Reasons to Fight

 

The King of Scots was disconsolate. Never had he suffered through such an impossibly depressing battle. A wisp of memory came into his mind, and he pushed it away. Thinking of Methven right now wouldn’t help him any, nor would it help his people, the loyal men and women whom he was fighting this war to free. Not that fighting for freedom from oppression made it any easier, really; Edward Longshanks didn’t lower the dragon flag, and no more weapons were added to his stores because of it. But it did bring people to his army, small as it was, and that helped. But it did make him feel dejected on days like these.

            Shaking his head at the random musings of his mind, Robert the Bruce stood up, brushing the dirt and leaves from his clothes as he started over to where Douglas stood. Feeling as though he should instead talk to his last remaining brother, Bruce pushed away the guilt, knowing that Edward would try to understand, but would be unable to because of his personality. Douglas, however…that was different. Comrade, helper, leader, yes. But friend, also, and the one person to whom the Bruce could reveal the anxiety that he felt about the war.

            Coming to stand beside the Douglas, he let his gaze follow that of the younger man. He realized that his dark friend was watching the village below: still calm and peaceful, even in the midst of war. The English army hadn’t reached it yet, though none knew how long it would take for that bloodsucking mob to draw all of the life out of the little town. Breaking the camaraderie of silence, he asked the man quietly, “How long do you think it will last?”

            Douglas didn’t move as he replied. “However long it takes us to defeat them.”

            Nothing could be obtained without a price, and though Bruce wanted to know, he did not want to lose the serenity that had come over him while looking at the village. 

            “But the question is, Bruce: how long until we give up? I will fight until I can no longer lift my sword to slash at the enemy, but not all of your recruits have lost as much as you and I have to the English. Many have families to care for, to protect, to feed and provide for. How long until they decide that they can do more for their families from their homes than from the battlefield?” The Douglas’ face never turned towards him, but Bruce understood exactly what he was asking, and he knew what the only answer could be.

            “We have the time that we need, Douglas,” he stated firmly, no trace of indecision in his voice or expression. “Nothing can take that time from us. We shall drill, drill, and drill again until we are ready to face the English army, and that of the Comyn, but the men will understand the importance of fighting until we win, for if we give up now, we are saying that those who have already died have given their lives for no good reason, and that, Douglas, that I cannot deal with. Those men died to bring freedom to their families, their country, and their monarch, and I will not let them die futilely. Is that clear?”

            “Very clear, my lord. But…there are some among the men who worry that we are fighting without reason—that England might be right when she claims full rights to take Scotland under her control when there is no rightly-crowned King of Scotland.”
            “I’ll remind you, Douglas, that my title is not “King of Scotland,” but “King of Scots,” for I rule not over a land, but for a people. And when a crowned monarch is as cruel to a country as Edward Longshanks has been to ours, the rules of Nature are broken, and something must be done to overturn that injustice. I will fight for those, the unwritten regulations that state that government should not be able to pass vindictive, spiteful laws on a country that has done nothing to deserve them. No rightly crowned King of Scots? They have taken our freedom, but they cannot take our loyalty. Whoever has the constant allegiance of the people of this land is her rightly crowned king, be it one of royal blood, or a country gentleman who is determined to set Scotland free. That man is the rightful King of Scots, and neither any man on earth, nor government of any country, can take that appointment from him. It is his solemn duty to fight for the rights of his people, whether he must fight an attacking army or his own mindset. That is the one thing that he must do.”

            The Douglas stood there silently, letting the words of his king sink in. Then a half-smile curved his lips, and the dark young man turned his head to look at his sovereign.

            “You know, Bruce…with that sort of logic, I believe that we might just stand a chance.” His lips moved to form a grin, and the normally serious young man watched as the Bruce’s eyes sparkled with mirth. 

            “And once we’ve disposed of this lot, we can always tell your grandchildren about that song the English women sing to their wee bairns, Douglas.”

            The grin turned to a grimace. “Not that again, please—I’ve heard it enough to last me a lifetime. I’ve never hurt a woman or child in my life!”

            “Hush thee, hush thee, do not fret thee…” Bruce smirked as his friend covered his ears to keep the sound away. With a grin of amusement, he continued, “the Black Douglas will not get thee.”

Author's Note

Written for a history class last year.