Macbeth the King (31 page)

Having spread his men in a huge semi-circle just within the trees, MacBeth left Brodie in command there meantime and hurried off southwards, to the Pass itself, where his brother now should be installed, with Murdoch of Oykell in charge beyond, with his 600.

The situation at the Pass of Birnam was straightforward. Birnam Hill projected a wooded but steep shoulder eastwards to within 200 yards of the river, which here was forced into a major bend by the configuration of the land. The road, the main highway north and south through Atholl, threaded this narrow neck. Neil was already placing his troops above the road, as near as the cover would allow, hastily adding to that cover with birch and pine branches and uprooted juniper-bushes.

MacBeth had only just arrived on the scene when a messenger from Oykell warned that the advance-guard of the rebel force was close at hand. Soon they could hear the clop of hooves and a mounted party about a hundred strong came into sight, trotting along the road. Crouching low behind their cover, the northern men watched them pass, unsuspecting, Neil pointing out that they were led by the Thane of Breadalbane.

There was a tense interval as the sound of these faded amongst the trees. Then a new noise grew from the south, larger, more complex, not only horses' hooves but the murmur of many men, the shuffle of feet and the clank and chink of steel. The waiting men all but held their breaths.

Presently, under a group of banners, the enemy leadership rode into view, clustered round a noble-looking elderly man, heavily-built, grey-bearded, proud, in silver-scaled armour on a tall, white horse, no Highland garron—Crinan mac Duncan, Mormaor and Abbot. A dozen or so thanes, toiseachs and chiefs supported him, under the red and silver banners—and MacBeth at least was glad to see them there, even though the presence of some he much resented, since if they were here at the front they could not be dispersed through the host.

This host came on, marching only three-abreast, for the road here did not allow of more. The great majority were on foot, Highlandmen—for Atholl, being all a land of mountain and forest, was not rich in horses, as were the mortuaths of the coastal plains. But they were well armed, and looked a formidable force. And there were a lot of them.

This impression of numbers weighed much with the watchers—and in files of only three they seemed to take an endless time to pass. Everywhere around him MacBeth could sense impatience, anxiety to be up and at them, fear that they were risking disaster by thus delaying. He himself knew the same urgency, although
his
anxiety stemmed from the fear that the enemy leadership might get so far ahead that they would reach the ford and Dunkeld itself, before battle joined, and there choose to take refuge in the fort and not be involved in the fighting at all—which would ruin all. Yet he had to delay, to allow sufficient numbers past, to meet his plan of action. Premature assault could risk defeat.

The King was, in fact, roughly counting the files as they passed. He had no means of knowing his uncle's total strength present, but he imagined that it would not be less than half his reported army of 8000. Ideally, then, if there were 4000 on this march, he would wish to cut the column in half. But that would mean allowing something like 700 files to pass below. And at say two yards between each file, it would mean that the leaders might be most of a mile ahead before he struck—practically at Dunkeld. He dared not wait so long. Fortunately there seemed to be few men of rank scattered throughout the lengthy column—which meant that the extensive tail would be left largely leaderless. Clearly Crinan—who was not much of a warrior—had marched to defend Dunkeld rather than to seek a battle
en route.

At barely 500 files MacBeth could delay no longer, afraid now that others would move if he did not. Slapping Neil's shoulder, he rose to his feet from behind their bush, sword held high. Silently, as commanded, the waiting 400 jumped up, and hurled themselves down upon the marching Athollmen.

This part of the action, although vital to the whole, was the most uncomplicated and easy. In the circumstances, it could scarcely fail. 400 men charging downhill on a narrow front upon a column of men on the march, and unprepared, were bound to have the best of it. Because of the bend of the road, the effective front was only some 200 yards long, so that less than seventy files of three were involved; and these pinned between the hillside and the riverbank had no room to form up or manoeuvre. In fact, most of them were swept right into the Tay by the rush—and even one or two of Neil's men tumbled in after them, unable to halt on the slippery bank.

Now the less simple stage began, and with the enemy north and south of the 200-yard gap warned and in shouting alarm. Neil had to rally his men swiftly, on the road, split them 300 and 100, and throw the two sections headlong at the disorganised ends of the column, the larger group to the north. Because of the twists of the road and the density of the flanking woodland, few of the enemy could see what had happened before or behind them. All the files concerned could know was that they were being attacked, by what numbers they could not tell, and that their comrades had disappeared. Without authoritative leaders, they tended to panic. Noise from further south now indicated that on that side there was trouble also, where Oykell's men had gone into action. The Athollmen were not to know that this was
mainly
noise, bluster—for 600 were not to be expected to match themselves against possibly 2000 and more, and where the ground was less propitious than at the Pass.

MacBeth, who had not joined in the downhill charge, waited only long enough to assure himself that all was going according to plan and that the two ends of the column were being, as it were, rolled up. He turned then, and ran for his horse, hidden higher in the wood, to ride as fast as he might for his main force.

When he reached Brodie and the others, it was to find them in as great a state of frustration and agitation as had been Neil's company before the assault. They could see the amphitheatre of open ground, and the confusion that prevailed there—yet the King had insisted on no attack until he ordered it in person. He was met, therefore, by a clamour of advice and demands for instant action.

Angrily he silenced them, and sought to make a swift but comprehensive survey. The enemy was disorganised and at something of a loss, but not in real chaos and demoralisation. The leadership group had turned back and were riding through their own files of foot. Most of these were turning also, but the fighting was still in the Pass woodlands and they would be able to see nothing of what went on. So far, none seemed to be crossing the ford to the town, and none looking towards the flanking forest and the hidden host, across the haughland.

MacBeth was, of course, concerned with the mounted leadership. He wanted them as far south, as far from safety, as represented by the ford to Dunkeld, as was possible. So he waited—but far from patiently himself. For he dared not delay for long. The southern portion of the rebel army was very much in his mind. It might be largely leaderless, and still more uninformed and confused than the forward section; but it was likely to be the larger, and might not take very long to discover that it was being assailed by only 600 or so from above, and a mere 300 in front. When it learned that...?

It was only a brief minute or two, however long it seemed, before MacBeth gave the signal. And like hounds released, the waiting Northerners burst out from their cover to hurl themselves across the level pastures upon the milling foe. But not in any wild, disorganised rabble. Each company knew its task. The majority were mounted, but by no means all—for the Highlanders much preferred to fight on foot, as did many of the others, horses being for transport, not battle. MacBeth had tried to instil his mormaors and thanes with the notions and opportunities of cavalry tactics, but with only limited success. He recognised that, however daunting the massed horsemen must seem bearing down on the strung-out, unprepared foe, most of his men would fling themselves from their mounts once amongst the enemy, and fight as they were accustomed, on foot. But one group, under Brodie, were specifically enjoined to remain mounted, and to remain also, as far as possible, in recognisable formation—an inverted V formation. This squadron, about a hundred strong, had an alloted task—to reach swiftly and wipe out at once the rebel leadership group, ignoring all else.

That MacBeth himself did not lead this arrowhead was a sore trial to him. But he told himself that he was a king, not a captain of cavalry, his part to direct the battle with his wits and authority, not to smite with just one more sword or axe, a bitter mouthful to swallow. He had retained a hundred or two men, mounted and foot, as reserves, to throw in where most required, and these likewise found their role unpalatable, all but shameful.

The initial clash was sufficiently dramatic and effective, at least, with the Athollmen given little time or opportunity to form up into any sort of defensive posture. Smashing through the already disordered columns, any possibility of the enemy forming a unified and coherent battle was lost—although admittedly this meant that the royal force likewise had to split up into small groups to deal with the consequent fragmentation. All semblance of formation on both sides therefore was quickly lost, and instead of a battle, dozens of small fights developed.

Brodie's tight arrowhead squadron was able to bore through the enemy foot like a knife through cheese. Crinan's group saw them coming, of course, but hemmed in as they were between the ranks of their own folk and the river, they could not do a lot about taking evasive action. This group of thanes and chiefs were all mounted, but not with any tactical intention, merely indicative of their rank. They did not attempt to put themselves into any defensive formation or hedgehog, but sought rather individually to get out of the way of that determined, menacing charge. Some achieved it, others did not—but as a leadership-group it disintegrated. The impact could be heard from MacBeth's stance.

From that distance the King could not make out who had got away and who had not. Most of the banners had disappeared in the first rush, but sundry horsemen were still milling around. Two quite clearly were making a dash northwards for the ford, riding down friend and foe alike in their headlong rush. Urgently MacBeth despatched young Martacus with a score of horsemen to head them off, if possible. The pair had distinctly the shorter distance to cover, but through the midst of the fighting, whereas the interceptors had a clear run.

In that confused scene it was hard to tell how the main struggle went—except that, broken up and without leadership, the enemy could scarcely win the day, on this sector. At one point, a larger number of the Athollmen seemed to have coalesced, and formed themselves into a rough defensive circle, which seemed to be holding its own. Against this MacBeth sent another wedge of some two-score horsemen, with curt instructions not to draw rein even for their own encircling men but to bore right through all, at whatever cost, and split that enemy ring by sheer weight of horseflesh. It must be destroyed before it could serve as a rallying-point for the rest.

When this manoeuvre was successful, and the circle shattered, and when the King saw that the two fleeing horsemen had been cut off and evidently disposed of, he decided that his duties as general had been sufficiently performed. He sent off the remainder of the reserve southwards, to the aid of Murdoch of Oykell and Neil, and drawing sword, rode off with Alness and a few others to join the fray.

In fact, they were too late for any significant part in the fighting. Everywhere the royal forces were gaining control, the enemy surrendering or throwing themselves into the Tay; and it seemed only a question of time before the stubborn knots which fought on grimly must be overwhelmed. MacBeth made for Brodie's busy squadron which, somewhat ragged now, still wheeled and hunted and rode down.

"Crinan?" he shouted, to his friend. "What of Crinan? Have you taken him?"

"1 know not," Brodie called, panting. "He rode off. Got away. Before we struck. We have slain Fortingall and Dalmarnoch and Cranach. Captured others..."

MacBeth cursed, and wheeled his mount round to spur away northwards to where he could see young Mar with his troop assailing a group of half-naked hillmen.

"Martacus," he cried. "That pair you halted? Was one of them Crinan?"

"No. No, Highness. I have never seen him. But these were not old men. They yielded to us. One, they say, is Glentilt. The other I know not who!"

"Damnation! Crinan must not escape—or we have it all to do again! Where in God's name is he...?"

He hurried back. There was no elderly mounted man like Crinan obvious in all that bloody and chaotic scene; but since many of the royal force were still horsed, and there was nothing to distinguish friend from foe in dress, it was by no means certain that he had escaped. MacBeth issued orders that the field should be searched for Crinan's body.

A man was brought to him who declared that he had seen the Mormaor of Atholl riding off southwards towards the Pass, at an early stage in the attack. MacBeth bit back his exclamation of disappointment. He was a fool! He should not, after all, have stood there playing the general, but himself headed Brodie's cavalry wedge and never lost sight of his uncle. Leaving his lieutenants to try to restore some order on the battlefield, and to send men quickly after him to help deal with the rear half of the rebel army beyond the Pass, he himself rode southwards.

The fighting in the Pass had ceased likewise, and he was picking his way amongst the bodies which littered the road and banks, steeling his heart to the misery of many wounded everywhere, when he perceived a group coming towards him, on foot, Neil Nathrach in the forefront.

"So, Son of Life—you won the day, I hear!" his brother called.

"Aye—here and so far. But there will be much to do yet, man. Have you heard how Murdoch does! Is he holding them, yonder?"

"I do not know about holding. But the noise of the fighting gets further ever off. And lessens. I would say that they are in retreat. I have sent for tidings..."