The Path of the Hero King bt-2

by Nigel Tranter

  She came close, to press all that undulating femininity against him, warm arms encircling his neck, red lips raised and open. The boots could wait. He would have picked her up in his arms and carried her to the bed, as the situation more or less prescribed -but the relics of sanity remained to him. She was after all a large creature, and would weigh more possibly than his dignity could survive. Moreover, he would be wise, almost certainly, to harbour his strength for his own immediate warfare. The priority now was to get some at least of his own splendid apparel off before the lower nature triumphed.

  He strode for the bed, tugging off his magnificent tabard. She was not far behind, prepared to help in this also.

  “It … has been long,” he panted, warning her.

  “I am not perhaps … sufficiently a king tonight! Bear with me, girl.

  At first!

  And I will serve you … royally!”

  “I am MacGregor,” she answered simply.

  “And my race is royal!” It was her clan’s motto.

  For a moment he paused, to stare at her-but only for a moment.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Parliament was to open at noon, and the King to ride in state to the cathedral where it was to be held. About an hour earlier, dressing for the occasion and going over in a mind which had in its time felt fresher, more alert, the projected programme for the day, Bruce made frequent glances at and out of the window. The smirr of thin, cold rain off the North Sea, with which the morning had started, could spoil the procession. Not that this was so very important;

  yesterday had been the time for the play-acting, and today’s business was on a different level, serious, formal, but vital.

  Nevertheless, the thought of a lot of wet, chilled men in that great cold church, sitting hour after hour in debate, was not one to which he could look forward. Perhaps he was a little testy this morning.

  Gibbie Hay and young Irvine certainly gave the impression that they

  thought so, tip-toeing about and keeping eyes averted. That could be guilty consciences, of course. He had slept less than usual last night, admittedly-but so probably had they, and for similar reasons.

  A brief gleam of watery sun, coinciding with a commotion down;

  in the castle courtyard below, took him to the window once more, A small party of cloaked men had ridden in under the Gatehouse arch, horses steaming. The visitors were now dismounting stiffly as from long riding. There was nothing unusual about this, with the quality of most of Scotland descending upon St. Andrews these days; but that they should come straight to this castle was perhaps significant. And something about one of the travellers caught the King’s attention.

  This man was tall, gaunt seeming and stooping a little, but strongly-built, and by the skirts of his habit below the folds of his long travelling-cloak, dressed in the style of a Benedictine friar.

  Nothing extraordinary about that. Yet, something about the man even viewed from this tower-top angle … Suddenly Robert Bruce emitted a cry of astonishment, and dropping the gold belt he was in the process of donning, and brushing past the surprised Sir Gilbert, he actually ran to the door, threw it open, and went down the winding turnpike stairs two or three steps at a time.

  Out in the wet courtyard, past the startled guards, the King hurried towards the travellers, who were now moving in the direction of the main keep.

  “William!” he cried, “William, my friend!

  My lord Bishop-God is good!”

  William Lamberton turned, stern and bony features lighting up.

  He came longstrided. He seemed about to drop on one stiff knee before the monarch, but at the last moment thought better of it and instead threw his arms wide and took the younger man into his embrace.

  “Robert! Robert my liege, my son, my most dear friend-here is joy! So long, so long it has been. Three long years.”

  They clasped each other for a little, too overcome for coherent words.

  Then they stood back and looked at each other-and the marks of those years were only too plain to see on both of them. Lamberton saw a lean, purposeful, strong man of a great natural dignity and almost alarming if unconscious authority, with keen distance-searching eyes yet with a gleam of humour about them.

  Gone were the last traces of immaturity, the relics of youthful uncertainty and indecision. Here was a man in his prime, of body and of mind, but chiselled, tempered, almost graven in both as by a sculptor of fierce conviction. And Bruce saw a worn, lined and ravaged giant, old before his time-for Lamberton was but forty-six, with only eleven years between them-grey-haired, weary, but though bowed of frame most obviously not bowed in spirit.

  The King had been demanding how came the other to St.

  Andrews this March morning, but struck by the Bishop’s evident fatigue, took the older man’s arm instead and led him towards his own tower.

  “You are tired. Come to my chamber. Eat and drink, while I dress. For this parliament. We can talk then …”

  But Lamberton gave him some information even as they mounted the stairs.

  “I am tired, yes-for I have been in the saddle since dawn yesterday and rested but two hours in the night. But that is nothing in my joy in seeing Your Grace. It more than makes up for any weariness of the flesh. It will be the leaving you again, the going that will tax me sorely-not this coming.”

  “Leaving? Going? What do you mean?”

  “Only that I have not long with you, Robert. A day and a night, no more. At this hour tomorrow I must be over Forth again and spurring for the Border.”

  “Dear God-not that! Here is foolish talk indeed…”

  “Not so, Sire. For what I have left of honour is at stake. You see before you” a man forsworn. I have broken my word, my parole. All for love of you, my friend. I gave King Edward my word that I would remain in England. Only on condition that I did not return to Scotland was I released from my prison. I seek to tell myself that this means only that I would not return to abide here-not that I could not visit. But that is merest casuistry. I was not to leave Edward’s realm. He trusted me. And I have done so. I must return forthwith.”

  “But if the damage is done…?”

  “Perhaps not. I came secretly. I am thought to be making a pilgrimage of the shrines of Saint Cuthbert, in Northumbria. For my sins! I left Hexham Priory at dawn yesterday, supposedly to make for a cell in the hills of Upper Tynedale. Instead, I hastened across the Border passes of Deadwater and the Note of the Gate, into Teviotdale. And so here, by secret ways we both know well. If I can return by the same route, and at the same pace, I may reach the Abbey of Lanercost two days hence. Where I am expected. And be thought only to have been travelling amongst the remote hill shrines. There is a Pilgrim Road. This I pray for-so shameless a deceiver I have become!”

  “But your men? Your companions?”

  ’”Only one, my personal servant, came with me from Hexham. In England I

  do not ride the land like a prince of the Church! The others I picked up at my Abbey of Melrose, in Tweeddale.”

  In Bruce’s bedchamber, after Hay had paid his respects to the Bishop, and provided meat and drink, he and Irvine left King and Primate alone with reminders of the procession’s timing.

  “This parole of yours is a sore burden upon you, my friend,” Bruce said, after a little, as he watched the other eat.

  “I am not one for breaking faith, as you know. But this was no ordinary demand upon you. It was the only way that you might regain freedom from prison, yes. But you were unlawfully imprisoned. You went to the English, before Methven, as an emissary from me. To imprison such emissary was a dishonourable act. And to hold captive for years a consecrated bishop of Holy Church, Primate of Scotland, to prevent him from ministering to his people-this is doubly unlawful, against the laws of God and man. In such circumstances is your given word to be held to? Is it not your duty, to your people, to me, to return to Scotland, by any means possible? You owe no duty to Edward of Carnarvon.”

  “Think you I have not turned over and over in my min
d all such thoughts, Sire? I had ample time to do so! It may be so, as regards my episcopal duty. But I have my personal honour to consider, surely? My given word, as a man. God forgive me, I have indeed broken it to be here at all. For that I might convince myself of excuse.

  “A visit only. But to stay in Scotland there could be no excuse. From my own conscience. It is my conscience that I fear, Robert-not King Edward’s wrath.”

  “Aye. I understand. Probably I would judge as you do.”

  “Besides, I believe that I may indeed serve you best, my liege lord, by returning to England. Here I am Primate, Bishop, and your Chancellor, yes. But others can perform these duties, or represent me in them. Can any other do what I am in a position to do, in England? Here is why, after long thought, I gave my word. That young man, Edward Plantagenet, has a liking for me. Why, I know not. As he has a hatred and suspicion of his own bishops, Beck in especial. They were all his father’s creatures-and all to do with his father he hates. He sends me letters, messages, seeks my advice, summons me to wait on him. He is a strange man, weak yet wilful, stubborn. And I can influence him. Have already done so. And can learn much of what is planned, against you and Scotland. To inform you thereafter. God knows, I have no liking for the task, to act snake, deceiver, spy. But I can do it. And I tell myself that it is to the eventual benefit of England also-an end to oppression, invasion, peace with Scotland. Judas’s code, perhaps? But ..

  I might achieve much. So my poor conscience is torn two ways … “Yes.

  I see it. You may be right. Already you have sent me vital tidings. About Edward’s wedding. This Piers Gaveston, and the nobles’ resentment. You freed my hands, then, to deal with the North. That I can do with an ear, an eye and a voice at Edward’s Court, there is no doubt. And you can … you can keep touch with my Elizabeth. Comfort her. That above all-although I should not say it! That above all.” It came out in a rush. He had been urgent to ask about Elizabeth from the moment of their meeting.

  “Yes, my son-yes. I know it. Elizabeth. God bless her! God bless you both. Being permitted to visit her is a great matter. I see her when I can. She is well. Brave. Proud in her sorrows. You chose wisely in your wife, Robert. Sinfully, I have ever begrudged Bishop Beck of Durham in that he wed you, not me.”

  “She is not misused? Maltreated? Humiliated?”

  “No. She is not treated as a queen. But as the great Earl of Ulster’s daughter she is respected. Young Edward does not love Ulster, his father’s friend. But he does not vent his spleen on the daughter-save to keep her closely warded. A strange man, he has not his sire’s savagery, but he hates almost as strongly. I think he hates the Scots little less than did Longshanks …”

  “And his intentions, with Elizabeth? How long is he going to hold her captive?”

  “That I know not. But I cannot raise false hopes for you, Sire. I would that I could say kinder. I think he will not release the Queen while ever you withstand him. Or your daughter. He uses them against you. Hoping your resolve will soften, your need and love for them bring you to terms. That is the English way …”

  Bruce’s groan was harsh.

  Pityingly his friend eyed him.

  “It is an evil case. Here is dishonour indeed! But, at least, this Edward is less cruel. You heard that when I made representation to him, he ordered the release from their cages of your sister and the Countess of Buchan?”

  “Yes. For that I am grateful. To you! Scarce to Edward, who kept them like cooped fowl for months after his father died. That any Christian prince could so act…! But-what is my duty, William?

  Towards my wife and daughter? I ask you-what is my true duty? I am a man, a husband and father, as well as a king. As you are a man as well as a bishop, as you have just said. I have set my throne before my wife. No-not my throne; my realm, my people.

  The freedom of Scotland before her freedom. And that of the child of

  my loins. And cursed myself for it every day of my life! What is my

  duty, man? “”You know your duty, Robert You have done it And, I pray

  God, will continue to do it. You are King of Scots. I anointed you that day, at Scone. You are not as other men. This your burden you must carry, grievous as it is. All men know it Elizabeth knows it, and would not have you fail in it. A king’s is no mere title or honour, as is earl or knight A king is wed to his people, first. You know it” “I know it.” Wearily the other nodded.

  “But, at times, I … I hope … weakly. That I might be spared this.”

  Bruce straightened up.

  “But enough of this. You came because of today’s parliament?”

  “Yes.

  To support you in it. For I am still, in name, your Chancellor of the realm. And the Chancellor should conduct the business of a parliament, under the monarch’s presidency. I cannot remain Chancellor-but at least I can support you at the opening of this, your first. This I had to do.”

  “It was kindly thought of. I am grateful. I had thought to use another acting-Chancellor. Nicholas Balmyle was formerly that.

  But now, as bishop, and administrator of your diocese as well as his own Dunblane, he is better as the realm’s Treasurer. I had intended to appoint Master Bernard de Linton, my secretary, as acting-Chancellor. He is young, able, trustworthy, and of nimble mind. And loyal. Though of lowly rank. Shall I so appoint him, in your name, think you?”

  “No, Sire. Not acting-Chancellor. Make him Chancellor of the Kingdom, in truth. An excellent choice. Better than Balmyle, indeed-who, though sound, has his limits. I wish to be relieved of this office. It is folly for me to remain in it, even in name. For too long there has indeed been no Chancellor. Give Bernard de Linton the seals of office.

  He will serve Scotland well.”

  “M’mmm. It is a big step, that. For one so humbly placed. There are those who will be envious. It is best to be a churchman, yes, a clerk and man of learning. But many others higher placed may demur. And since many must take instructions and even commands from the Chancellor, it would be unwise to offend such prelates.

  Taking instruction in your name, yes. But in the name of the Vicar of Mordington …!”

  “True. Then we must use our wits. Between us, we can arrange it better, surely-King and Primate! Bernard is worthy of a promotion.

  It was on my suggestion that Nicholas Balmyle offered him for your service. He must be raised in rank.” Lamberton permitted himself a wintry smile.

  “A mitred abbot? There is one abbey within my jurisdiction that is a thorn in my flesh-Arbroath! It is one of the richest in the land-yet Abbot John is for the English, as you well know. He cocks his mitre under the protection of the English garrison of Dundee! And refuses to pay his dues to my treasury here. See you how my mind works, Robert?”

  “Ha! Appoint Master Bernard Abbot of Arbroath? In place of this John.

  One of the most senior abbacies in Scotland …”

  “And let Master Bernard, who is an able chief, and with his own ambitions no doubt, desire to get his hands on the revenues thereof, as well as the office! So, I think, we shall soon see notable efforts to oust the English from Arbroath and Dundee! To the benefit of all.”

  “Sakes, man-here is a ploy indeed!” Bruce chuckled.

  “Your wits have rusted nothing in your English prison, I vow! May I so announce to this parliament? The new Abbot of Arbroath to be Chancellor of the Kingdom, in your room? And Abbot John dismissed.”

  “When better to announce it, Sire? Although I had better have a word with Master Bernard first!”

  “To be sure. I will send for him …”

  So thereafter, when the King led the glittering mounted cavalcade through the rainwashed streets of the ecclesiastical metropolis, its own master, to the astonishment of all, rode at his side, clad in most magnificent episcopal canonicals hastily resurrected from secret storage for the occasion. If Lamerton’s presence stole much of the limelight, in consequence, Bruce was the last to complain.

  At the mighty cathedral, the largest in Scotland, all had been prepared with much
care-though hardly for its own Bishop’s presence.

  Certain damage had been caused by the English invaders but this was

  hidden behind evergreens and other decoration. The chancel-screens

  dividing the choir and high altar from the vast nave were further

  reinforced with more greenery and heraldic painted canvas, so as

  decently to shut off the holy parts from the rest. The nave itself,

  not normally seated, was now furnished with a great variety of chairs,

  benches, stools and forms, arranged in groupings and order to seat the

  varying degrees and status of the participating commissioners-and such

  was the scale of the place that there was still a large area at the

  west end available for onlookers. A dais had been erected at the

  chancel steps, for the throne, the Chancellor’s table, the clerks’

  desks, and so on. Immediately below were seats for the great officers

  of state, and flanking them left and right were special stalls for the

  earls and bishops. Facing the dais were the three large groupings,

  already filled as the trumpets blared for the royal arrival-the

  estates of the Church, the barons and the burghs. Behind, the spectators’ enclosure was packed. The lofty galleries of triforium and clerestories were today rivalling the splendour of such stained-glass windows as had not been smashed, in the kaleidoscopic colours of the ladies who thronged them.

  Hidden choirs in the chancel sang anthems as the King of Arms and his heralds led in the King of Scots and his great entourage.

  Three men paced immediately behind him-James, the High Steward, Edward, Earl of Carrick, and William, Bishop of St. Andrews. Then, after an interval, came the Lords Spiritual-the Bishops of Dunkeld, Moray, Brechin, Ross and Dunblane. The earls followed-only Lennox and Ross, and the minors Sutherland and Menteith. Thereafter the Privy Council, followed by the provost and magistrates of the city.