The Steps to the Empty Throne bt-1

by Nigel Tranter

  In Annandale, Bruce found all his brothers, in Annan Castle itself, on its mote dominating the straggling red-stone town amongst the green tree-dotted meadows of the deep-running river.

  Edward, two years younger than Robert, was acting as his father’s deputy in this great lordship, a dark, smouldering-eyed, intense young man, despite his name, all Celt; Thomas, just twenty, quiet, slow of speech, but giving the impression of a coiled spring;

  Nigel, cheerful, irrepressible, wooing half the girls of the town;

  Alexander, only sixteen, but clever, studious, more diffident than the others. They made a contrasting group, with only a hot temper uniform to them all. Their unmarried sister Mary, a laughing tomboy of a girl of seventeen, acted chat elaine to an undisciplined and lively household in the great gloomy castle.

  When Bruce could win free of Sir Henry Beaumont, who clung closer to him than any brother—and whom the Lady Mary was eventually deputed to distract—he took the others into his confidence, and was not long in winning their whole-hearted enthusiasm, Nigel’s in especial. All agreed to co-operate in the raising of the men, and all clamoured to accompany the eventual contingent northwards. That would have been folly, but it was agreed that Edward and Nigel should come campaigning.

  Thereafter the Bruces rode far and wide through Annandale and lower Eskdale and Nithsdale, which all formed part of the lordship, summoning to the standard the young men of the rich and populous Solway lands.

  Armed service with their lord was, of course, together with rent in

  kind, the basis of all land tenure, and able-bodied men between sixteen

  and sixty could not refuse, from lairds and substantial farmers down to

  shepherds, foresters and herd-boys. The Lordship of Annandale was

  particularly highly rated in this respect, being a crown fief of no

  fewer than twenty five knights’ fees—that is as a condition of the

  original royal grant to the first Robert de Bruis seven generations

  before, it had been required to produce, on the king’s demand, the

  equivalent in men, arms and horses, of the followings of twenty-five

  knightly lairds at, say, fifty men each. Much more than that could be

  raised now, at a major mobilisation. Bruce reckoned that Annandale

  could muster three thousand, at a pinch, even in a week; but such was

  not his intention now, whatever Percy might say. There was no point in denuding and impoverishing the land, in present circumstances. Half that number would be enough.

  Five days of recruiting and selecting and mustering saw just over fifteen hundred men assembled at Annan, few enthusiastic, for the presence of Sir Henry’s two hundred English horse, in whose close and unremitting escort the Earl of Carrick was very clearly little better than a captive, left few doubts as to which side they would be fighting for. Not that the Annandale men were aggressively Scottish; with their territory wide open to the English border, and great hill masses cutting them off from the rest of Scotland, for generations, they had been under southern rather than northern influence. But fighting against their fellow-Scots was another matter—though they had no option, if their lord so commanded.

  The sixth day they rode back to Carlisle—rode, for Annandale was a notable place for the breeding of horseflesh, the sturdy, stocky, long-maned garrons which the English mockingly described as ponies but which were in fact full-grown surefooted horses, though short in the leg. Every man was mounted. This, of course, was one of Surrey’s requirements, being short of cavalry.

  On ahead, Edward and Nigel Bruce flanked their brother, within a tight cohort of Beaumont’s men, who were taking no risks with a prisoner who now commanded seven times their own number.

  Carlisle was like an ant-hill disturbed, with thousands of the levies of North Country English lords milling around. But the vast majority of these were footmen, it was to be noted—and Bruce sent Nigel back to warn his Annandale host, at the encampment they were allotted beside the Eden, to watch over their horses. There would be many envious glances cast in their direction, that was certain; and Scots might well be looked on as fair game. They should keep out of the town, therefore, or there might be trouble.

  A surprise awaited the Bruces at the citadel. Percy was already returned from the east, and he had brought Elizabeth de Burgh with him, for some reason. Unwarned, the young men came face to face with her in the Great Hall—to their distinct unease. She was entirely self-possessed—but betrayed no delight at the meeting.

  Going on for his interview with Percy, after a somewhat abrupt greeting, Bruce at least was in a turmoil of mixed resentment and speculation.

  Percy received the brothers civilly enough, even congratulating them on the numbers of men raised—although he had hoped for perhaps five hundred more, he indicated. He appeared to accept [be adherence of the two younger Bruces as no more than appropriate They would ride north the next day. He mentioned, as an Afterthought, that his kinswoman, the Lady Elizabeth de Burgh, had accompanied him to Carlisle, with his wife. His visitors made no comment.

  Bruce did not fail to seek a reason for this move. He did not flatter himself that his own presence at Carlisle had itself attracted the young woman across the country. Moreover, the assembling of an army, in a hurry, was no occasion for feminine jaunting.

  Therefore Percy, who was a cold-blooded fish if ever there was one, and did nothing without a cause, must have brought her for a purpose. She was Edward’s goddaughter, the child of the monarch’s closest friend—and no doubt it was widely known that the King had once contemplated marrying her to Bruce. Presumably as a precaution, to bind him closer. That could scarcely apply now. But Percy might believe that there was still something between them. He must hope, in some way, to use her to bring pressure to bear. But how? And why?

  Bruce, at any rate, did not propose to assist him in whatever was his project. He would avoid the girl. Not that he had any difficulty in this, at first, for Elizabeth appeared to be no more anxious than he for any association. The citadel was swarming with people. The Bruces kept themselves to themselves.

  That night, however, the Bishop of Carlisle held a banquet for the leaders of the new army, and the Bruces were summoned.

  Precedence, for seating, presented an obvious problem, but the Bishop got over the difficulty by providing a special table for the Scots, at the back of the dais. And to Bruce’s side here, presently, the prelate brought and seated Elizabeth de Burgh, before all the company, a gesture calculated to attract the maximum of notice, with so few women present and this one the most highborn as well as far and away the most beautiful.

  Bruce, although not normally lacking in the powers of speech, on this

  occasion was practically wordless. Without herself being forthcoming,

  the young woman was at least civil, but she obtained little response

  from her right hand neighbour. Fortunately at her other side, the Lord

  of Annandale saw no reason for either resentment or embarrassment, and

  finding a courteous listener, launched into anecdotes of the Crusade

  on which he and Richard de Burgh had accompanied King Edward, in their youth.

  Wine, however, had the effect of making Bruce the Elder sleepy, and as the repast proceeded, his talk grew thick and disconnected, and presently died away in puffs and little snores.

  Elizabeth, although she could not be unaware of the admiring glances cast on her by many, and especially Edward Bruce on his father’s left, chose to turn to her heavily silent neighbour on the right.

  “So, my lord, you now neither talk nor rebel!” she said, pleasantly.

  He frowned.

  “I keep my own counsel,” he jerked, in reply.

  “So I perceive. And unpleasing counsel it must be, I think.”

  “Why think you so?”

  “From your face, if naught else! You look uncommon sour, sir! And since the counsel you keep to yourself can scarcely be to your own congrat
ulation.”

  He began to speak, but thought better of it, and closed his lips tightly.

  “You are Edward’s man again,” she went on, conversationally.

  “How happy His Majesty!” And when he still did not reply, “You found rebellion unprofitable, did you?”

  He answered her questions with another, and abruptly.

  “Why are you here?” he demanded.

  She took a moment or two to answer.

  “Because I was brought.

  With the Lady Percy, my cousin.”

  “Brought, aye. You are not sitting beside the Lady Percy!”

  “No doubt she sees sufficient of me. I am living with her, while my father fights with the King in France. Moreover, has she not Sir Robert Clifford to entertain her?”

  “So I see. And she is welcome to him! Why were you brought here, then?”

  She looked at him thoughtfully.

  “I do not know,” she said.

  “You did not ask Sir Henry to bring me?”

  “I did not!” That was vehement.

  She smiled faintly.

  “At least, I see, you are honest in some things, my lord!”

  “Are you saying that I am dishonest in others, madam?”

  “It may be that I used the wrong word, sir. Should I have said frank?

  Open? Single-minded?”

  “You have no very high opinion of me!”

  “I do not deny it. Have I reason for it? Am I mistaken about you, my lord? I sent you a letter.”

  “Aye. I received it. Scarce a letter, it was. An insult, rather!”

  “I asked a question then, too. That I might, perhaps, think the better of you. And you did not answer.”

  “How could I answer such a thing? You asked if I was a man I Or a clerk? And should you thank God to have escaped me!”

  “So at least you read my letter.”

  “More than once. To see if there was any kindness hidden in it.

  But I found none.”

  “Kindness? You looked for kindness, then? From me?”

  “Women can be kind, can they not? Understanding. There was no understanding, there.”

  “What did I fail to understand? You could have told me, in answer.”

  He drew a long breath. It was on the tip of his tongue to speak, to explain something of his position, what he was seeking to do.

  But he could not, dare not. He shook his head.

  “It is of no matter,” he said curtly.

  “What is of matter is why you are here. What made Percy bring you? It is concerned with me, for sure. What does he want?”

  She sighed a little.

  “I told you, I do not know. Is it important?”

  “It could be. Did he not tell you. Give you some reason? Some task?

  Perhaps to question me?”

  “Think you I am Henry Percy’s spy, sir? His informer?”

  “You could be. Without intending it. Why bring you? Or his wife? It is a strange time and place to bring women. And to set you here, by me.”

  “It was the Bishop who did that. But I can leave you, sir, and gladly, if you please?”

  He ignored that.

  “Either he would have you to learn something from me. Or else to sway me. Why ?”

  “That I should sway you, my lord! If he thinks so, he knows little of either of us! And what should I learn from you that he cannot ask himself? That I would tell him?”

  “If I knew, I would not be asking. It seems, however, that he does not trust me.”

  “And is that so strange? Men who change sides so quickly are seldom trusted.”

  He bit his lip.

  “Can you not conceive that I may have reasons?

  That I may be more honest than you think? You, who sit secure in

  English halls. In Edward’s goodwill. When a kingdom is at stake, woman!”

  She eyed him closely at that, and said nothing.

  Fearing that he had blurted out too much, he frowned, and changed his tack.

  “Percy himself is perhaps unsure of Edward’s goodwill. with reason. If Edward returns quickly from France, heads may fall. You are close to Edward. Could it be that he would use you to gain Edward’s favour?”

  “I cannot think that King Edward looks on me so warmly. I believe I may have disappointed him.”

  He weighed that.

  “But you are his goddaughter.”

  “Is that important? In this matter? Might it not be more important that I am James the Steward’s niece? By marriage.”

  “Hal” Bruce sat up.

  “I had forgot. His wife is Egidia de Burgh.”

  “My father’s sister. And, now I think on it, Henry Percy has mentioned the fact to me, of late. More than once.”

  “This makes more sense. The Steward led this late revolt. I have been close with him. He is now being taken to join Surrey’s array, making for Dundee. Where we are going. Now that there is no king in Scotland, and Buchan the Constable lies low in the North, the Steward is the greatest officer of the realm.”

  “And is he not this William Wallace’s lord? Wallace his vassal?”

  “So—you know of also! Aye, Wallace’s small lands are held of the Steward.”

  “Henry Percy said as much.”

  “I think, then, that we get down to the roots of it now. On how the Steward and myself may make common cause with Surrey, much depends in Scotland. And Surrey’s and Percy’s reputations with it. And you, my lady, it is thought might weigh heavily with us both.”

  She shook her corn-coloured head.

  “It is a weighty edifice to build out of so little!”

  “Perhaps. But let us make some test of it. Tomorrow, if we leave you behind here at Carlisle, I will accept that I may have misjudged. But if you are carried with us northwards, into Scotland, then I am like to be right.”

  “We shall see. But I tell you, my lord, that Elizabeth de Burgh will be pawn in no man’s game—Edward’s, Percy’s … or yours!

  Mind it well!”

  Thereafter, for such time as the banquet continued, they got on rather better, able to talk together at least without striking sparks.

  The following morning when, amidst much blowing of trumpets and shouting of commands, the various component parts of an army of over eight thousand mustered and moved off over Eden, northwards into Scotland, the Ladies Percy and Elizabeth de Burgh, to the surprise of many, rode with them.

  They marched by Esk to Canonbie, and then up Liddesdale, the horse making no attempt to hold back to the pace of the foot;

  but even so it was a fairly slow progress. It took the three thousand cavalry two days to cross over the Note of the Gate pass, to Hawick in Teviotdale. The day following, the leaders were at Selkirk, on the edge of the great Ettrick Forest, when a messenger reached them from Surrey’s army, now nearing Stirling, the first crossing of the long Forth estuary which so nearly, with that of the Clyde, cut Scotland in two. The courier came not from Surrey himself, however, but from Cressingham, the Treasurer, in the name of the Viceroy, Fitz-Alan. Percy had sent word ahead, by fast rider, to inform of his coming, his numbers and his route.

  The reply astonished and incensed him. Cressingham, as Treasurer and cost-conscious, declared that they already had quite sufficient men in arms to deal with such as the scoundrel Wallace and his riffraff and consequently the reinforcement army would not be required. It was the Viceroy’s wish that Sir Henry returned whence he had come, and disbanded his force.

  The thin-lipped, hesitant-seeming Percy’s fury was a sight to behold, on receipt of this extraordinary message. He trembled, shivered, looked almost as though he would swoon with rage. He knew well, of course, of the bad blood between Cressingham and his uncle, Surrey. Clearly this was done out of spite, the wretched Treasurer-who indeed had made himself the most hated man in Scotland-prevailing on the new Viceroy to over-ride the authority of the commander-in-chief. But out of a stuttering torrent of white wrath, it became clear that Percy had no intention of obeying.

  He was a soldier, in arms, and he took his orders from the militar
y commander, not from such a lowborn clerk as Master Cressingham. Or even Fitz-Alan. Until detailed commands arrived from Surrey himself, they pressed on.

  In this he was supported vigorously by Sir Robert Clifford and most

  other leaders—indeed by Robert Bruce likewise, whose plans would have been put in much disarray by any turning back now.

  Three days later, on the evening of nth of September, emerging from the Pentland Hills into the West Lothian plain, with the foot now left far behind, the army was again halted by information from the north. But this time it was no mere courier who came to them, but two dishevelled knights, Sir Ralph Basset and Sir John Lutton, with a straggling party of men, some wounded.

  And their tidings were of disaster.

  There had been a great battle, they declared. At Stirling Bridge, over the Forth, twenty-five miles to the north. They had been tricked, betrayed, scattered and ill-led. Surrey’s army. It was no more. The man Wallace and an unnumbered great host of rascally Scots had lain in wait for them there. At this bridge. Amongst tidelands and marshes. It had been no fair fight. The work of mean men. Half of the English array across the bridge and on the mile-long causeway beyond. Wallace had attacked, through swamp and bogs. No room to fight. No room to turn. Horses hamstrung, or sinking in the mire. Arrows, spears, knives—no honest chivalry. All in confusion. The Welsh cravens fleeing back, casting away arms and armour. The bridge taken and held behind them. Hundreds drowned trying to swim back. Others still trying to swim across to their aid. Then treachery in the rear, south of the bridge. The damned Scots with Surrey, betraying them.

  That Steward. The Earl of Lennox. Crawford.. Lundin. All turned coat. Attacked the rear. Roused the people of Stirling. To slay and murder. It was a massacre … Appalled, Percy and his companions fired questions at the exhausted men, sought to piece together the picture, to learn the present position. Wallace had been besieging Dundee, fifty miles to the north-east, had he not? Surrey had between fifty and sixty thousand men …?