That is exactly the issue, the point I make, he said.
You left here my subject, my sworn servant, owing me and my realm allegiance. And you return quite otherwise. Disclaiming all allegiance, claiming equality. And to win this equality, and throw off your allegiance, you used my power, my name, my trust. Without my knowledge or consent. Knowing that I would not have given it…
There you have it! Knowing that you would not have given it!
Here is the heart of the matter. This thing had to be done lacking your consent, or it would not have been done at all. You must ever be master. You command. You would never have agreed to have me a king, so that you could no longer command me. I know you, man! You are a notable captain, but you cannot abide that others should rival you. I know you-therefore I acted as I did.
Bruce shook his head.
By each and every word you speak, you prove that you do not know me, brother though you are! Neither know nor understand. Nor ever have, I think. I was against the Irish adventure from the start, because it would be like to draw away my strength, Scots power seeping away into the Irish bogs.
How much worse that you should become King of that sorry country. With a kingdom to make and unite and hold together and defend. As well as forcing the English to a needless challenge. You must see it?
It was to challenge the English that I went to Ireland, was it not?
With your agreement.
To harass, to worry, to hinder. Not to force major war upon them.
Think you the King of England can stomach a King of Ireland?
I know not, nor care. What is more to the point-it seems that the
King of Scots cannot stomach it either. And Edward Bruce reined
round his splendid mount and rode back to his own party in most evident and high dudgeon. All around, men looked askance.
His brother sighed, and beckoned forward the Earl of Moray, to his side.
So, Thomas, you are returned. With good reason, I have no doubt. I am glad to see you-I am indeed. Yours has been a thankless task, I think?
Thankless, Sire. And fruitless, I fear. I have done what I could but that is little. My uncle now is gone quite beyond me.
Only you can affect him now.
I! Sweet Mary-that seems less than likely! I, of all men, he resents most.
Yet you, of all men, he requires, Sire. He thinks to need no others. But your goodwill and aid he must have. Else, I swear, he would not be here today!
So he come a-begging, Thomas? Despite all?
Yes. Or, he would rather say, a-bargaining, I think.
And chooses a strange tone to bargain in!
Aye. But he will change his tone. If he must. Give him time. He has not travelled these hundreds of miles just to bicker with you.
Mmmm. Perhaps you are right. And you would have me … bargain?
I believe so, yes. That is why I have come with him. There are reasons.
Moray was proved right about Edward changing his tone, there and then, for now the other was calling back.
Brother-whither? Where do you make for, Annan? Lochmaben?
He sounded himself again.
Lochmaben tonight, Bruce answered.
Then I shall press on. We have been long on the road. I will await you at Lochmaben. And hope for better talking! And in fine style he swept off, under his forest of banners, whence he had come-although minus Moray.
His Grace is recovered, that man said dryly.
As he needs must, if he is to gain what he requires from you. He has brought two sub-kings with him, and dare not fail.
You say so? And what does he want, Thomas?
He wants 10,000 men, 100 heavy chivalry and 500 bowmen. He wants Angus of the Isles galleys. He wants silver enough to pay his Irish host. Also knights and trained captains, veterans, as many as he can win.
Bruce eyed the other for long moments, thoughtfully.
Jesu Son of God and Mary! he said.
Would he have my crown also? He gestured to Moray to remount, and turning in the saddle, almost absently waved on the vast column that had ground to a halt behind him.
Of my brother, he went on.
I am now prepared to believe anything. Anything under heaven! But you, nephew-did I misunderstand?
Or did it seem that you would have me listen to these these rantings?
Could that be Thomas Randolph?
Aye, Sire. It is my belief that you should heed and consider well. You cannot grant him all that he asks, to be sure. But some consent may be to your advantage. Indeed, I see you left with scant choice. The English must now, I think, attempt the reconquest of Ireland. Nothing less will serve. So, either you hinder them, or you do not. If you do not, the country will fall to them like a ripe plum.
I know it. I have made it my business to know it. Your brother is king in name only. Less king than were you at the start-for you at least were of the blood, had been Guardian, and had fought long for the realm. My uncle has none of that. The Irish people know him not, nor care. He is a magnificent captain of light cavalry, but no general. With no notion of statecraft. He has won many small victories, but consolidated nothing. These Irish kinglets and chiefs hate each other. They fight together all the time, like our Highland clans. They made him High King only to spite others-who therefore love him the less. And to gain your aid, against the English.
That is why he must win that aid, now. Without it, his kingdom will fall fast. Even faster than it was raised up.
And you think that should concern me?
Aye, Sire, I do. For if the English win a swift and easy campaign in Ireland, you-and Scotland-will suffer. That is sure.
Now they are down, licking their wounds, out of faith in themselves and their leaders. But give them a quick and easy conquest of Ireland-as it would be, God knows-and there will be no holding them. They will be up again. And the English, sure of themselves, resurgent, are hard to beat. You know that. And there are still ten times as many of them as of us.
Bruce was looking at the younger man sidelong.
My sister bore a son indeed! he observed.
What has ailed me from doing the same?
Moray flushed a little.
If I have learned anything of affairs and rule, I have learned it of you, Sire.
But your wits are your own, lad.
You take my point, then? I perceive that there is much in what you
say, yes. That will require much thought.
So long as you do not dismiss the Lord Edwards requests out of hand. As they would seem to deserve. And then have to face a triumphant England, in Ireland! Victorious and but fourteen miles from the coast of Galloway!
Aye. But what of consuming away my power? The very real danger of wasting my strength in Ireland? Always this is what I have feared in the Irish adventure. Of draining my Scots forces into the bottomless bogs. Already I have sent many thousands. To what end? How many remain? Ill-led, misused, they are squandered.
I make no criticism of you, Thomas, who are only their commander in name. I have well understood your difficulties. That it was not for you to devise campaigns and teach your uncle how to fight a war.
Sire-it is all true. You say that you fear to waste more men, to squander your strength. There is one sure way to avoid that, to make certain that your forces are used to best advantage. Go with them. Come back to Ireland with us!
Eh…? Bruce frowned.
Do you not see? This could answer all. With you there, my uncle could no longer delay, hold back, and use your forces for his own ends. With your sure hand on the helm, the galley of war would sail straight. Moreover, Angus of the Isles would work with you, where he would not with the Lord Edward.
But, man-you are asking me to engage in full-scale war.
Across the seas. The thing I have ever been most again
st.
Not full-scale war, no. Not for you. Not for Scotland. For the Irish, perhaps. But for you, only a campaign. Which you can leave when you will, commit such forces as you will. It is your presence that is required. That could change all.
The English are already pouring new forces into Ireland. In the
south. You know that? We learned it in Yorkshire.
No. But I did not doubt but that they would. They must. That is why I say that they will overrun all Ireland, and swiftly. If you do not stop them. And if they do, you will have to try to stop them, one day. Somewhere. Better to do it on Irish soil, with mainly Irish levies. Is it not so?
I will have to consider this, Bruce said slowly.
Here is a great matter.
That is all I ask, the younger man acceded.
That you think on it…
Not a great deal of that thinking was done that day, or night.
For just before they reached Lochmaben in mid-Annandale, an urgent courier caught up with them, with the news from Turnberry that the Queens labour had started, at least two weeks early. In a cursing flurry of alarm, Bruce abandoned all else, and leaving the supervision of his army, guests and prisoners to others, spurred off on the sixty-mile road to the Ayrshire coast. On this occasion Walter Stewart stayed behind, but Douglas and Moray, hastily yelling orders and instructions, flung themselves after their liege lord.
They were hard put to it to catch up. The King rode like a madman, taking shocking risks, savaging his horse. If the blight and doom which seemed to hang over his life-or, at least, the lives of those near and dear to him-was to strike again, if he was to fail Elizabeth as, he told himself, he had failed so many, then Scotland truly would have to look for a new king!
Far into the night they rode, through the shadowy hills, with mounts stumbling now, flagging, snorting with every pounding beat of their hooves. Bruce pounded his own mind as relentlessly. What had he done? What had he done? Elizabeth! Elizabeth! A little light-headed, perhaps, he was beginning to confuse this night with that he had ridden seven months before. And the horror grew on him.
When at last he thundered over the drawbridge timbers at Turnberry, the watch shouted down at him from the gatehouse-parapet.
But he did not pause. He flung on through the outer bailey to the inner, vaguely aware of all the lights ablaze. It was one of the grooms who ran to catch his steaming, blown mount as he leapt down who shouted after him.
You have a bairn, my lord King! A bairn. A wee lassie!
Bruce hardly took it in, as he ran clanking into the keep and up the winding turnpike stairs.
It was not the same room, at least. He knew that it would be their own chamber, up at parapet-level, indeed the apartment in which he had been born. Outside, on the small landing, was the usual group of whispering servants, who fell back at the sight of the frowning, mud-stained monarch. A courtier hurriedly threw open the door.
There was the sound of a child crying-but it came from a little turret chamber off, where lay Robert Stewart, Marjorys child, whom meantime the Queen was bringing up almost as her own.
He strode across to the great bed, and as he came Elizabeths
corn-coloured head, damp a little with sweat, turned. She smiled up at
him. It was a good, honest smile, though tired. Thank God! Thank
the good God! he gasped.
Elizabeth, lass-praises be! You are well? Dear heart-you are
well?
Well, yes, Robert. Weary a little, that is all. I am sorry. Sorry that I came before my time. That I brought you hastening. After… after …
I feared, lass. I feared. Greatly.
I know what you would fear. But you need not have done. You wed a great strong Ulsterwoman, Robert! She looked down at the infant that slept within the crook of her arm, so like that other wrinkled entity whom he had stared down at in March, and who now cried fitfully in the turret.
I should not say it, my dear. It is unfair to this moppet, who has come to us after so long. Is she not a joy? And so like you, Robert! The same frown! The same haughty disdain of mouth! I should not say it-but I am sorry that I have not given you the son you sought.
I care no whit! So long as you are well. Nothing else concerns me
No-you must not speak so, she chided.
It is not true. Not kind. This little one is a great concern. Part
of you, and part of me.
The Princess of Scotland. It has taken me long, long to produce her! I will not have her spumed. Least of all by her sire! Take her, Robertfor she is yours. More so than that boy in there, that you dote on! Take her.
As you will. He lifted up the baby, gingerly, in his arms, steel clad and spattered with horses spume as they were. He peered into the tight-closed tiny face.
Another Bruce, he said, gravely.
Dear God-what have You in store for this one!
Enough of that! Elizabeth exclaimed, with surprising strength and at her most imperious.
Such talk I will not have. I am a mother now-and no mere queen! We will have no talk of fate or curse or doom. This is our daughter, not any pawn of fate. Mind it, Robert Bruce!
He smiled, then, and almost involuntarily jogged the infant up and down.
We shall call her Matilda, he said.
Matilda? Why, of a mercy? Why Matilda?
Because she if Matilda-that is why.
I had thought to call her Bridget A good Ulster name. Celtic, too
Matilda, he insisted.
Just look at her. She could be no other.
I am her mother. Surely I have some say…
And I am the King! My word is law. Hear you that, Matilda Bruce?
Remember it! Stooping he laid her gently down within Elizabeths
arm
Care for her well, woman. She is the Kings daughter. And the hand that replaced the child brushed lingeringly over the mothers cheek and brow and hair.
Oh, Robert, she whispered.
I am so very happy.
He nodded, wordless. PART TWO
Chapter Eleven
It took some six weeks to mount the great expedition, in especial to convince Angus Og to bring his galleys south for a winter campaign.
Bruce himself was well aware that he was violating his instincts, not only in going campaigning at this time of year, but in involving himself in the entire Irish project. But he accepted that what Moray had said was true; the dangers of doing nothing were greater than the risks he now ran. And this was the only time when he could contemplate leaving Scotland, when winter snows and floods sealed the Border passes and made any large-scale attack from England out of the question. He was assured that it seldom snowed in Ireland, and though it rained not a little, winter was often the driest period. Indeed it seemed that it was apt to be a favourite campaigning time in Ireland, once the harvest was in gathered. He must be back, whatever happened, by late spring. So he assured Elizabeth.
So they assembled and embarked at Loch Ryan, in Galloway, in late
November-the same place where Thomas and Alexander Bruce had landed
ten years before in their ill-fated attempt to aid their brothers
reconquest of Scotland, an attempt which ended in their betrayal and
their shameful executions. Angus of the Isles had landed them, and, however reluctantly, once again he was cooperating;
but only because Bruce himself was going on the expedition.
He certainly would not have done it for Edward. For he was not just acting the transporter, this time; he was taking part with his friend, if not his monarch, and a thousand of his Islesmen with him. Indeed, most of the transporting was being done otherwise, in a vast and heterogeneous fleet of slower vessels drawn from all the SouthWest, under the pirate captain, Thomas Don-for the narrow, fast, proud galleys were hardly suitable for the carrying of g
reat numbers of horses and fodder and stores.
It was not all just what Edward had asked for, of course. There was a considerable array of knights and captains, yes; some heavy chivalry, some bowmen, and much light cavalry; in all perhaps 7,000. Also many spare horses, largely captured from England, grain, forage and money.
All went under King Roberts personal command. Edward indeed was not
present, having returned to Ireland weeks before, with his court of
kinglets and chiefs, and in a very uncertain frame of mind. He was
getting men and aid-but scarcely as he had visualised. Although he
could hardly object to his brothers attendance he was obviously less
than overjoyed. But at least it had all had already had one excellent
result; for Edward, put out and concerned to prove his prowess, had
managed to reduce the important English base at Carrickfergus, which
had long been a thorn in Ulsters side, in a great flurry of activity
on his return. Oddly enough, though Irelands new monarch would have
been the last to admit it, he had to thank his brothers father-in-law
mainly for this. Richard de Burgh, Earl of Ulster, sent home by Edward
of England to take command of the military side of the reconquest of
Ireland, had made a peculiar start by diverting the convoy of ships
sent to Drogheda, farther south, for the relief of Carrickfergus, using
their stores and arms to ransom his own kinsman, William Burke, or de
Burgh, captured by Turlough OBrien, King of Thomond. Apart altogether
from the consequent fall of Carrickfergus, a most strategic port on the
north side of Belfast Lough, in Antrim, all this added a hopeful
flavour to the venture, the hope of divided loyalties amongst the
English and the Anglo Irish.
Bruce was leaving James Douglas behind, with Walter Stewart, to see to the protection of Scotland, while William Lamberton, Bernard de Linton and the other clerics looked to its administration.
Jamie would dearly have liked to accompany them-and Bruce to have had him. But there was no one on whom he could rely so completely in matters military-save Thomas Randolph, who had already returned to Ireland with Edward.
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