And I have, myself, long desired a firm and lasting peace with the kingdom of England. In this, we are agreed.
But he tapped the sealed letter. I fear that I cannot accept and open this letter. I see that it is addressed to The Lord Robert Bruce, Governor of Scotland. It seems, my lord, that this is not for me!
The nuncios blinked, and exchanged hasty glances.
But… we do assure you that it is, the Bishop asserted.
The cardinals themselves gave it into my hand. For delivery to
yourself.
Then the fault, I concede, lies not with you, my friends, but with those who sent you. I cannot open, or reply, to a letter which is not addressed to me as King. It says but Lord Robert Bruce, Governor. Amongst my subjects there are many bearing the name of Robert Bruce, who share with the rest of my barons in the government of the kingdom of Scotland. This letter may possibly be addressed to any of them!
No! Not-it is not so. It is to you, sir … my lord …
Bruce frowned.
Do you deny me the witness of my own eyes?
The words are here written. But, enough. I have heard what you have had to say, permitted you to read aloud the open letter. To these, since they refused me my title of King, I will give no answer.
Nor will I by any means suffer your sealed letter to be opened in my presence. Take it back to those who gave it My lord-Your Excellency! the Bishop protested, in agitation.
I … We regret if this letter is not addressed to your liking. But
it is not for our holy mother the Church either to do or to say
anything, during … during the dependence of a controversy, which might, might prejudice the right of either of the parties. You understand …?
So! Bruce cut him short.
You acknowledge the controversy, and the rights of parties? Two parties! Both parties. Yet, in your open letter of introduction did you not read out more than once the style of Edward, King of England? Did you not? If, then, my spiritual father the Pope, and my holy mother the Church profess themselves unwilling to create a prejudice against my opponent by giving me the title of King, I am at a loss to see why they have thought proper to prejudice my cause by withdrawing that title from me. During-how did you say it? During the dependence of the controversy! All my subjects call me King. By that title do other kings and royal princes address me. My friends-if you had presented a letter addressed such as is this to any other kings, you would, I swear, have received a still rougher answer! You have mine and less than roughly! For I do not fail to respect your calling and authority, and I entertain all reverence for the Holy See. Say so, when you return this unopened letter to your masters.
Monseigneur dAumery sought to retrieve something from the wreck.
Your Excellency-at least will you accept this two-year truce. His Holiness requires? Command a temporary cessation of hostilities?
To that I can by no means assent without the advice of my parliament. Aye, and while the English spoil the property of my subjects and invade my realm. My friends-convey my respects and good wishes to those who sent you. You have my permission to retire.
William Lamberton led the chagrined nuncios away.
The crestfallen emissaries had hardly left for the South before Bruce prepared to follow them, for at least some of the way. The surreptitiously-opened papal Bull had revealed that one of the specific demands was that the siege of Berwick should be raised forthwith.
Actual and public disobedience to the Pontiffs express commands was to
be avoided if at all possible. Therefore it behoved the Scots to get
Berwick safely out of the arena of controversy before the Bull was
officially broadcast, if by any means this could be effected. James
Douglas had been besieging the place off and on, the last Scots
territory in English hands, for well over ayear -but it was a most
difficult task, the castle surrounded by its powerfully-walled town, both of which could be supplied and reinforced by sea. Against siegery, in principle, as he was, Bruce decided on an all-out effort to reduce the place before the cardinals could trumpet forth their rejected Bull, from Durham.
On this occasion he did not intend to rely wholly on military threats, encirclement, starvation, and the like. A little guile might conceivably help. He sent a royal proclamation before him, which was to be conveyed somehow to the citizens of Berwick, by writings smuggled into the town by any means possible.
A few days later, he set out in person for the Border.
Siege warfare had never been really mastered in Scotland, by more than Robert Bruce-like military archery-for this was a concomitant of aggressive war, the conquering of other nations fortresses, and hitherto the Scots had had no such ambitions. But in Ireland Bruce had had opportunity to confer with Sir Hugh de Lacy, Anglo-Irish baron, who had served extensively in foreign wars and engaged in much siegery. His advice and guidance, on proper engines and methods for the business, Bruce had sought and obtained. As a consequence he now had ideas to put into practice.
Much solid and mature hardwood was required for the construction of adequate engines and rams, and the neighbourhood of Berwick itself was not rich in old woodland. But the Earl of Dunbar and March, lord of this area, knew of some good oak forest at Aldcambus, on the north flanks of Coldingham Moor, near Cockburnspath, about a dozen miles north of the Tweed. Here the royal party repaired, to cut timber and build siege-machinery- and give time for the royal proclamation, perhaps, to make some impact in beleaguered Berwick. It was nearly Yuletide, and no time for this sort of thing; but time was of the essence, with those cardinals liable to sound off any day.
The cardinals in fact did make their presence-and their indignation felt rather sooner than Bruce had bargained for; but fortunately in a less damaging fashion, at this stage, than might have been. They sent another intermediary, bearing a very stern open letter, plus verbal messages, to Bruce, with many threats should these be ignored; also they included once again the unopened papal Bull, to present. But this time they chose a Scot to do the presenting, one Adam de Newton, Prior of the Minorite Friars of Berwick, a former colleague and superior of Bernard de Linton when Vicar of Mordington. In some fear and trembling, this unfortunate cleric was brought north by James Douglas himself, to Aldcambus, after having sought a safe-conduct. Prudently, perhaps, he had left behind in Berwick both the Bull and the open letters, still inadequately addressed as they were, in the shrewd belief that the verbal messages would be more than ample to deliver, in the first instance.
Prior Adams fears as to a dire confrontation with his monarch did not materialise. Bruce in fact would not see him. In his joyful reunion with Douglas, the King wholly ignored the cleric. It was their first meeting since Ireland, for Douglas had been away on one of his periodic deep punitive raids into England at the time of the royal return. Their delight in each others company only increased with the years and their long partings. An arm around his friends shoulder, Bruce led him away along a woodland path amongst the rustling fallen leaves-and only as an afterthought, signed to Sir Alexander Seton, now the Seneschal, to take the Prior in hand.
Douglas was somewhat concerned at the Kings appearance, although this was a great deal improved from what it had been a few months before.
The younger man himself was beginning to show the signs of continual
campaigning and command, the lines and bearing of authority,
confidence, decision, implicit in his slender person and darkly
handsome features. They had much to say to each other.
At length Bruce got round to questioning the other about the Prior.
He brings fulminations and threats against you from these insolent cardinals, Sire, Douglas informed.
The man himself, is leal enough, I think. He is in much fear-as he should be, by God!
When I heard something of his mission, my
self I near hung him up from the nearest tree! But he declares that he had no option but to obey these arrogant Princes of Holy Church, as he names them.
They are his superiors, his masters. They sent for him, to Durham, and he could not refuse their command. But at least he left their letters in Berwick meantime, wisely deeming his life of greater value than them! One, he told me, is addressed to Robert Bruce, calling himself Kings of Scots!
Ha-calling himself! They learn but slowly, these Romish
eminences!
I expected no better. So he comes with only verbal threats and pontifications?
Aye-but I believe they are strong enough! The man trembles at the thought of delivering them to Your Grace.
Then we shall spare him that ordeal, Jamie. It is best that I do not see this priest. Do not hear these threats and fulminations. We shall
get Seton to deal with him. Now-what of Berwick…?With Seton acting as go-between, the Priors message was soon interpreted interpret rather than declaration being involved, the envoy being inhibited from speaking out, and Seton outraged that open threats should be made against his liege lord.
Simply, the message was this-that unless an immediate two-year truce was concluded, all raiding against England stopped, and all English hostages and prisoners freed, the whole people of Scotland, as well as The Bruce personally, would be declared excommunicate, and the wrath of God and the castigation of Holy Church would descend upon a contumacious and disobedient nation.
There did not seem to be any concessions required of the English.
Sweet Christ-can they do this? Douglas exclaimed, when they heard the terms.
Excommunicate a whole people? What of Bishop Lamberton? What of all the Scots bishops and clergy?
I fear that they can do it-in name at least, the King said.
If the Pope is Christs Vicar on earth, he can withdraw Christs holy sacrament Whether he should, whether God accepts such harsh judgements, such sweeping condemnation of innocent folk, is not for me to say-I, who have lived under excommunication from Rome these many years.
Aye, Sire-and is that not sufficient answer to this folly? You
survive such censure passing well! Why not lesser men?
The King bit his lip, and said nothing.
Seton nodded.
Who cares for these monkish cursings?
I do, Sir Alexander-I do! Bruce answered tightly.
As must you. As must all. You and I may be prepared to defy the Holy
See, in this. But that cannot be expected of all the people. Their
faith in God is precious, and the Pope Gods mouthpiece. We may say
that his mis-speaks- but others will be less bold. Moreover, this
cannot but weaken the authority of Lamberton. It is a grievous
matter.
What then can we do?
God knows-save seek to make time. To delay decision. As I have been
doing. So far, this is but a threat. We must seek to keep it only
that. For so long as we may. Until we can make this Pope think
anew
Both men looked at him blankly, at a loss.
We can start by sending Prior Adam back to Berwick. For his papers, his letters. We will see that he is delayed. When he finds us again, with them, there will be more delay. We-or you-will find them to be wrongly addressed, so that we must debate and consider. Whether to receive them. Then send him, and them, back all the way to Durham. For amendment of superscription. Unopened.
Once he is safely out of Scotland, evil men could again waylay the Churchs representative-godless men caring nothing for the true religion! Rob him, shamefully destroying the letters, even this Popes Bull. How say you-without that Bull, can these cardinals act? Make final denunciation? When the Bull has not been read by or to me? Or made known to the people?
I faith-I would say not!
Heres a ploy, by the Mass!
No ploy, Sir Alexander. It is no game, I promise you. It is deadly earnest. Much may depend on it…
Prior de Newton was detained at Aldcambus two days, and then sent back for his documents-but not before Seton wormed out of him much about the state of Berwick, the peoples morale, the unpopularity of the harsh and overbearing governor of the town, Sir John de Witham, and what bad terms he was on with Sir Roger Horsley, governor of the castle. All of which Bruce heard with interest.
But that same evening there were tidings of even more immediate interest. A messenger came from Moray, who latterly had been aiding Douglas with the siege, to the effect that one Peter de Spalding, who claimed to be a kinsman of Sir Robert Keith, the Marischal, in view of the royal proclamation of mercy and in pursuit of a full pardon for past adherence to the English, was prepared to open a section of the town walling adjacent to the Cow Port, to King Roberts forces one night-he apparently being one of the captains thereof.
Keith, summoned, admitted that he had a cousin of sorts a merchant in Berwick, by name Spalding, although he had not heard of him for many a year.
This was news indeed-although there were many who smelled a trap, and the treachery on the wrong foot. But Bruce, with the need to capture this fortress urgent, was prepared to take the chance that it was a genuine offer. He sent Douglas back to the towns outskirts forthwith, with orders to contact this Spalding somehow. He himself would wind up this siege-engine building, and come on with the main force next day.
The following night, in sleet-laced rain driven by a salt wind of the
North Sea, the King rode down the south-facing slope of the Lamberton
ridge. The town of Berwickon-Tweed lay unseen below and before him
for lamp-oil would be scarce in the beleaguered town and no lights showed, although it was not yet midnight.
The land ahead, indeed, seemed darker than the sea; an indefinable belt of wan glimmer stretched all along their left flank somewhere, the phosphorescence of breaking combers on an ironbound coast.
It was not an army that Bruce led down the long slow hillside;
merely a motley company of lords, knights and men-at-arms, with the carpenters, wrights and smiths who had been constructing the siege-engines. These unwieldy, lumbering machines, dragged by oxen, their axle-trees screaming, their timbers creaking, had greatly delayed the royal progress that day; but they were much more important, in this context, than any thousands of men, and the high-born warriors had just had to summon their patience.
Getting the things across the bog and innumerable streams of Coldinghame Moor, for instance, had been a desperate, mudslaister of a business. Proud lords would have left it to others more suitable for the task, and hurried on to Berwick; but that was not Robert Braces way. It had taken them fourteen hours to cover the dozen miles.
They were past Halidon Hill, the last prominence on the long green ridge, and were dropping to the farmstead of Camphill, only a mile from the north-western walls of the town, when suddenly lights began to appear ahead of them, lights that flared and blazed and sank, then blazed again, and at some distance. An indescribable noise also came to them on the southeast wind, rising and falling likewise, but different from the distant thunder of the tide.
Save us-have they started? Gilbert Hay cried, at the Kings side.
Jamie has not waited for us-for Your Grace?
Jamie is in command at Berwick, Bruce reminded.
Yet I would have thought that he would have delayed until I came.
It may not be the assault. Just some disturbance in the town, Sir Hugh Ross suggested.
I think not. Those are torches and fires. And at the far side of the town, where this Cow Port lies. Douglas has struck. Come-leave these engines. Irvine will bring them on. And he spurred his mount forward.
A courier met them as the hillside levelled off to the town meadows.
My lord King! he shouted.
Word from my lord
of Douglas. The assault is on. We are into
Berwick. Over the walls…
I have eyes and ears, man! What are Douglass tidings?
These, Sire. That my lord of Dunbar would not wait. Would not abide your royal coming. He and his were stationed to the east of the Cow Port. He must have given the signal. To those within.
The three lights, two and one. Without word to my lords of Douglas and Moray, he advanced. Scaled the walls and over. With ease. And so on in.
Curse the arrogant fool! the King exclaimed. But it was himself he cursed, in fact; himself others would criticise. For in his efforts to hold together his warring, jealous nobles, he had allowed the Earl of Dunbar and March a command under Douglas. It was, after all, Dunbars country, his earldom, and he could raise thousands of men hereabouts, in the Merse -had raised them, in the past, for the English. Here was opportunity to redeem himself.
Instead-this! He was, of course, senior in rank and status to Douglas-although the latter was Warden of the Marches. Even senior to Moray, ranking only second to life in the hierarchy of Scotlands great earls, as descendant of Kenneth MacAlpin and the true Celtic line.
As others growled and muttered around him, Bruce rapped out, And Douglas? And Moray? What of them?
With Earl Patrick into the town, my lord needs must follow. Or lose
the surprise, lose all. He said to tell Your Grace. My lord of Moray
took the left flank, the west. The walls were not defended, not
there
Aye. This Spalding, then, was honest in his treachery! Enough, then.
Lead us down to this part…
The uproar from the town was much louder now, the flames ever growing, heightening, buildings evidently afire. The area of battle was spreading, at least.
They reached the walls in the vicinity of the Cow Port. That great gate was still closed; but scores of scaling ropes and ladders hung from the parapets-and, unlike most siege-scalings, no layer of bodies lay inert at the foot. In the flickering light of the fires, Bruce was one of the first to clamber up.
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