My lord Bishop and Chancellor, he said, it seems to me meet and suitable that your liege lords pronouncement should be read by Sir Henry, my lord of Northumberland. His father was, to our cost, Lieutenant and Governor in Scotland, once! All knew him well, had to heed his voice! Let us be privileged to hear his sons, on this occasion, if you please.
And so it was that the son of the man who had hectored, lectured, reproved, deceived and harried the Bruce on so many occasions through the years, had to read aloud the words which were the justification and coping-stone of the hero-kings thirty years of striving and suffering, indeed of his entire career. That he did so in an undignified and scarcely intelligible gabble, was neither here nor there.
Whereas we, and some of our predecessors, Kings of England, have
attempted to gain rights of rule, lordship or superiority over the
Kingdom of Scotland, and terrible hardships have long afflicted the realms of England and Scotland through the wars fought on this account; and bearing in mind the bloodshed, slaughter, atrocities, destruction of churches, and innumerable evils from which the inhabitants of both realms have suffered over and over again because of these wars; and having regard also to the good things in which both realms might abound to their mutual advantage if joined in stability of perpetual peace, and thus more effectually made secure, within and beyond their borders, against the harmful attempts of violent men to rebel or make way; we will and concede for us and all our heirs and successors, by the common counsel, assent and consent of the prelates, magnates, earls and barons and communities of our realm in our parliament that the Kingdom of Scotland, shall remain for ever separate in all respects from the Kingdom of England, in its entirety, free and in peace, without any kind of subjection, servitude, claim or demand, with its rightful boundaries as they were held and preserved in the times of Alexander of good memory King of Scotland last deceased, to the magnificent prince, the Lord Robert, by Gods grace illustrious King of Scots, our ally and very dear friend, and to his heirs and successors.
EDWARD REX
There was no cheering, no exclamation, no spoken comment at all, in that great chamber, as those words tailed away into a long and pregnant silence. All men considered them, on both sides, and the price paid for their pronouncement, and held weir peace.
Robert Bruce took up the quill in a hand that trembled very slightly.
On an impulse, Edinburgh emptying of the distinguished company, the King did not return direct on the uncomfortable horseback journey all the way to Cardross, but instead accompanied William Lamberton by sea from Leith to St.
Andrews-this on the Primates quite casual mention that he would not survive the transport by road in a horse-litter; and when the King remonstrated that this was no way to talk, the Bishop as factually announced that he would be dead within the month anyway. In the circumstances, the King remained with his friend.
Lamberton was too exhausted during the journey to talk at any length. But, in his own room of St. Andrews Castle the day following, he was strong enough to speak with Bruce-and eager to do so. They had much to discuss. The Primate was particularly concerned about the future governance of the Church in Scotland, a matter that was now urgent. He advised that, much as he valued most of them, none of the present Bishops should be elevated to the Primacy. Not even the good Bernard, Abbot of Arbroathwho might well be given the bishopric of Man and the Sudreys, just become vacant. But the national leadership of the Church demanded a strong, sure and experienced hand. His own was about to be removed, and he urged the appointment of his Archdeacon of St. Andrews, the vigorous James Bene, who had so distinguished himself as diplomat and negotiator in Morays French and papal embassages, and who had in fact been administering the metropolitan see for long. The canons of St. Andrews had faith in him, and would elect him. With the Kings support he would serve Church and realm well … Yes, yes, my friend, Bruce agreed, concerned that the other should not tire himself thus.
He it shall be, never fear. But there is no such haste. Leave it
now
There is so much to say, Sire. Haste indeed. For my time is
short.
You mean … ? You in truth meant what you said at Edinburgh,
William? That you do not expect to live out the month?
To be sure, the other said, his voice weak, but only his voice.
My fear has been that I should not last thus long, to speak with
you.
That is grievous hearing, my old friend.
Why grievous, Robert? I grieve not, I promise you. I am more than ready to go. I am much blest. My work is done-all I have lived for. To few is so much granted. Scotland free. Your royal state recognised by all Christendom. Your succession assured.
The Church here sound, in fair order, sure of its place, united. And this great cathedral completed. Gaspingly he enunciated these satisfactions.
Bruce nodded, understandingly.
Life should mean achievement, in great things and small, the other went on, picking his slow words.
Without achievement, life is merest existence, of neither virtue nor relish. You know it well, Robert. I shall achieve nothing more here. Beyond-I believe that I shall. If the good God will find work for me in His greater purpose.
I pray that He will. I long to be at it-not a bed-bound hulk here. Do you understand?
The King nodded again.
That I do, my friend. Indeed, you could be speaking from my own
heart, from my own mind, For… such is my wish also.
For long these two colleagues and comrades considered each other.
I thought that it might be so, Lamberton acknowledged quietly.
I am the happier in going. Happy for you, that such is your spirit.
For here is joy, Robert. Although you have longer to wait for it
than
I.
Not so much longer, I think.
No? Have you more reason to say that, Robert? You believe your days here short? This is not the matter of the leprosy again?
No. It is strange. The leprosy-all these years I have lived with it. And kept it close. That none should know. At your behest And Elizabeths. I believed that it would kill me. But, no. It was not to be. That was the finger of God, only-not the sword of God! Now I have the dropsy. Have had it near two years. It strikes surer, deeper. At my heart. I have had many warnings. One day, soon I think, I shall receive my last. Perhaps before you do, old friend.
But-I pray not before I am ready-or have made ready. My work is not
fully done, I fear-but most of it is. Like you, I have no desire to
linger, as less than myself. And like you, I hope to do better,
hence.
They considered the future, in silence.
You do not fear death, William, the King went on presently, not a question but a statement.
That I see-and rejoice in it No, I do not fear it. Nor should any true man. Only those who have striven for nothing, buried their Lords talent. The dying itself may be unpleasant-but let us hope, short Being dead-that foolish word we use-that must be otherwise. An excellence.
Fulfilment You rate it so high as that? Excellence?
I do. For it is part of Gods ordained progress and purpose with men. Gods, not mens. And all such is excellent The other raised an open hand, frail but eloquent.
What has God been doing with us this while, Robert, think you? In all our joys and sorrows, our achievements and defeats? What, but building-making us build.
As I built that cathedral. Stone by stone, building our character.
Heart, mind, will, understanding-aye, and compassion, above all. These things we have been attaining unto. Their fullest flowering in us. The body is as nothing, compared with these. All our years, these have been building up, for better or for worse. Now, they are at their height Think you the All Highest o
rdained it thus for nothing? The patient moulding, ours and His, the secret strivings of the heart, this edifice that is our lifes essence. Just to cast it away, discarded, unused, spurned, like a childs bauble? In all His creation, this is the height of His achievement-not the tides of the oceans, the lands, the sun, moon and stars. Man, at the summit of his earthly character which is when he dies. Here is Gods achievement-and mans, in His image. Purpose and order are in all His works-that is plain to all. Should, then, the greatest work of all be purposeless?
This urgent profession, declaration, whispered but intense, had taken much out of the Primate, so that he lay back, panting, eyes closed.
Much moved, Bruce waited.
This is fulfilment, therefore, Lamberton resumed, after a long
interval.
God has given us reason. To use. If we cannot see this, we are fools. Failures. We move on, to use what has here been built up-of this I have no doubt. And, Robert-I would be about it!
About it, man!
The King gripped the others thin hand.
Then, I rejoice, he said, deep-voiced.
With you. No mourning, William. I have never heard greater sense spoken. For you, then, all is well. You go on, joyfully. Prepared. But-you have not murder on your conscience, my friend! What of me? I murdered Comyn, at Gods own altar.
What of me? There was intensity there also.
What of you, then, Robert? Are you different from other men-save in that you have had greater testing? That was sin, yes-although the man deserved to die if ever man did. But it is repented sin. And paid for a thousand times in the years since. I say, without that sin, and the need to expiate it, who knows-would Robert Bruce ever have achieved what he has done? For a whole nation? Would this character you have built up be so sure, so sharp and tempered a sword for Gods use in His purpose hereafter? I think not.
I would that I could be so sure of Gods forgiveness!
Then use your wits, Robert! Use them. God is purpose, order, power. But, forget it not-love, also. Else where comes love? Love, the force which drives all else. Love is compassion, understanding.
If you can forgive-and you have forgiven many, too many for your nobles-then do you deny it to God? Dare you?
No-o-o …
This time the Bishops eyes remained shut for long; and thinking he slept, Bruce lay back, thinking, thinking.
But then the weak-strong voice spoke on, as though there had been no pause.
If life has taught me anything, Robert, it is that love is of all
things great, powerful, eternal, the very sword of God.
Not weak, soft, papas some would have it! Love is God, therefore it is eternal. Cannot die-Gods, or yours, or mine. Here is the greatest comfort in all creation. Love cannot die with the body. It must go on, since it is eternal. See you what this means, my friend?
I think I do, yes. Elizabeth…!
Aye, your Elizabeth. She is loving you still. As you love her.
Scorning, straddling this hurdle we call the grave! And not only she. Your Marjory. Your brothers. All those who have loved you, to the death. Whom you mourned for, un needing And I, who have loved you also-I take it with me. But its chain will link us still.
And Gods love, of which it is a part, will see that it grows and burgeons. In the fuller life to which we are headed. This … this is what I had to say to you, Robert Bruce. Thank God … He has left me time … to say it.
Those last words were barely distinguishable, spoken beneath the shallow breath, yet with a certainty to them that spoke of strength not weakness-William Lambertons last service to his two masters.
Bruce remained beside the bed for some time thereafter, but there was no more talk. Once the dying man moved his lips, but no words came; a faint smile, that was all. They were content. When, presently, the other closed his eyes, the King pressed his hand for the last time, and walked slowly from that room, leaving his friend to the hush of the waves far below, and the seabirds crying.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Gibbie, the King said, a little thickly, it is time. There is not
long now. Bring me these three. And thus. Thomas Randolph.
Angus of the Isles. And James Douglas. These three only do I wish to see, now. And, man-of a mercy, lighten your face! Have you vowed never to smile again? Here is nothing so ill. Another pilgrimage, and a lighter one-that is all. Less wearisome than that we have just completed. William Lamberton taught me how to die, a year ago. Now, get me my nephew Thomas-and not on tiptoe, fore God!
Bruces voice was surprisingly strong, however thick, and as vehement as ever-when he could speak-even though scarcely any of the rest of him could move. When, at times, overwhelming pain at his heart blacked out all things for him, he knew fear-not fear of the next step, but that it should come upon him before his tongue could enunciate what still had to be said. This had been Lambertons fear, and then final relieftime to give his message to his friend.
So, while Hay fetched Moray, Bruce lay in the great room of Cardross,
bathed in the bright June sunshine, and prayed that the roaring
blackness would hold off sufficiently long, and that nothing should tie
and hamper his tongue. He was the King. Pray God he could remain the
King to the end-until he became just another new pilgrim… Moray came
quickly, with the Constable-for none of them was far away. All knew
the end was near; indeed most of his friends had not expected their
liege lord to survive the long pilgrimage to St. Ninians shrine at
Whithom, at the tip of Galloway, and back, the astonishing epic
itinerary of a dying man, out of which none had been able to dissuade him, litter-borne indeed as it had had to be.
It is Thomas, Sir, his nephew said.
I am not blind, man! his uncle asserted.
Not yet. Come close.
Do not go, Gibbie -you shall listen to this also. As witness.
Thomas-hear me. You have good shoulders. You will require them. On them I now place my burden. Of rule and governance in this land. I leave a bairn as king-a child of five. An ill thing. For a dozen years, God willing, the rule of Scotland must be yours, in his name. You are regent, with James Douglas as co-regent. But yourself chief est Jamie is the greatest fighter-but yours is the wisest head. I have instructed Bernard de Linton, and signed all that is necessary. You understand? From this day, Thomas, this hour, you take up my burden.
This day, Sire … ?
This day. The gate stands wide for me. I will not hold back now, I think. Not of my will. But, be that as it may, from now, Scotland is in your strong hands. I thank God for them. You know my mind, what I would have for my son and his realm. See you to it.
That I will. You may rely on me. And … I thank your Grace.
For all things. But, above all, for your faith in me. I, who betrayed you once …
You never betrayed me, Thomas. Only set too high a standard, to which I could not aspire-and feared to betray yourself. Since you learned that kings, and yourself, are but men, and men are finite, you have served me better than any. Now the decisions are no longer mine, but yours.
It will be my endeavour to make them as you would, Sire…
No! Not that. You have a better head than I, in some matters.
And a stout heart. Make your own decisions now. And for my son.
They will often enough be hard decisions, and men will not love you for them. You will have a Kings work to do, yet not be a King.
I do not envy you your task, Thomas.
I take it up willingly, proudly, Sire.
Aye. Only, remember this, Thomas. All men have not your stature, your integrity of spirit. Be merciful. Particularly towards a fatherless and motherless laddie, who sits in a lonely throne-God knows how lonely! That alone I counsel you-be less unbendin
g.
Much proud uprightness, such as yours, must be swallowed for a realms unity. I learned it, and so must you. That-and trust not the English. In matters of statecraft. However fair-seeming.
Now-let us say God-speed. For my time runs out…
Moray knelt by the great bed, to take and kiss his uncles swollen, stiff hand.
Your servant, now and for ever, he said simply, and stood.
Aye, lad. See, Gibbie -here is a man who knows how death is to be treated! No moping and long faces. No tiptoes!
Now-Angus. Farewell, Thomas …
The Lord of the Isles came in, greying but still the stocky, assured figure on which Bruce had always relied so heavily. He eyed his friend with his accustomed calm and practical gaze, his reserve innate even yet.
I said that foolish pilgrimage would kill you, he observed
dispassionately.
It was meant to, man! Think you I, Robert Bruce, would rust away, like an old sword in a sheath? Besides, I had to see Carrick and Annandale and Galloway again. Before I moved on. But-here, Angus. And listen well. The Kings voice was urgent, now, as in haste.
I listen … Sire, the other said, coming close.
Ha! You say it! You have never said that word until now, man!
Long years I have waited for it-from the Prince of the Isles!
Angus smiled grimly.
I can afford it-now! Can I not, Your Grace?
Aye-Angus Og, as ever! You do not change. But thank you, nevertheless, my friend. Now, heed. Moray I leave as regent. With Douglas. This you knew of. You do not love him, I know. But, for my sake, give him your sure support. For my sons sake. This I charge you, if our friendship means aught. He will need all your strength. The English will not be long in showing their teeth, treaty or none. When I am gone, they will be at Scotlands throat once more. Edward and his regency are cherishing this Edward Baliol, at their Court. Not for nothing, you may be sure. A child of five years, on my throne, and they will not delay in recollecting past wrongs and humiliations. Moray is going to require your strong right arm-and your galleys, Angus!
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