The Price of the King's Peace bt-3

by Nigel Tranter

  Harcla responded without hesitation.

  “I have, my lord. I propose that King Robert should give me firm terms to lay before King Edward. If he rejects them-then we make armed revolt in the North, assisted by the Scots, to have the King deposed and his son appointed in his place, with a regency. On understanding and agreement that the first act of the new sovereign would be the conclusion of a treaty of peace with Scotland, accepting the independence of that realm and the authority of King Robert.”

  “Finn terms, you say. From King Robert. What terms have you in mind?”

  “Fair and honourable terms. Which King Edward, were he honourable,

  could accept. More important, which an English parliament could

  accept. Each realm to maintain its own king, laws and customs, un

  threatened by the other. Each to promote and advance the common

  advantage of the other. All English claims on Scotland to be

  withdrawn, and all Scots claims on England. Arbiters to be appointed,

  of equal number and rank on both sides, to settle all differences

  between the realms, and subjects of the realms.”

  “These are fair conditions, sir,” Bruce acknowledged.

  “But scarce inducements! There is nothing here to induce King Edward to agree.”

  “I do not believe that anything will so induce him!” the other

  returned.

  “Whatever terms you send, he will reject, I think. But these would commend themselves to a parliament. And give the lords and barons of England good cause to unite against the King, when he refused. Which is important.”

  “Yet inducement there should be, surely,” Moray said.

  “To make it possible for King Edward to accept.”

  Harcla shrugged.

  “Anything such must come from you, the Scots.”

  “Long I have sought for, fought for this treaty,” Bruce said slowly.

  “Therefore I would give much to see it concluded. For my people’s sake, who need peace. I have thought much on it. I would agree that one of my daughters should wed King Edward’s heir, now some ten years of age. And I would make some payment in gold in reparation. For injury done to the realm of England these last years, some generous payment. If such would aid in the acceptance of these terms.”

  Douglas stared.

  “Pay the English…!” he exclaimed.

  “King Edward is said to be short of moneys. All his treasure gone on his favourites.-He might listen to the chink of gold, where other persuasion fails.”

  “Very well, Sire. Such generous offers I will make to the King.

  But still I fear he will not heed, and we shall require to take to

  arms.”

  “It may be so. But, see you, I will not now commence a war against the might of England. It is peace I seek, not large war.

  Revolt by Edward’s lords is one matter. Invasion by my Scots host is another.”

  “Not war for you, Sire. Only support, we seek. No greater force than you have sent raiding into England times unnumbered. With captains such as these to lead that support!” Harcla nodded towards Moray and Douglas.

  “For I do not deny that England is short of able captains. However many great lords she has!” And the new Earl sniffed his contempt of all such.

  “That is true, at least. But-these lords? How many would rise

  against the King?”

  “Many. Most, indeed. Those whose stomachs King Edward had not turned, the Despensers have …!”

  “Names, man-names!”

  “The King’s own brother, for one-the Earl of Kent. The Earl of Norfolk. The Lord Berkeley. The bishops of Ely, Lincoln and Hereford. The Earl of Leicester, who is my lord of Lancaster’s heir …”

  “Kent would turn against his own brother?”

  “He is hot against the King. The Despensers slight him. And not only he. The Queen herself, I think, would not be sorry to see her husband deposed and her son king. Her lover, young Mortimer, is one of those strongest for revolt-and he does nothing that displeases Her Majesty.”

  “So-o-o! England is in sorry state, I see!” Bruce looked at the

  stocky man shrewdly.

  “And you, my lord? What will be your place in the new kingdom?”

  Harcla was nothing if not frank.

  “In the said revolt, I command.

  For none of these others is fit to lead an army. And when we win, I expect to be one of the regents of the young King.”

  “You do! You fly a high hawk, my lord-for one who but a year or so past was but a Cumberland squire!”

  “My hawk has strong wings, Sire.”

  They eyed each other like wary dogs. Then Bruce inclined his head.

  “Very well, my lord. We shall have a compact. I have a clerk out there, who shall write us the terms you are to put before King Edward. For the rest, if he refuses, it is between ourselves. On the day that you rise, with major force, a Scots cavalry host of 5,000 will join you, under my lord of Douglas. To remain under his command. You understand? I will have no Englishman commanding my Scots subjects. And, before then, I want proofs of your support, in more than in the North.”

  “That Your Majesty shall have. In abundance. I thank you.

  Give me but six months, and you shall have your peace treaty …”

  Two of those months were passed before the King heard more of Andrew Harcla. And, when he heard, Bruce was in little state to pay fullest heed, in a turmoil of emotion, agitation, joy, concern, inextricably mixed. For the very night before, or in fact the same dawn, Elizabeth had given birth, at Dunfermline, to a son-a living and perfect son.

  But the birth was a dreadful one, lasting over twelve hours and almost

  killing a woman too old for normal childbearing. That the Queen

  survived the desperate night was indeed something of a miracle-just

  as the production of a hale male child at last, after twenty-one years of marriage, was a miracle.

  So now all Scotland rejoiced in that an undoubted heir to the throne was born, and the bells that had celebrated Bannockburn now pealed and clanged and jangled as endlessly. But Bruce himself sat, a prey to anxiety, fears, self-blame- indeed could have wished the child unborn that his Elizabeth should have been spared this. For she was more than exhausted. She was direly weak, her features woefully waxen and drawn, her eyes dark-circled. She had lost great quantities of blood. She had lain, only part conscious, all that March day, whilst Dunfermline throbbed to the joyful clangour of the bells, and the King watched her every shallow breath. So he had sat hour after hour-and fiercely repelled any who sought to intervene, console, consult or otherwise distract.

  It was a brave man, therefore, who entered that bedchamber above the Pittendreich Glen that late afternoon, unbidden-but then, this was a notably brave man, as all Christendom acknowledged whatever else it might say of him. James Douglas, come from the Borders, stood with his back to the door and looked at his friends.

  Hollow-eyed, hunched, the King stared at him dully for long moments after he had recognised who was therefor he had not slept in forty hours, and was all but dazed. He did not offer a single word of greeting.

  “I … I have heard all, Sire,” Douglas said, low-voiced.

  “An heir. And Her Grace in sore state. But-God is good. He will aid Her Grace.”

  “Is He? Will He? What makes you so sure, James Douglas?”

  That was said thickly, in a monotone.

  “Because He gave the Queen a notable spirit, Sire. That is why.

  It is that spirit will save her.”

  It was not the King who answered. Just audible, from the bed came the whispered word, “Jamie!”

  Douglas came forward, men, and Bruce sat up. It was the first word Elizabeth had spoken, for hours.

  She did not say more. But before her heavy-lidded eyes closed again, she mustered a tiny smile for them both. It lifted the King’s heart.

  “Oh, lassie! Lassie!” he said brokenly.

  She raised the long white fingers
of her left hand in brief acknowledgement, and his own rough and calloused hand reached out to grip and grasp.

  So these three remained, silent.

  At length, when it was clear that the Queen slept, Bruce spoke

  softly.

  “An heir for Scotland was not worth this, Jamie.”

  The other made no comment.

  “But it was not this that brought you from Roxburgh Castle, I think,” the King went on.

  “Word of it could not have reached you in time.”

  “No, Sire. It was other.”

  “Grave tidings? To come yourself, not send messenger?”

  “Harcla, Earl of Carlisle, is dead. Tortured, half-hanged and disembowelled, after the Plantagenet fashion! There will be no revolt, Sire.”

  Bruce looked at the other heavily.

  “So Edward was not … agreeable!” he said.

  “Harcla went to him, with the terms?”

  “Yes. And King Edward esteemed it high treason. To have approached Your Grace, without his royal authority. No subject of his will have truck with rebels, he said! He dealt so with Harcla, as a warning to others.”

  The King drew a hand wearily over his brow.

  “How above all stubborn can be your weak and stupid man! Shall we never see peace, because of this royal fool? What of all the others, the great lords who were to support the revolt? Are these all taken also?”

  “No. Harcla went alone to the King-and was requited thus.

  Your Grace will wonder at how I had the news. It came from Umfraville.

  Sir Ingram himself brought me word, at Roxburgh.”

  “Umfraville!

  So we have not heard the last of that strange man.

  He ventured into Scotland again?”

  “Aye, Sire. His Northumberland lands march with yours at Tynedale, as you know-none so far from the Border. He was not ill-pleased at Harcla’s death, esteeming him up-jumped traitor. But he is for a peace treaty between the realms, nevertheless. He says that he believes King Edward to be nearer to it than ever before.

  That he, Umfraville, seeks to prevail with the King to conclude such”

  “Ha! He would regain those great lost lands of his, in Scotland, if he might!”

  “It may be so. But, whatever his reasons, he is working for a peace

  treaty. And is hopeful-despite Harcla’s execution. Harcla died, he

  says, not because he favoured a peace, but because he chose to

  negotiate without his master’s authority. Umfraville said to tell Your

  Grace that if you sent an embassage to King Edward to discuss terms, it

  might be favourably received. He suggested Bishop Lamberton, since

  King Edward had a liking for him once.

  I told him Lamberton was too sick a man to travel…”

  “Aye. It is as much as he may do to come to Dunfermline.

  But-this of an embassage. Will Edward receive an embassage from rebels, as he names us? I think not. Has Umfraville forgotten this?”

  “No. He says that the embassage must not seem to be that. Just

  travellers on their way to another land. France, or the Low Countries,

  perhaps. Who could call at London in passing. And see the King

  privily. Through Umfraville himself. He has Edward’s ear, he says”

  “That would be difficult. Whom could I send, that I could trust in this, whom Edward would not take and slay out-of-hand? In his stupid arrogance and hate. William Lamberton would have served, yes. But you, or Moray, or Hay-such he would never tolerate. He has put prices on all your heads. We deal with no reasonable man.”

  “Some other cleric, Sire? Whom he would scarce slay …?”

  Bruce looked at his sleeping wife thoughtfully.

  “Umfraville believes there to be hope in this? True hope of Edward’s acceptance?”

  “He says so. The King is alarmed at the enmity of his nobles. So he made example of Harcla. But he would wish the Scottish entanglement over, the better to deal with these others.”

  “Aye. Then I have thought of a way. David, Bishop of Moray, has long sought to go to France. It has been his desire to found a college there. In Paris. For Scots. A cherished project. I will send him, with the Sieur de Sully, Grand Butler of France, and the other French knights taken at Byland. Time they went home.

  Edward will give them safe-conduct, since they were captured fighting for him. On the way to France they will call to pay their respects to the King, in London. And carry with them such terms as I can offer.” He nodded.

  “Harcla was too ambitious, too fast.

  But it may be that he did not die in vain …”

  The Queen stirred, and opened her eyes. Both men sat forward.

  But, after another faint flicker of a smile, she closed her eyes

  again.

  Her breathing deepened a little.

  “In that smile is your hope, Sire,” Douglas said gently.

  “Her Grace is of all women both finest and fairest.”

  Bruce looked at the younger man keenly.

  “Of all women …I say so, yes. But you, Jamie? You have never wed, my friend. You have never given your heart to another?”

  “Given long years ago, Sire. To one man-yourself. And to one woman who lies there. And smiles!” Douglas rose.

  “Have I Your Grace’s permission to retire? I have travelled far and fast …”

  Some eight weeks later, with the broom abloom and the first cuckoos calling hauntingly in Pittendreich Glen, and with the Queen on her feet again, although pale and frail, only a shadow of her former proud womanhood, but the new Prince David thriving lustily, Bishop David Murray of Moray sent word back to Scotland, not from London but from York, where King Edward had returned. He and de Sully had been received by the King, in Umfraville’s company. Edward would not hear any terms from him, the Bishop, whom he declared to be both rebel and excommunicate.

  But he had been prepared to listen to de Sully, as a Frenchman and man of honour. Sully had announced the Scots terms.

  Later, the King had summoned only Sully to his presence, and told him that he favoured peace and could accept all save two of the Scots proposals. But these two were the basic independence of Scotland; and the kingship of Robert Bruce. These he could never accept. Therefore there could be no peace treaty, since the King of England could never sit down at such table with rebels. But, for the sake of peace, he was prepared to accept a prolonged truce-with the Leader of the Scots people, not the King of Scots, of which there was and could be none. He suggested a truce of thirteen years. He was prepared to send commissioners to sign such a truce at Berwick, on intimation that the Leader of the Scots people would meet them to endorse it.

  “God in His heaven!” Bruce groaned to his wife, as this was declared to them.

  “The man is crazed! Run wholly mad. Will nothing teach him, nothing open his eyes? Must two whole realms remain for ever at war because of one man’s insensate vanity? His own kingdom falling about his ears, and all he can think of is to deny me the name of mine!”

  “It is beyond all-in folly, yes,” Elizabeth agreed.

  “But-this of a truce? Why thirteen years?”

  “God knows! The man is deranged. In one half of thirteen years all could be changed. Will be changed. Neither he nor I alive, it may be! How can a man deal with such as this …?”

  “His Grace of England says that he will send his commissioners to Berwick, Sire. Next month,” Bishop David’s courier went on.

  “To sign the terms of the truce. With Your Grace …”

  “Not with my Grace! Only with the rebel leader of rebellious Scots!

  As though I would sign anything on those terms. The crass fool Small

  wonder that his lords arc in near revolt, that England is riven and prostrate. With such a monarch …!”

  “And yet, my heart,” is the case so ill?” the Queen put in, gently.

  “Edward’s pride is all that is left to him, empty, profitless pride. So he assails yours. Withholds all, for a couple o
f words, king and kingdom. Yet gives all nevertheless, in fact…”

  “Gives all? What do you mean? He denies all. This treaty of peace without it, I can never build up Scotland to what the realm should be, must be. All our treasure and strength is wasted in maintaining armed men, ever and again having to burn our own country in the face of invaders, living in our armour, horses saddled, our trading ships attacked on the seas. Near on thirty years of war! Scotland needs peace …”

  “Yes, Robert-peace. But, see you-you blame Edward for flinching at a word. Your kingship, the realm’s independent name.

  But are you not in danger of a like fault, my dear? This word treaty? What is but a word? It is not the treaty that is important, but the peace. The peace that Scotland needs. And what is a thirteen-year truce, but peace? Bannockburn was but twelve years ago.

  So long a truce is as good as a peace, is it not? Since it is the peace you want not the treaty, let not your pride deny it, Robert.”

  Biting his lip, the man stared at her.

  “Moreover,” she pressed him, “Edward’s folly will not permit that he reigns for thirteen years. Or three, I think! Why wait for the peace which may follow, when you can have it now? Peace, whether in the form of truce or treaty, is the same, is it not? Both can be broken, or kept. I say, Robert-go to Berwick, and sign this truce. You will be none the less king.”

  “It may be that you are right…”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Elizabeth de Burgh smiled into the early afternoon sunshine, at the

  picture they presented, the man and the two boys, the stocky, sturdy

  ten-year-old and the toddler of not yet three, walking up from the

  shore together hand in hand, with the ribs of Robert’s fine new ship in

  the foreground, and as background all the weed-hung skerries and

  headlands of the Clyde estuary and the heart-catching, colour-stained

  loveliness of the Western mountains. It was a fair and satisfying