“Yes, my lord!”
Robbie seemed to have been struck speechless that Callum wasn’t going to order his forces to attack, but Cassie sidled her horse closer. “What are you going to say to Erik?”
“I’m going to force him to see that he cannot win,” Callum said, “any more than Bruce or Balliol can win without the consent of the governed. I’m suggesting that we begin as we mean to go on.”
“Who do you propose should be the King of Scotland, then?” Cassie said. “King David?”
Callum shook his head. “That’s not my decision to make. It’s not any single man’s decision to make. It occurs to me only now that David sent me to Scotland because he believed I could find a solution to the problem of Scotland’s succession out of my experience, one that only we few have. He understood what might be possible, and if it was, I was the only man in Scotland who could see it through.”
“What might be possible?” Cassie said.
“Democracy.”
Chapter Twenty
Cassie
Callum’s small party rode into the valley under a white flag, leaving the bulk of the army on the heights to be as intimidating as possible. Cassie feared Erik of Norway would be intransigent, but once Callum explained to him the size of the enemy forces arrayed against him, and the fact that King David was marching north to deal with the succession personally, he turned pragmatic. Erik ordered his men to stand down and to wait for him at a camp to the south of Stirling, while he joined Callum’s company to ride up to the castle.
There would be another council and maybe this one would actually reach an agreement. As the company cantered up the long road to the top of the crag, Cassie eyed Callum, riding ahead of her and surrounded by a dozen noblemen. She didn’t know what the other men thought of him, but she saw in him what King David must have seen. Callum had taken charge of the proceedings. It was as if he’d been born for this. While Cassie knew that a relationship between them would never work, that didn’t mean she couldn’t be proud of him.
The company rode under the gatehouse and such was the press of men and horses in the bailey that it took her a moment to notice the uproar occurring at the far end. She dismounted beside Callum and together they elbowed their way through the crowd to find that it wasn’t Erik or James, Balliol, Red, or Grampa Bruce who’d brought the entire matter to a head, but Liam, Kirby’s nephew.
Liam held his uncle at sword point. A blood-stained bandage covered Liam’s head, and his arm was glued to his chest by a second bandage, but he stood tall in the center of a ring of men that surrounded him and his uncle. It could have been a middle school fight, except for the real sword Liam held and the bishop’s staff his uncle clutched as a meager defense.
Liam’s accusation rang through the clear air. “I name you traitor!”
“This is just what I need right now.” Callum shot Cassie a weary look.
Kirby sputtered, “Liam—” Then at the sight of Callum shouldering his way through the crowd, Kirby went from dismissive to pleading in the space of a breath. “My lord, please—” He held out his hand to Callum.
“You will not speak!” Liam said. “I have lain in my bed since I arrived, half out of my head to be sure, but I can no longer remain silent in the face of your treachery. I cannot allow you to weave your webs of deceit upon innocent men!”
Liam’s wrist wavered as he pointed his sword at Kirby, and his face was nearly as white as his linen shirt. He looked like he might collapse at any moment. Still, he kept his shoulders back and had the wherewithal to flick the point of his sword towards James, who stood under the gatehouse to the upper bailey, watching the proceedings with a preternatural stillness. “You must listen, my lord, to the tale I have to tell!”
Kirby tried again. “You don’t know what you’re saying—”
“You left me for dead!”
The shout echoed around the bailey. Callum slid around the last few men who blocked his way. He crept up to Liam from behind, trying not to draw his attention from Kirby or James, but Liam sensed him and swung around.
Callum brought his hands up. “You don’t need to do this, Liam.”
“Don’t I?” Liam jerked his head towards Red Comyn, who stood beside his father ten feet away. “Did you know that the Comyns pretend to support Balliol, but really seek the throne for themselves and are servants to a greater master?”
Cassie believed Liam instantly, but Callum kept his face impassive, as if Liam was telling him something he already knew.
“Put away the sword, Liam,” Callum said. “Nothing good can come of this.”
“My uncle’s death! That can come of this!” Liam leapt at Kirby, slashing his sword. Kirby brought up his staff and jumped back just in time to deflect the sword’s tip. Callum moved closer, but as Liam recovered, he spun back to him. “Stay away from me!”
By this time, both Samuel and Robbie Bruce had come to stand on either side of Cassie. Robbie watched intently for a moment and then strode forward, elbowing his way through the crowd until he was inside the circle too. “Let him speak, my lords! I have lost my father over this matter. Let him speak!”
Kirby really wasn’t good at keeping quiet, even if it was in his own best interests. “My lord Callum, I don’t know what he’s talking about—”
Callum made a slashing motion with his hand in Kirby’s direction. “Quiet!”
Meanwhile, the Comyns had taken a step backward, out of the first ring of onlookers gathered to watch the fight. Cassie nudged Samuel, tipping her head towards them, and said under her breath, “Don’t let them get away.”
Samuel disappeared from Cassie’s side and twenty seconds later reappeared behind the Comyns, with Andrew Moray beside him.
“Tell me, Liam,” Robbie said. “Tell me what you know.”
But it was James who answered, finally moving to where the combatants stood. “Those who know more than you, Liam, have been aware of Bishop Kirby’s treachery for some time. I wish you’d come to me first, Son.”
Liam’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. “M-m-my lord—”
James halted in front of Kirby. While Kirby dipped his head in obeisance, James gazed stonily back at the bishop. “I’ve been making my own inquiries since I learned of your treachery, Bishop. It is my understanding that you’ve recently spent some time in France.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.” Liam had reached the end of his rope. “He met William de Valence in Avignon! Night after night they schemed together!” This last accusation seemed to exhaust Liam completely and he stumbled. Callum reached him, going down on one knee just in time to keep him from collapsing on the stones of the bailey.
Kirby stood as if his feet were frozen to the ground, a fixed smile on his face. Cassie wanted to see something else from him—hatred, anger, loathing—but he kept his expression mild, as if nothing untoward was happening. “I did, my lord.”
“William de Valence is the sworn enemy of England and plotted against King David’s life,” said James, “and yet you admit to meeting with him?”
“As a bishop of England, my role is to foster peace, no matter how acrimonious the grievance …”
“You were not there to make peace!” said James. “You were there to conspire with Valence to put the Black Comyn on the throne of Scotland.”
Cassie gasped along with the rest of the crowd. How could they have been so stupid as not to see it before? She could understand Callum’s ignorance, since he’d only been in the Middle Ages for six months, but the marriage of Joan, William de Valence’s daughter, to Red Comyn had been the talk of the clans in the spring. Red had married Joan despite Valence’s disgrace and exile, and the wedding had apparently cost Valence a small fortune in dowry. One rumor suggested he’d spent more than he could afford.
“You dare to call yourself a man of the Church?” Robbie advanced on Kirby. “You saw to the murder of all but a handful of the king’s company; you manipulated MacDougall and my father to thei
r deaths. All for what? Money? Power? A place at the new king’s side? A post in Rome?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Kirby said.
“I don’t either, but I’m looking forward to finding out.”
Cassie swung around at the commanding voice. Arriving next to where Callum and she had left their horses was a man in his forties, helmetless, with a full head of red hair going grey at the temples. He had arrived unannounced amidst the turmoil, but here was a man who could never go anywhere unnoticed.
“My Lord Clare!” Callum released Liam to two guards and strode out of the circle of men.
Gilbert de Clare—Earl of Gloucester, the fifth Guardian of Scotland, and King David’s right-hand man—dismounted. His traveling cloak was stained and his boots were caked with mud, but he rode at the head of a company of men and looked more like a king than most of the claimants to the Scottish throne. The crowd gave way, allowing Callum and Clare to greet each other a pace from Cassie.
“Thank God you’re here,” Callum said in a low voice as the two men clasped forearms. “Only you would believe the intrigue and deception I’ve had to wade through since I got here.”
Clare’s eyes crinkled in the corners, the only indication of his emotions, and then he looked past Callum to his fellow Guardians: James and the two Scottish bishops who had come to stand beside him. “Sorry I’m late. Perhaps someone would care to explain the problem?”
Chapter Twenty-One
Callum
Kirby and the two Comyns had been arrested and locked away in one of Stirling’s towers. Liam was back in bed under careful watch, though more for Kirby’s safety than because James felt the need to hold him. The time had come to speak truth to power, as one of Callum’s Cambridge professors had liked to say.
Callum leaned heavily on the table before him and looked at the twenty men who faced him. “I will lay out your choices. You can do this now, or you can do it later when it’s King David who suggests it.”
“Why should we listen to you?” said the still belligerent Erik of Norway.
Callum stabbed a finger towards the western wall of the chamber in which they were meeting. “You think your chances of defeating the entire might of Scotland out there in the valley are that good, do you?”
Erik glared at him, but Callum didn’t back down.
“I speak for King David, who countenances this plan.” If it wasn’t what David wanted, Callum would ask his forgiveness later.
“King David—” Erik scoffed. “Upstart boy.”
That brought James to his feet. “His claim to the throne is more legitimate than yours, and he had the sense not to bring an army against us to force our hand. He, at least, believes in Scotland.”
Balliol and Grampa Bruce also rose to their feet. When they realized that they both wanted to speak at the same time, neither gave way by sitting down again. In the end, Balliol went first. “The crown is mine by right of birth.”
“I beg to differ,” Grampa Bruce said. “Mine is the superior claim.”
Balliol sneered. “An election would be a waste of time. We already know who would win.”
“I would,” Grampa Bruce said.
Balliol turned on Grampa Bruce. “You always were the most arrogant—”
“Put that confidence to the test,” Callum said, cutting through their argument. “Put your weight behind an election. Both of you.”
“Lord Callum is right,” said James.
Callum cheered inwardly that James had made up his mind to support Callum’s plan. It had been by no means a sure thing.
“Every claimant to the throne needs to swear—right here, right now—that he will abide by the decision of Parliament and support the man they choose to rule.” Callum canted his head. “You never know. It could be you.”
In the old world, it was really only Balliol and Grampa Bruce whose claims had serious merit, and it had been Balliol who’d ultimately triumphed—at least until King Edward had set about systematically undermining his rule. Balliol had died in exile and Robbie Bruce had risen to power, ultimately throwing the English out of Scotland entirely for a time. Now, with Callum’s plan, even Erik of Norway and Patrick Dunbar, an agnate son from the House of Dunkeld, had a chance of winning the throne. Callum saw the men before him glance to their rivals, calculation in their eyes.
“I agree,” Erik said. Callum had guessed he might be the first. His was the lesser claim. A vote was his only chance, even if vanishingly small.
As the other men began to nod, Callum heaved a sigh. He remained standing at his place as they filed out, leaving him the last man in the room. Before leaving, he leaned his shoulder into the frame of the door, allowing the wood to take his weight. He was more tired than he’d ever been in his life. The physical exhaustion was one thing, but to have Scotland’s future resting on his shoulders had him stumbling under the burden.
He looked up at the sound of an indrawn breath. Cassie was standing a few feet away. The corridor between the meeting room and the great hall where Parliament was gathering was empty except for them. Cassie reached up a hand to brush his cheek with her fingers. “You look so tired.”
“I feel like I’ve aged ten years this week,” Callum said. “Only a little longer, though, and this might be over.”
“I hear you pushed it through,” she said. “The men were talking of it as they left the room.”
“It seems I did,” Callum said. “We’ll see in a minute what Parliament has to say to the idea.”
“There’s an additional factor that we haven’t taken into account, you know,” Cassie said. “It’s already starting.”
Callum glanced up. “What is that?”
“Politicking,” Cassie said.
“The foundation of democracy,” Callum said with a half laugh. “I expect the Scots will learn the art between the main course and dessert tonight.”
“Surely it’s the only reason Erik of Norway agreed to the vote, don’t you think?” Cassie said. “Nobody is going to vote for him, but if he offers to throw his support behind another candidate …?”
“I suspect every man in that room was thinking about how to get an edge,” Callum said.
“There’ll be no stopping them now,” Cassie said.
Callum took a step towards the open door at the end of the corridor. “I need to go, Cassie.”
“I know,” she said. “My only consolation is that Samuel isn’t allowed to attend either.”
“If the medieval world can change in this way, it can change in other ways too,” Callum said.
“Women didn’t get the vote in the United States until 1920,” Cassie said. “That’s a lot of change.”
“You don’t know David,” Callum said. “Give him a chance.”
And then Callum really did have to go. He entered the great hall, finding that he had to force his legs to stride forward instead of faltering in the doorway. The host of men who made up Scotland’s Parliament were packed to the rafters and still men kept coming.
If this was what politics was like all the time in the Middle Ages, Callum hoped David wouldn’t put him on a job like this again. The only thing that was keeping him upright was the urgency of the task before him and the need to see it through.
James Stewart stood to Callum’s left and gazed out at the men in the hall. He lifted his chin so that his voice would project to the far corners of the room. “So that we all have the same understanding, I will relate what has occurred over the last week, so that you may make your own judgments as to the course of action we now must take.”
“Please,” Clare said under his breath.
Callum glanced down at him. Clare had found a seat to Callum’s right and tapped his fingers impatiently on the table, his eyes glinting. Callum found Clare’s lack of personal interest in the succession a relief from the intense emotions of everyone else.
“We now know this to be true: John Kirby, Bishop of Ely and England’s ambassador to Scotland, conspire
d with William de Valence to place John Comyn on the throne of Scotland,” said James, beginning his tale at the end of the story. “He incited Alexander MacDougall, a Balliol supporter, to ambush the king’s company along the road to Stirling; he encouraged Robert Bruce to exact his revenge, first on the Comyns, and then on MacDougall. Kirby saw to the murder of fifty men in the hopes that in our anger, we would act unjustly, sacrificing tradition and law in favor of his choice for the crown. He intended that the Black Comyn would come forward as the voice of reason.”
James held up a piece of paper. “We found this document in Kirby’s possession. It is a testimonial by John Balliol, signed and witnessed, urging Alexander MacDougall to eliminate King David as a way to ensure Balliol’s own ascension to the throne. We now know this document to be a forgery.”
If David had been here, he would have recognized Kirby’s tactic. It was Kirby who’d fabricated the documents claiming that David’s mother was the illegitimate daughter of King Henry and Caitir, a daughter of Alexander II. Someone would need to pry out of Kirby the name of his expert forger, but for now, that knowledge could wait.
Then it was Bishop Fraser’s turn to speak. “We have unmasked a devious plot and implicated a Guardian of Scotland in the process. The time has come to anoint a new king. It is long past time.”
Fraser looked to Callum, who nodded. James and Fraser sat, leaving Callum the only man standing. He waited for the men in the room to fall silent, and when after two minutes they didn’t quiet, he lifted a hand to gain their attention. Finally, they settled down and Callum waited another fifteen seconds until he could have heard a pin drop.
“Your Guardians asked King David to come to Stirling to help Scotland choose their new king,” Callum said. “Perhaps it was even the Black Comyn himself who suggested King David act in this role.” Callum glanced towards Bishop Fraser, whose face paled. Callum had guessed right.
Exiles in Time (The After Cilmeri Series) Page 24