10
When Gavin heard the scream he had only just reached the battlements. It was time to survey the army that were busy eating and drinking and laughing just out of the range of MacGregor bows. It had been his first proper chance to go and see for himself how the besieging army was settling in.
For the previous few hours he had been sitting in the great hall, center of a group of men, all of them talking at once.
When he held up a hand silence immediately cut through the conversations like a knife through a Frazer.
“Gentlemen,” he began, scraping back his chair and getting to his feet, placing his hands on the table in front of him. “This bickering is getting us nowhere.”
He looked down at the parchment laid out for all to see, the long list of the castle’s defenses. “The details are all well and good but I only need to ken one thing and one thing only. How long can we hold out?”
Bruce ran his finger down the list of figures, muttering to himself as he added the columns together. “Water, if they do not poison the supply, six weeks. Food, if we are cautious, three months.”
“The water will refill when the rains come, is that not right?”
“Aye, if it rains.”
“This is Scotland. It will rain. We can simply sit this out while the blacksmiths get to work.”
“More swords will not be enough to get us out of this,” Alan said from the back of the group. “Frazer men are marching this way. If they join the outlaws, we are doomed.”
“We have fifty fighting men already,” Gavin said. “Even without more armor, fifty men in a castle like ours could fend off the King himself and all his armies. Do not look so worried.”
“The problem lies elsewhere,” Bruce continued, tapping a line that had been hastily added to the bottom of the parchment. “If disease takes hold, we will struggle.”
“How badly?”
“Some herbs and ointments, we have more than enough. Lemon balm, we are low, moss too. Worst of all is firewood for warming the infirmary, much of it has not yet dried out and winter is coming.”
“What of last year’s supply?”
“Sold while we were held in the dungeons.”
Gavin swore under his breath. The outlaws had ambushed so many traders on the way to and from the castle that his people had been forced to sell a quantity of herbs and firewood while he was a guest of Mungo Frazer.
Bruce continued. “Also the charcoal might run out before the blacksmiths can complete their work.”
“How long?” he asked out loud.
“If the outlaws haven’t given up in a month we must prepare to freeze and leave tending the wounded to those who pray.”
“The physician will have his herbs. We just need to work out how.”
“Why not take the battle to them?” Lachlan asked. “It will be the thing they least expect.”
“They currently outnumber our fighting men four to one,” Gavin replied with a shake of his head. “In here we hold the advantage. They will never storm these walls. Take them head on and there is a chance we will win, I grant you. There is also a chance the castle is left undefended with the women and children sitting ducks.”
“Are you afraid of a straight fight?”
Gavin stood up straight, staring coldly at Lachlan, hand on the hilt of his sword. “Ask that question again.”
Lachlan held his gaze for a moment before turning his head away. “No, my laird.”
“We have a month,” Gavin continued, turning his attention back to the group. “We let them assault as many times as they dare in the next few days. Taunt them to do so if needed.”
“Attrition.” Bruce smiled. “Lower their numbers,” he added, slapping Gavin on the back. “I like your style.”
“Each time they approach we take out as many as we can. Once we’re sure we have the upper hand, then we ride out and slaughter them, send a message that the MacGregors will never be cowed on their own land.”
