The Path of the Hero King bt-2

by Nigel Tranter

  All these to be received back into their liege lord’s service, without any grievous penalty, if so be they submit. Otherwise, forfeiture of all lands and office. This also a Privy Council motion.

  Any contrary?”

  There was silence, not only because this was obviously part and parcel of the former motion, with the same dangers; but in alarmed recognition of the power and significance of that resounding list. Five great earls, no less, still to be beaten down or won over. And a former Guardian.

  While Linton had been reading this dire list, the King beckoned to young Irvine who stood behind the throne.

  “My advice to the Chancellor to move now to appointments,” he said.

  On receipt of the page’s message, the Abbot was nodding when there was an intervention.

  “Wait you, wait you!” That was the Lord of the Isles, from the barons’ benches.

  “I do not, as of the Privy Council, oppose the motion-although, God knows I do not approve of receiving to our bosoms traitors, when they so choose to come! I but ask a question. Why is the Earl of Buchan’s name not included in this list of ill fame? He whose treason is worst of all. And whose office of Constable should be placed on other and honourable shoulders.”

  Cheers greeted that.

  “The Earl of Buchan’s name has been deleted, my lord. The Bishop of

  St. Andrews has informed His Grace this day that lord of Buchan, High

  Constable of Scotland, is dead. He died in England last month, rejected by King Edward as by King Robert.”

  This news produced the inevitable buzz of comment and speculation. Linton took the opportunity to look enquiringly at the monarch -who shook his head.

  Banging the gavel again, the Chancellor won silence.

  “Appointments,” he said.

  “Certain offices, lands and titles are vacant, as result of the passing of time and the casualties of war.

  All are in the appointment of the King, but some fall to be confirmed by parliament. Item. Edward, Earl of Carrick to be Lord of Galloway, and Sheriff thereof. Also keeper of all the royal castles therein, with the revenues thereof.”

  Edward rose, bowed briefly to his brother, and sat down.

  Bruce raised his hand.

  “This is to redeem a promise made to my lord by the shore of Loch Tulla six months past,” he said.

  “I promised him Galloway, the greatest single lordship in Scotland, if so be he would win it back to my peace. This he has done, most notably, His autumn campaign in Galloway was bold, able, skilful. He was not gentle-but sternness was required in that province. He was most ably assisted, in especial by my lord of the Isles and my lord of Douglas. But his was the command, and I know of no other commander in this Scotland who could have done as he did, with the numbers at his command. In one battle he used but fifty to defeat fifteen hundreds. I am grateful. I believe parliament should be also. Is the grant confirmed?”

  There was no doubt about that. Loud and long resounded the acclaim. Edward was popular, his very impulsiveness an acceptable fault-which often coincided with the mood of the majority.

  Probably most considered the King to be too hard on him. Some said perhaps Edward himself the source of it-that Robert resented that it was Edward who survived, when Nigel, his favourite, had been taken, with Alex and Thomas. Now, the King’s tribute was applauded mightily. Men saw it as an olive branch. Edward grinned, shrugged, and examined his finger-nails, clearly embarrassed. Olive branches were not really in his line.

  At a sign from the throne, the Chancellor proceeded.

  “Item. By the death of the Earl of Buchan, without male heir, the office of High Constable of the realm is vacant. Parliament’s approval of the appointment thereto of Sir Gilbert Hay, Lord of Erroll.”

  Here was surprise. All expected a new Constable to be appointed, but few could have anticipated that it would be Hay-certainly not that modest individual himself, who looked quite dumbfounded.

  The King spoke.

  “Sir Gilbert has served me with loyalty and devotion unmatched, my cause and my person. I know of none better suited for the important office of High Constable. Is it confirmed?”

  There was no storm of agreement; but nor was there any voiced objection. As in a dream, Gibbie was beckoned forward by the King of Arms and invested with the sword of state from the table, as indication that henceforward he alone was permitted to wear a sword indoors in the presence of the monarch. As High Constable it was his duty to protect the King at all times. Carrying the weapon he went to sit in the special stalls for the great officers-of state, beside the Steward and the King of Arms.

  “Item. Office of Lord High Admiral,” Linton went on.

  “Approval desired that it be removed from the Earl of Dunbar, forfeit, and appointed to the Lord Angus, son of Angus, son of Donald, son of Ranald, son of Somerled, of the Isles.”

  Tumult broke out. There were cries of delight from the Highlanders, and cries of shock and disapproval from many Lowlanders.

  None were objecting that Dunbar be deprived; but that so important a position be given to a barbarian Islesman was more than many could stomach.

  “Sire!” James the Steward rose to his feet, gobbling.

  “This is not well done. My lord of the Isles is an able warrior. His services are namely. But … it is not suitable! His power belongs only to his own seas and coasts. The far Western Sea. All the other coasts of this realm require the protection of the High Admiral…”

  Coldly the King interrupted him.

  “Address yourself, my lord, to the Chancellor.”

  Put out, the Steward floundered.

  “I … ah … yes, Sire. I … I move reconsideration.”

  “Aye! Aye!” came from various parts of the cathedral with opposing shouts elsewhere.

  “My lord Chancellor!” James Douglas rose as the Steward sat down.

  “I ask-who has any shipping, not captured by the English, to defend our eastern coasts? Has my lord Steward? Has any other? Save Angus of the Isles. He displayed what his galleys could do, in Galloway. That campaign would not yet have been won, without his great fleets of galleys. Would the Steward appoint another to captain the Lord of the Isles’ galleys? Would he? Could he? Yet those galleys alone can protect our shores. I say to the Steward-it is he who should reconsider!”

  There was quiet, whilst men digested that. Then James Stewart half rose.

  “Motion withdrawn.” he mumbled.

  ”If there is no other contrary motion, the appointment stands

  confirmed Linton said. He waited.

  “Angus, Lord of the Isles, to be Lord High Admiral of Scotland.”

  Into the Highland jubilation and Lowland dejection he went on:

  “Item. The office of Warden of the Middle and West Marches is vacant. Likewise that of Sheriff of Teviotdale. His Grace proposes therefore Sir James, Lord of Douglas. To which he would add the Keepership of the royal Forest of Ettrick, with the revenues thereof.”

  This time there was no opposition, despite the youthfulness of the nomineee for such vital responsibilities. There was no doubt, of course, that his jurisdictions would have to be fought for; and although potentially the revenues of the vast Ettrick Forest area were enormous, it would be some time, in the circumstances, before they made of Douglas a rich man.

  Thereafter, a list of further sheriff ships, including that of Argyll to Sir Neil Campbell, and Ayr to Boyd, as well as other titles and appointments, went through almost automatically-although for Sir Thomas Randolph to be Sheriff of Moray, formerly a Comyn appointment, raised some eyebrows.

  Bruce was thankful when this important but controversial part of the proceedings was over. It had, on the whole, gone better than he had feared.

  The lords spiritual had sat patiently, if with some expressions of pious disapproval, through all this. Now Nicholas Balmyle rose.

  “My lord Chancellor,” he said, managing to make the new and lofty title of his late assistant and protege” sound slightly ridiculous.

  “I h
ave declaration to pronounce on behalf of the bishops, abbots, priors and others of the clergy duly constituted in the realm, relative to the position, state and title of our Lord Robert the King. We have drawn up and written a full and sufficient investigation into the claim of Bruce, Lord of Annandale, known as the Competitor, to the throne of this kingdom; which writings, here under my hand, are of too great length here to read. But I make summary. That in the competition for the vacant throne before King Edward in 1291, that prince wrongously adjudged Sir John Baliol to be made King of Scots, when the Lord of Annandale had better title. That the disasters that have befallen this realm are in consequence. That the grandson of the rightful Competitor, having recovered and restored the kingdom, is now most undoubtedly our liege lord in right as in fact. And that any oppression to King Robert hereafter, by means of documents written or sealed in the past, such as were effected by irresistible force and violence, are null and void. We, the clergy of Scotland, therefore do proclaim the Lord Robert as of right the true successor of the ancient and unbroken line of our chronicled kings, and none other.”

  A little mystified by this statement of the evident, this gilding of the lily, most commissioners applauded politely. They were the more surprised, therefore, when, immediately the Bishop sat down, Lennox rose, also with a paper.

  “My lord Chancellor-we, the earls, lords, barons and nobility of Scotland, do likewise make full and detailed affirmation that King Robert is the true and nearest heir of King Alexander last deceased. And declare, with the estate of the clergy and the whole community of Scotland, that the grandfather of our Lord Robert ought to have succeeded the King Alexander, and none other. This paper, signed and sealed, as witness.”

  “I thank you, my lords.” Bruce, not making too much of this, inclined his head towards the speakers.

  “To further business.”

  “Item. Letter addressed outwardly to Robert, Earl of Carrick;

  and inwardly to Robert, King of Scots, from Philip, King of France. Received ten days past by the hand of one Oliver de Roches, ambassador, after travel by safe conduct through the realm of England. Wherefore the outer superscription. His Grace of France recounts his special love for King Robert. Reminds the said Robert of the ancient alliance between their realms, which he would see renewed. Declares that he has besought King Edward that there should be truce and peace between England and Scotland hereafter, promising his utmost efforts to that end. Promises further his representations with His Holiness of Rome regarding the position of King John Baliol. And does request and invite our Lord Robert to engage and join with him in a crusade against the Infidel in holy places. This parliament to consider reply to His Grace of France.”

  Men stared at each other, uncertain whether to applaud, to laugh, or to decry. Was the Frenchman mad? A crusade! At his time! A renewal of the alliance, after the French had so shamefully broken it? Peace with England, with the English still occupying part of Scotland? Reply how could parliament reply?

  Bruce enlightened them.

  “My lords, my friends-here is a matter of great import. More than might seem. And to our encouragement. The King of France sees Scotland, and my cause, as worthy of consideration, possibly support. As he did not, before. He writes to me-but the reply must come from parliament. Since only so will he, and others, know that it is not just Robert Bruce who speaks, but the whole community of the Scots. The matters his Most Christian Majesty raises are of varying worth-and folly!

  That we should be asked to consider a crusade is almost beyond belief.But His Majesty is concerned to earn that title of Christian, Moreover, to earn the Pope’s approval-since they have been at odds for long. I suggest that parliament replies that we shall gladly join with him in such crusade, not only myself but many in my kingdom, when the last Englishman is expelled from Scotland, and we have good assurance that they will not come back …”

  Despite the sin of interrupting the King, loud cheering drowned his voice.

  “As to the rest, I advise this parliament in its wisdom to agree that our ancient alliance be in fact renewed-since it is only against the English that it has any meaning. That we send ambassadors to France so to do. Also, to ask for French aid in men and moneys for our warfare. I think that Philip will not grant this. But it may serve to make him the more inclined to use influence with the Pope to recognise my kingship and right. This we greatly require.

  Without it the nations of Christendom will be loth to accord us our due. His Holiness, to my sorrow, scarcely loves me! Perhaps he has right. But he recognises John Baliol as King of Scots still.

  This is folly also-but such is the Vatican policy. Hence the declarations of the clergy and nobility just pronounced-for which I am grateful. These are scarce necessary for ourselves, who know the truth. But for King Philip and the Pontiff, that they may be informed.”

  Men nodded sagely to each other, lest any thought that they had not understood.

  “Such reply to the King of France must be carefully considered.

  I suggest, my lord Chancellor, that you, with your clerks, and any other’s aid you require, draw up such letter, for presentation and consideration at tomorrow’s session. So that the rest of us, who have sat here sufficiently long for one day, may now betake ourselves elsewhere!” He paused.

  “If all so agree?”

  Relievedly men rose, shouted, stamped and waved approval.

  Parliaments were all very well, but could go on for too long. Into the hubbub Linton, gavel banging, declared the session adjourned until noon next day. All commissioners, with their ladies, to partake of the hospitality of the provost and magistrates of this royal burgh and city of St. Andrews … Tower on his way across the courtyard. In its upper room, allocated to the Lady Christina of Garmoran, he found only that lady’s buxom Highland tire-woman in possession-although a scurrying just before his entry gave him the impression that someone less than light-footed might just possibly be hiding behind the arras in a dark corner. Christina herself, it seemed, had not yet returned from whichever of the many entertainments she was decorating, and with which St. Andrews was catering for its flood of distinguished visitors, that night.

  “When your lady comes, tell her that I was grateful for her provision and forethought last night,” he instructed the somewhat confused and costume-rectifying Abigail, grave-faced.

  “She was very kind, and I have not had opportunity to thank her, this busy day. But if so be it she is not over-weary when she does come in, and she would have my poor thanks in person-then tell her that my door in the Sea Tower will not be locked! You have it?”

  Blinking, biting her lip, and smiling all in one, the other dipped low.

  That night, after an evening spent together, when Bruce left

  Lamberton’s chamber in the main keep of the castle, earlier than he

  might have done-in order that the older man should have opportunity

  for a good sleep, in view of his dawn start on the testing journey back

  to England-he called in at the Gatehouse PART THREE

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Another hour,” Bruce said.

  “We will give them another hour.

  Lest they are wakeful. And it will be darker.” He looked up, sniffing the night breeze of the heather hills.

  “It will rain, I think..

  So much the better.”

  The Lord High Constable of Scotland turned to look in the other direction altogether, not westwards over the dark water to the darker castle on its tiny island, but behind them, south by east, towards the loch-head a couple of miles away, where red pinpoints of light marked the camp-fires of their enemies, their other enemies.

  “I do not like it,” he said.

  “We could be trapped here, all too easily. It is a bad position. If Atholl were to attack while we were assailing the castle, nothing could save us.”

  “Why should he do so? He has waited there four days. He awaits reinforcements, clearly. They have not come. He is young and inexperienced.

/>   He will not risk a night attack, I think. But, if he does, our scouts will warn us.”

  “Atholl may be young-but he will have experienced English captains with him, Sire,” the third of the trio by the waterside put in-Sir Robert Keith, Marischal of Scotland.

  “If they had the least inkling that we would assault the castle tonight, they would advise him to advance. And they will have scouts on these hillsides, no less than we.”

  “I do not doubt it, Sir Robert. But why should they think it might be tonight? You have been here ten days and ten nights, and made no move. Why tonight?”

  “They will have seen that we have arrived, Sire,” Gilbert Hay pointed out.

  “They may not know that it is you, the King. But they know Sir Robert has been reinforced-though only by a small company. But they may look for action, therefore. I do not like it, Sire. We are less than their numbers. To risk yourself thus-the King! For this? A small unimportant place like Loch Doon …”

  “Not so unimportant, Gibbie -to me!” the King said quietly.

  “This castle, though small, is a fist shaken in my face! Here in my

  own Carrick-or Edward’s Carrick! From here, my good-brother

  Christopher Seton was treacherously taken to his shameful death at Dumfries. And on this island, 500 years ago, died my ancestor King Alpin of Dalriada, father of the great Kenneth who united our realmas I seek to reunite it now. I will have no Englishmen defiling Loch Doon Castle, I tell you.”

  His two companions were silent at that tone of voice. Nevertheless they were right-and Bruce knew it well. It was a kind of folly for the King of Scots to be here, in a dangerous position amongst the wild hills on the Carrick-Galloway border, with only a small force, besieging a strategically unimportant English-held fortalice.

  All over Southern Scotland, this summer and autumn of 1310, small or moderately-sized forces were besieging small and medium stronghold snot the great fortresses, such as Berwick, Roxburgh, Edinburgh and Stirling, for the Scots were almost wholly without the siege engines and trained sappers required to reduce such strengths. But the decision to drive the English out of the scores of lesser castles had been taken: Edward Bruce was investing Buittle in Galloway, Douglas was at Bothwell, Campbell at Livingstone, Boyd at Cavers, Fleming at Selkirk, Lennox at Kirkmillllock, and so on. The situation at large, on a national scale, was as awkward and incipiently dangerous as here at Loch Doon, with the loyal forces so grievously scattered. But it was something that had to be done, sooner or later and this time of alleged truce was as good a time as any. The uneasy and purely tactical truce, engineered by the French King, between England and Scotland, had been in force for nearly a year-but latterly King Edward had broken it by sending shipping to reinforce and supply his garrisons at Dundee, Perth and Banff, as well as commanding general musters to arms in England. Two could play that game. Hence this campaign of the castles.