The Price of the King's Peace bt-3

by Nigel Tranter

  thirteen earls, and second only to the absent life in seniority, had

  been the most unswervingly of all on the English side. Which was

  scarcely to be wondered at, since his lands, such as were not in

  Northumberland and further south, were all in the Merse, the East

  Borders, in Berwickshire and Lothian, areas which had been wholly and

  consistently in English occupation, almost defenceless against

  invasion. This man’s father, dying five year; before, had fought boldly with the English on every major battlefield of the wars, from the very first, that of, Dunbar itself. And the son it was who had aided Edward the Second to escape James Douglas and his other pursuers after Bannockburn by providing a boat to take him from Dunbar to Bamburgh. Now this confirmed Anglophile had decided that it was time to change sides. Nothing could more plainly underline the fact that he believed that Bruce’s hold on Scotland was secure.

  Taking the King’s hands in his, the Earl repeated the oath of fealty as forthrightly as he had done all else. Bruce nodded.

  “Your homage I receive gladly, Cousin,” he said.

  “We shall let the past be past, for our mutual weal. And that of this realm. Your lands and estates are herewith returned to you.” This was said more loudly than the rest, and was aimed at the ears of those who believed still that the King was over-kind and gentle to traitors.

  For Patrick of Dunbar could still indeed have represented much danger to Bruce’s throne.

  This was not only for geographical and strategic reasons, important as these were. It was what was in the Earl’s veins that represented the greater menace. For his line was royal, descending directly-more directly than Bruce’s own-from the ancient Celtic monarchs. The first of the line had been Malcolm, a grandson of Malcolm the Second, and the brother of Duncan the First whom MacBeth had murdered. The descent had been from father to son since then. Moreover, this same first Malcolm had married a granddaughter of Ethelred, King of England: while the 4th Earl had wed an illegitimate daughter of King William the Lion. In the great competition for the Scots crown, after the Maid of Norway’s death, this man’s father was one of the competitors. In the end he had thrown in his weight behind Bruce’s grandfather’s claim. But the fact remained that here was an alternative line to the Scots throne, which could be used against Bruce and his successors. This oath of fealty, pronounced before an entire parliament, was a major insurance against trouble.

  As Dunbar stepped down from the dais and proceeded to the earl’s benches, amidst mutterings from sundry present, led by Edward Bruce, the Chancellor raised his voice again.

  “The matter of the recent negotiations at York relative to a peace between this realm and that of England. My lord William, Bishop of St. Andrews, who led His Grace’s commissioners, to speak.”

  William Lamberton rose, at the head of the bishops’ benches.

  Last time he had sat in this castle of Ayr” he had been a hunted refugee, dressed in ragged, nondescript style, and hungry, seeking to persuade Robert Bruce to accept the Guardianship along with John Comyn. His great gaunt frame had a permanent stoop to it now.

  “My lord Chancellor, we have little good to report. After the raids deep into England, and His Grace’s resumption of the Tynedale lordship, King Edward was forced to take measures. He appointed Aymer de Valence, Earl of Pembroke, to be governor of all the North of England, between Trent and Tweed, wielding viceregal power and authority-a thing unprecedented in England while the monarch is himself in the country. But Pembroke, although a hard man and an able soldier, found both lords and people in no mood for fight. Or, let us say, in no mood to fight the Scots, since they were scarce loth to fight amongst themselves.

  Indeed, defeat in the field, at Bannockburn, and weak leadership, has brought the English to do what they have ever mocked the Scots for doing-fighting each other instead of the enemy! There was, and is, near to civil war in the North of England, with large bands, often led by lords and knights, harrying the land. Some even claim that they do so in the name of the King of Scots!”

  There was some laughter and acclaim at this picture of their enemy’s discomfiture, but Lamberton held up his hand sternly.

  “If this is of no credit to the English, nor is it of any benefit to

  us,” he declared.

  “It but creates confusion, and distracts King Edward from the true issue-coming to terms with His Grace. He did go so far as to agree to talk with us. At York. On the subject of a peace. His Grace sent four commissioners, myself honoured to be one. We went to York, to treat with the English commissioners. And did so treat. For weeks. With little result. The English would not concede our terms. Even the most modest.”

  “How modest, my lord Bishop, were your terms?” the Earl of Dunbar and March asked, not aggressively but not diffidently either. Obviously he was going to be no cypher in the realm’s affairs.

  “Questions may be asked only through myself, my lord,” Abbot Bernard

  reminded, but not objection ably

  “Entirely modest,” Lamberton answered.

  “We demanded the recognition of this realm of Scotland as the independent kingdom which it always was; and that our Lord Robert was our lawful and rightful king. And, secondly, that the English troops be withdrawn from Berwickon-Tweed, the only Scots fortress they still hold.

  This, and assurances of no further interference in the affairs of our

  realm Sundry other small matters, but these were the main

  requirements.

  None can say that they are not modest. We could demand nothing less. Yet it is these that King Edward will not accept. The independence of Scotland, and the suzerainty of King Robert. He still claims to be Lord Paramount of Scotland, as did his father. Despite all. Despite defeat, raids, and His Grace’s homage-taking in Tynedale.”

  “Then we must teach him otherwise!” Edward Bruce cried.

  “I

  have said all along that we were too gentle, too soft. The English understand only one argument-force. Naked steel. Show them that, and they will bargain. If I had but been allowed to drive on to London, last June …!”

  There was a growl of approval from many throats.

  “My lord Bishop-have you finished?” the Chancellor asked.

  Lamberton nodded.

  “Save only to say that though we talked for weeks, we could move them nothing, in this. King Robert is a rebel, they said. The English have an arrogant assumption of authority that is beyond all debate. I do believe that they conceive it God given! Certain subjects are not for discussion. One is that the Scott are an inferior people. As are the Welsh and the Irish. They cannot be other than subject. Possibly the French also. Save that there are more Frenchmen!” That the stern and statesmanlike Lamberton spoke so, was eloquent testimony of his frustration and helplessness.

  Sir Neil Campbell, who with the Earl of Lennox and Bishop Balmyle of Dunblane had been Lamberton’s fellow-commissioners, stood up.

  “My lord Chancellor,” he said, “it is my belief that we but waste our time seeking this treaty of peace. The English have no intention of making such. And even if they signed some form of words, it would not be worth the paper on which it was written.

  They lick their wounds, yes-but only that they may be able to strike back. It is not peace they seek. One of their lords, at York, told me that, now that the former King John Baliol is dead, in France, King Edward is cherishing his son. In London. The English king, who hated the father, has taken the son into his personal care. For what purpose, think you?”

  Bruce was struck anew by the sad change in his old friend and companion-in-arms-who was now his brother-in-law, having recently married the Princess Mary. Campbell, although still on the right side of forty, had grown thin and hollow-cheeked of late, a man fading before their eyes. Wags put it down to marriage with the over-sexed Mary-but Bruce knew that it had started even before Bannockburn. One of his original band, the King grieved for him sorely; also for his sister, who had surely
suffered enough.

  Lennox spoke up, amidst the exclamations at this revelation.

  “My good friend, the Lord of Lochawe, takes too gloomy a view. I say. This of Edward Baliol could be only a bargaining gesture. To win better terms by the threat. Such as we ourselves make, with the raids and the Tynedale progress. The English are sore troubled.

  They have lost much faith in themselves. All that has been done-the

  expedition of my lord of Carrick, the raids on their coasts of my lords

  of Ross and of the Isles, Your Grace’s move in Tynedale—all this has

  indeed struck them hard. They are, perhaps, nearer to yielding than we

  think. Pembroke himself confided to me, at York, that King Edward

  scarce knew where to turn, he has so many problems. And he is

  unpopular with his people. He is blamed for the defeat at Bannockburn

  * although I think the fault was more Hereford’s and Pembroke’s own. I say, let us have patience. Keep up our present tactics. King Edward may be nearer breaking than we know.”

  “Patience!” Edward Bruce burst out, from almost the next seat on the earls’ benches.

  “There speaks folly! Patience! Do nothing!

  And give the English time to recover. That way, we will have to fight another Bannockburn before long. By being patient! Campbell, for once, was right!” These two had never been friends.

  “Patience is no way to deal with the English. Only force do they heed.

  The harder you strike them, the more ready they are to talk.

  So, I say, let us strike them hard. And where they are weakest. In

  That gained a mixed reception, cheers and objections, both. The King frowned.

  “Ireland is where we can do most damage with fewest men,” his brother went on.

  “The Irish chiefs are ready to revolt. They have gallowglasses by the thousand. Properly captained, and with an armoured host of chivalry to lead them, they could drive the English out of Ireland in weeks. Then astride the Irish south, we threaten the English south. Across their channel. The Welsh, too, would rise at that stage. They love the English no more than we, or the Irish do! Give me a few thousand men, and I will win Ireland for you!” Edward looked directly at his brother now.

  All others, the Chancellor included, perforce did likewise.

  The King took his time. This was serious, he recognised. Edward had

  long cherished the notion of invading Ireland. But to raise it, like

  this, in parliament, where he could demand a vote-and quite possibly

  command a majority from frustrated members-put the project into a

  different category. He knew that he, Robert Bruce,was against it;

  therefore Edward must be fairly sure of himself, sure of large support “My lord of Carrick’s proposal is not new,” he said.

  “It has been discussed many times. And always the decision has been against it Because it must amount to a major campaign of war. It cannot be otherwise. And we have had more than sufficient of war. It is peace Scotland needs now, not more war.”

  “The King says that we need peace,” Edward took him up promptly.

  “But my lord Bishop, and these others, tell us that the English will not make peace. Not yet. We must force them to it We can do that only by making them choose peace rather than war. I would say that, while they are in defeat, at odds with each other, licking their wounds as the Campbell says, we should invade them. Invade England with all our power. Not just raids. I say that we could be hammering at the gates of London within a month!

  And then they would be praying on their knees for peace-their bended knees! But, if that is too great a venture for those of you who are so weary of warfare-then, I declare to you, this Irish venture should commend itself. My royal brother says that it would be a major campaign of war. Yes-but not for the Scots. Only for the Irish. All I need is a spearhead. A small force, to give them a lead. Five or six thousand men. Of these, I will take 3,000 of my own. From my Lordship of Galloway and earldom of Carrick. So I ask this parliament for a mere 2,000. To purchase an English peace for you. And, moreover, to make an ally of Ireland instead of an English province.”

  This was heady stuff, and for the victors of Bannockburn dangerously so. Bruce could sense how a large part of the assembly rose to it.

  “Will my lord of Carrick tell us what makes him so sure that the Irish will rise in large numbers?” he asked, evenly.

  “The English have a strong grip. The Anglo-Irish lords are powerful, and notable fighters. They have had to be! Witness my own good-father, the Earl of Ulster. They will not be so easily broken.”

  “Ulster and many others are still in England. And the Irish chiefs will rise. O’Neill. O’Connor. O’Brien. Sorley McDonnell.

  Young MacQuillan. MacSweeney. Forty thousand men are committed, for the start If we land before May is out Twice that within two weeks of landing.”

  There was absolute silence in Ayr Castle hall now, at what Edward had said and what it implied. All eyes turned on the King, The knuckles gleamed whitely on Bruce’s clenched fists as he fought to control his hot temper. For long moments he did not risk words. When he did, they came jerkily, almost breathlessly.

  “You … have done this! Written to them? These Irish chiefs.

  Planned a campaign. With them. Gone so far. Won promise of support Numbers of men. Without … without my authority.

  Without so much as informing me! The King!”

  Even Edward Bruce was abashed in some measure by his brother’s obvious tight-chained fury. He spread his hands.

  “Not so, sire. I but sounded them. Sought opinions as to the chances of success. Made inquiries, as would any prudent man. Before I raised the issue here …”

  “Prudent man! By the living God …!” In his extremity, Bruce gripped the arms of his throne with a force almost enough to wrench them apart Somehow he managed to master himself.

  “Continue, my lord.”

  “Because there had been talk of this before. And no true decision.

  I deemed it right to make such inquiries. To bring to this parliament So that you, and others, may judge aright. The worth of it. Surely that is no fault?”

  “You named these chiefs as committed. To whom committed?”

  His brother hesitated.

  “To myself. At this present. But to Your Grace, as King, when the matter is settled and the invasion begins.”

  “So! Meantime, they are committed to you, the Earl of Carrick!

  But great chiefs such as these do not commit themselves and their thousands to war without prior commitment being made to them. For the matter to get thus far, you also must be committed. How far?” That was a bark.

  “I … I have promised to go. With my own force. From Galloway and Carrick. Whatever you do. Before May is out” That admission came in a rush, but forcefully, defiantly, not conceding anything. And then, as the merest afterthought “With Your Grace’s permission.”

  So it was out Plain to all men. The King’s brother, the second man in the kingdom, entering into secret warlike negotiations with the leaders of a neighbouring realm. It could be called lise majestie. Even high treason. Or just plain, insolent contempt of any authority other than his own.

  Bruce’s every Impulse was to hit back, to assert his own overriding

  authority, to show who was master in Scotland, brother or none. But

  the long hard years of self-discipline, of taking the long view, of

  thinking for the realm rather than for himself, triumphed, A public

  break between himself and his brother could do untold damage especially if indeed many supported Edward’s project Moreover, this was a parliament, not a council, convened to hear the will of the community of the realm rather than that of the monarch. And there was the matter of the succession, which was due to come up hereafter, and which any drastic break with Edward would throw into confusion.

  When Bruce spoke, he had himself in hand.

  “It was not well done, my
lord,” he said severely.

  “The secrecy. This of committing yourself, without my knowledge and assent. For whatever reason.

  This is the King’s business, and his only. But … since the policy

  behind it affects the whole realm, I would hear the will of this

  parliament How do you say, my lords?”

  There was a long pause, with some shuffling of feet. Few there could fail to recognise the awkwardness of the situation; that an expression of approval for the Irish venture could be taken as a gesture against the monarch. Yet obviously, not a few were in fact in favour, even amongst the most loyal.

  Well aware of their predicament, Bruce spoke again.

  “My friends-in a parliament, all should speak their minds. Their true minds. For the weal of the realm. It is your duty to give me guidance.

  Without fear or favour.”

  Lamberton rose.

  “I am against such adventure, Sire,” he said.

  “Ireland could become a bleeding wound in Scotland’s side. As it has been in England’s. I say no.”

  From the nods of the six other bishops present, it was clear that the Lords Spiritual as a body were the Primate.

  Edward’s snort was eloquent of his contempt for all such.

  “I also am against,” the Earl of Lennox said.

  “As am I,” Patrick of Dunbar declared.

  “The English hold on Ireland is stronger than my lord of Carrick deems it.”

  “I believe it rash, to the point of foolhardiness,” Randolph, Earl of Moray, said.

  “That you would!” Edward exclaimed.

  “All of you!”

  There was a shocked hush, at this discourtesy, and the King wondered whether his brother was going to destroy his own case.

  Then, unexpectedly, and out of due order, Neil Campbell spoke although not so much out of order as it seemed perhaps, for Sir Neil was now the King’s kinsman by marriage, and moreover had been promised the earldom of Atholl, which was in process of forfeiture, David de Strathbogie being still sufficiently offended over his sister’s betrayal to remain in England and in enmity.