Alex pointed to the spot between the Bannock Burn and the Pelstream Burn where the ground narrowed. “If you attack them with your schiltrons here in the morning, you will win.” Schiltrons typically stayed fixed in one position, but what Alex was proposing was that they be dynamic—that they move—which he knew Bruce had trained them to do. “Most of the infantry are camped on the other side of the Bannock Burn. By engaging the first column of cavalry in this narrow area with your schiltrons, the second will be hemmed in by the burns and won’t be able to reach them—you will take away their advantage of number. Nor will their archers be much help. In such close quarters, there will be too much risk of hitting their own men. The morale of the soldiers is so low they will scatter like frightened mice.”

“And how do I know that you are telling me the truth?”

“I pledge my life on it, sire. Feed me to the wolves,” he said, motioning to his former brethren, “if what I say is not the God’s honest truth.”

The king looked at MacLeod in silent question. The fierce Island chief and leader of the Highland Guard shrugged and looked to Boyd.

His former partner eyed him for a long moment. “He’s too bloody noble to lie.”

It wasn’t a compliment—at least to Boyd—but it seemed to satisfy Bruce enough to let Alex continue.

“You have better leadership,” Alex said. “Your men are better trained, and more important, they are fighting for something.” He took a deep breath, knowing the king wasn’t going to like what he had to say next. “I know you have had many reasons to avoid pitched battle to this point, but there are some who will never recognize you as king until you defeat the English army to army. This is the battle people want, my lord. Give it to them. You may never have a better chance.”

The room was silent for a long moment.

It was Edward Bruce who was the first to speak. As Alex had never gotten along particularly well with the king’s only remaining brother, he was surprised to hear his support.

“He is right, brother. We have them where we want them. And if it is half as bad in the English camp as Seton suggests, we can put an end to this. Victory will be seen as God’s judgment and prove to everyone that you are the rightful king.”

As Alex had been saying for years, a pitched battle was the only way of doing that. Bruce had to show he had a right to the throne, and in this case it had to be shown by right of battle.

One by one Bruce went around the room asking each man his opinion, and each—some with more reluctance than others—gave an affirming nod.