to her babe the lullaby again.

"The Black Douglas shall not get thee."

"Do not be sure of that," Douglas said as he dropped down beside her.

"You!" the woman almost cried, but Douglas put a hand over her mouth.

"Wheesht!" he hissed and beckoned to one of him men now over the wall top. "He will stay with ye and keep ye safe. No harm will come to you and the bairn." And then he was gone along the wall. He rushed down the steps and opened the gates before any of the English could stop him, letting in the rest of his army. They quickly took the castle and before the English could do anything the Scots had won. And the woman and her baby were saved by one of the most hated enemies the English ever had.

Fin.

Tell me how you are liking my stories and also if there are any you want me to tell about :) This next week, I hope to get at least two posts done as Friday will be Bannockburn when I have a special treat planned for you! ;-)

Slainte, Hazel

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Bruce and the Spider

This is probably one of the most well-known stories about the great Hero King Robert the Bruce but yet, it probably never really happened. But as I said before, history is made up of things that mostly didn't happen. But these are the stories that we remember and I for one have nothing against them.

So this is how the story goes:

It was during Bruce's war with the English and his army had been having the worst of luck. They had been driven back six times on the field of war and Robert was beginning to loose hope of ever seeing his country free. He himself had to go into hiding or risk being taken by his enemies and meet the same fate as his proceeder, William Wallace.

Bruce wandered hopelessly with his small group of men and one night they came on a deserted old barn. Dead weary, they decided to stay there for the night as it was raining and they were already soaked to the bone. Bruce lay down in some straw and tried to rest, but rest would not come to him. His heart was sore for the want to free his people and the seeming fact that it would never be.

But as he lay there, he happened to look up and see a spider on the ceiling. He found that he pitied her as he watched her try to swing to the next rafter to weave her web. It was six times that he watched her, seeing then that it had been six times he had fought the English and had been driven back. He watched her stop and thought she had given up. Bruce's heart was even heavier now.

"It seems we have both failed," he said softly with a deep sigh.

But the spider had not given up. She tried again working carefully this time and as Bruce watched, she swung over to the next rafter. Elated at the sight, Bruce leapt up and, full of hope once more, he smiled up at the spider.

"You have given me hope, wee spider," he told her happily. "I too, shall try again!"

And so he gathered his men and sent word for any loyal Scot to join him and eventually they met the English on the fields of Bannockburn and won their freedom.

And so that was my wee version of Bruce and the Spider. If you have any particular Bruce story you would like me to write about this month, please ket me know. I am going to try to write them all in story form, so you can pretend I'm playing story-teller this month :) Don't be shy to let me know what you want to hear about. Drop me a comment or email me at sirwilliamssquire@gmail.com

I'll be back again soon with more Bruce stories!

Slainte, Hazel

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Dundee (The Other John Graham)

So, since I am a little pressed for time, and I just realized that it is already the 30th of the month (:O) and I have still not posted all I wanted to, instead of writing a whole new thing about Dundee I would just post something I had already written on him. A while ago I wrote a short story (A VERY short story) about him for a contest. (I actually won that one too :) But this is a little different, but I thought you all might enjoy this wee story that's my tribute to the great man. John Graham. Bonnie Dundee!

Tale of a Hero

Roderick MacGregor piled more wood onto the fire to stave off the chill of the autumn night in the Highlands. Orange sparks flew into the air as the logs settled into place. He looked out at the glen now purple with the heather of the season that glowed in the setting sun. He closed his eyes for a minute and breathed deeply, remembering days long past when he had grown up in this same glen as a bairn.

He suddenly heard the sound of footsteps behind him and turned with a smile to see his twin son and daughter running toward him.

“Da, we want to help wi’ the fire!” said the little lad, Jamie.

“Of course ye do,” Roderick said and took the lass, Flora, into his arms. “And when ye’re done, I’ll tell ye a story before ye go to bed.”

“What kind of story, Da?” asked Flora as Roderick put her down again.

“Ye’ll just have to wait and see,” Roderick told her and smiled at the two again as they each took one of his hands and went off with him to pick up more kindling for the fire.

Once they got back and tossed all the branches and twigs onto the fire, the night had settled in, that gentle gloaming time when the earth held onto the last of the day’s light before letting it go until the next morning. Flora and Jamie danced around the fire, watching the sparks fly off into the night. Their mother came out of the cottage they lived in and stood with a small smile as she watched her children play.

“Shouldna ye two be in bed?” she asked them, raising an eyebrow.

“But Ma, Da said he would tell us a story!” Jamie said and stuck his bottom lip out.

“Please can we stay up?” Flora begged.

“Let the wee ones stay up for a few minutes, Aileen,” Roderick told his wife. “I think they need to hear this story.”
Aileen smiled at the young ones and nodded her head. “All right, ye young rogues, ye can listen to yer da’s story.”

“Yeah!” Flora and Jamie ran to Roderick as he sat on a log by the fire and he took them up upon each knee.

“I want to hear a story about fairies, Da!” Flora said.

“No fairy stories tonight,” Roderick said.

“Is it a story about William Wallace?” Jamie asked excitedly.

“Not about Wallace,” Roderick told him. “This is a story about another great Scottish hero. One who always did what he thought was right for his king and country. Now, ye have to understand, my wee bairns, that some people may tell ye he was the villain, but they never knew the real story; never knew who he really was.”
“Are ye going to tell us the real story, Da?” Jamie asked, his eyes already wide.

“Aye, I am,” Roderick told him. “Ye see, this story happened when I was about your age. Yer Granda fought in the war that came about because of the trouble brewing in Scotland around that time. Ye see, my wee ones, Scotland was in a bit of a mess with the controversy of the Covenanters and all that, but ye’re too young to understand all the politics behind it so I’ll just tell ye what happened. Ye’ve heard my stories about the great Montrose who fought for good King Charles, havena ye?”

“Oh aye,” Jamie shook his curly head. “He was a great warrior.”
“Aye, that he was,” Roderick smiled. “Well, the hero of this story is his descendant. He was a great military commander and started off his career fighting in Holland until war with the Covenanters brought him back to his own country. Our hero loved Scotland, so he gathered all the loyal men he could find and fought for her right.”
“Just like Wallace,” Flora said excitedly. “Right, Da?”

“Aye, just like Wallace, mo chridh,” he said and kissed her on the nose. “And just like Wallace, he refused to serve a false king. His king, Scotland’s king, was James, and he fought for his right to the throne. When he was called to the banner of his rightful king, he knew he would never give up until the war was over or death took him.”

“Like a true Scotsman!” Jamie cried and grinned.

“Aye, lad. He certainly had a true Scottish heart. When King James tried to get the throne, it resulted in many battles, eventually causing the king to have to leave Scotland and sail for Ireland.”

“Oh, Da, he came back didna he?” asked Flora.

“I have to finish the story,” Roderick told her with a grin. “Our hero never gave up hope though. He still fought with his loyal men, having all kinds of adventures. Once he even scaled the rocky face of Edinburgh castle to talk to the man who was holding it for King James.”

“That must have been hard!” Jamie exclaimed even though he had never seen Edinburgh castle before.

“Aye, it was, lad,” Roderick told him. “But our hero did it. Before long he was outlawed for fighting against the English king and a price was put on his head. This didn’t stop him from fighting for what he knew was right, though. He gathered more men from the Highlands, Camerons under the Chief Lochiel, and marched out to meet the foe.”

“Was there a big battle, Da?” Jamie asked excitedly.

“I’m getting to that,” Roderick assured his son. “The English were scared at the force he had gathered and sent a regiment under the command of MacKay to send them packing. They met at the Pass of Killiecrankie, our hero appearing to the traitors over the top of the hill. He and his men, having the high ground and a strong cavalry charge, made it immediately clear to MacKay that they had the upper hand.”
“Because a Scotsman can always fight better with a hill at his back, right Da?” Jamie asked. “You always told me that.”

“Aye, that’s right. And they did have a braw charge at that! MacKay’s troops tried to hold them off, but as soon as the Highlanders charged down the hill, the Sassenachs lost their nerve and ran away.”
“So the Scots won, right Da?” Flora asked.

“They did,” Roderick told her. “But their victory came with a price. Many of the men were killed and our hero unfortunately was shot in the charge.”
“No!” Jamie cried and Flora grabbed Roderick’s hand.

“He died,” Roderick told them. “But he died leading his men intae battle, and there is nothing unworthy about that. His men carried him off the field and the piper played him a fine pibroch called Lochaber No More, you’ve probably heard it before. And he had a hero’s funeral.”

“But what happened to the war, Da?” Flora asked. “Did James ever become king?”

Roderick shook his head. “Nae lass. But I dinna want ye two to despair. Someday, Scotland will have her own king again and it will be men just like the ones I just told ye about who will make it happen.”

“What was the hero’s name, Da?” Jamie said suddenly. “Ye never said!”

“He’s known by many names,” Roderick told them. “The English called him ‘Bloody Claver’se’ because they made up rumors that he was a butcher and killed men mercilessly.”

“That’s no’ true though, is it, Da?” Flora asked.

“Of course no’,” Roderick shook his head. “The Scots wouldna follow someone like that. The Highlanders liked to call him the Gaelic name Ian Dhub Nan Cath, which means Black John of the Battles because of his black hair and his courage on the battlefield.”
“But what does everyone else call him?” Jamie asked.

“The normal people?” Roderick raised an eyebrow. “Well, his real name is John Graham, but ye know what the men who fought under him always called him?”

“What?” the two little ones asked with wide eyes.

“Isna it time ye get into bed?” Their mother, Aileen came out of the cottage and beckoned to them.

“Aw Ma!” Jamie whined.

“I let ye stay up long enough,” she said with a concealed smile. “It’s time for bed.”
Roderick stood up and took the two into his arms, carrying them back to the house. “Come on ye two. It willna do tae get yer mother mad!”

They complained as he tucked them into bed and kissed them goodnight. “Have sweet dreams my wee bairns,” he said to them.

“Da, wait!” Flora cried grabbing his hand. “What was his name? What did his men call him?”
“John Graham?” Roderick said. “For what he did for his country and his kindness, the men all called him Bonnie Dundee.”

And I have probably already told you this before, but read Rosemary Sutcliff's book Bonnie Dundee. As far as fiction goes, I don't think his story could be bettered.

Have a good day my feres and if I can, I will be back tomorrow with a post about Montrose. Weather it will be some heartfelt comments and drabbles or a little information, I don't know yet.

Slainte, Hazel