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climb.
    Neil Campbell nodded to Robert. ‘My lord,’ greeted the Argyll knight, between breaths.
    Gilbert de la Hay also bowed, but his large form remained bent for some moments more, his hands on his thighs and sweat dripping from his nose. Robert was used to seeing the powerfully built Lord of Erroll clad in mail and surcoat. Gilbert looked rather comical in the ill-fitting peasant garb, borrowed from one of the drovers in the army.
    ‘What did you find out?’ Robert pressed, gesturing to David of Atholl, who was holding a wine skin.
    The young man stepped forward and handed the skin to Neil, who gulped gratefully at the wine, before passing it to Gilbert.
    ‘Those are Valence’s men down there all right.’
    ‘You saw Valence himself?’ Robert asked sharply.
    Neil shook his head. ‘But his standard was raised in the camp and several men we saw were wearing his colours. Most of the others had the cross of St George on bands of cloth. Here,’ he added, clasping his upper arm.
    ‘Like Falkirk,’ said John of Atholl darkly. ‘Infantry,’ he said, glancing at Robert.
    ‘How large is the force by your reckoning?’ Robert questioned.
    ‘Maybe as many as a thousand.’
    ‘Our scouts put the company they saw crossing the border in April at two thousand,’ ventured Edward, at Robert’s side. ‘Where are the rest?’
    ‘Inside,’ answered Neil.
    Robert’s brow furrowed. ‘You were able to enter the town?’
    ‘No, my lord,’ said Gilbert, straightening and pushing a hand through his sweat-soaked mop of blond hair. ‘The gates were closed for curfew and the few people we saw on the road outside were being questioned by English soldiers. We couldn’t risk getting too close.’
    ‘We spoke to a cowherd out in the pastures,’ explained Neil. ‘He told us the English have more men inside Perth. They’ve taken over the houses of the burgesses.’
    ‘Could he say how many?’
    ‘Couldn’t even count his cows, my lord,’ responded Neil wryly.
    ‘But he confirmed the stories of townsfolk being put to death,’ said Gilbert. ‘Valence is letting it be known far and wide that he’ll hang more each day until you appear before him to accept judgement for – in his words, my lord – your treason and the murder of his dear brother.’
    ‘Dear brother?’ Robert’s harsh laugh was devoid of humour. Aymer de Valence and John Comyn had been brothers by marriage alone. The two men had been close for a time in youth, mostly, he thought, because they shared a dislike of him, but that early friendship hadn’t survived the war. ‘Did you learn anything else?’
    ‘Just one thing.’ Neil’s scarred face was grave. ‘The cowherd mentioned a banner raised in the market square. He said it was decorated with a golden dragon.’
    Robert’s mind filled with the image of a great standard, blood scarlet in colour, with a fierce winged serpent at its centre, shrouded in flames. It was an emblem as familiar as his own coat of arms and one he had loved and come to loathe by turns. In youth he had seen it lifted over tournament grounds, a mark of pomp and pride. Later, he had seen it hoisted above battlegrounds like a fist; a symbol of terror. It was the dragon banner of King Edward of England and to raise it was to declare no mercy.
    The men around him looked grim. They all knew the meaning of the banner. Chivalry flew in the face of it. Robert’s gaze drifted to Perth’s ramparts, where the campfires of the English were glowing brighter with the approach of dusk. Despite the fact he had been expecting it for months, and preparing for it as best he could, the coming conflict had still seemed distant, unreal almost. Now it was before him, evident in that sprawling encampment, and all too real with the red menace of that standard.
    War was finally upon him.

Chapter 2
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Methven Wood, Scotland, 1306 AD
     
    Robert rode through the woods at the head of the company, dead branches and sprays