Bruces fifteen hundred was the largest single contingent there, and consequently required most food and forage. He was faced with the choice of sending them home to Annandale, to disband;
leading them south to join Wallace, who had taken Berwick and was now besieging Roxburgh Castle; or going over to the West with them, to his own area of Carrick, where there was no famine as yet. This last appealed most strongly. A body of fifteen hundred men-in-arms was too useful an asset in the present state of Scotland to disband and throw away, however much of a problem it presented logistically. Wallace was still talking about invading Englandnow, not only for military and vengeance reasons, but for food; and Bruce had no desire to be involved in any such ill-advised adventure which would only expedite reprisals.
In mid-October, then, the Bruces left Stirling for Ayrshire, glad to be away. Already there had been clashes with the Comyns in the streets of the town. Andrew Moray had died two days earlier, a good man gone.
It was strange to ride through the countryside, Lanarkshire and Ayrshire, and find the English gonefor here in especial their rule had been most complete, all-embracing, with every town and castle garrisoned. Now, like snow in the smile of the sun, they had quietly withdrawn, disappearedand in their place many of the tollbooths had small portions of Cressinghams skin nailed to the English gibbets. Bruce was now able to ride, for the first time for years, to his own birthplace, the principal seat of his earldom, Turnberry-in-Carrick, home of his Celtic ancestors for generations.
Typically, the English had left it in good order, not burned or
destroyed-for they would soon be back, they declared.
But the Bruce brothers had barely disposed themselves in Turnberry Castle, and commenced the process of stocking up with winter fodder for man and beast, than they were rudely jolted. An exhausted messenger came from Annan, via Stirling, from Thomas and Alex Bruce. Annandale was in smoking ruin, sacked, devastated. Sir Robert Clifford had come north, with a great host of Cumberland men, and laid all the Bruce lands waste.
Ten townships were destroyed, hundreds slain, Annan itself sackedthough the castle had held outthe harvest all burned and the cattle driven off or slaughtered. Clifford had left again, with his bootybut the lordship was in dire distress.
So Turnberry was abandoned again, and the Bruces spurred southwards in wrath. But some of the wrath, the brothers well knew, was now directed against themselves, as their men contemplated broken homes, ravished women, and widespread ruin to return todone while they had been held by their young lords kicking their heels in the north. Defiant gestures were all very well for lord lings but Annandale had ever been too vulnerable to English attack to hazard. The old lord had known that well. But the old lord was gone, apparently, none knew where. And his sons had failed Annandale … Bruce himself was not unaffected by a sense of guilt. He would be the seventh Bruce lord of Annandale, and the first to allow it to be cruelly ravaged. As he rode furiously through the devastated land and saw the burned homesteads, desecrated churches, the corpses of men, women and children choking wells and ditches, hanging from trees, crucified on gates, a great weight of responsibility settled upon himallied to a cold hatred. It was on his account that these people had suffered. But woe to those who had caused the suffering.
At the douce red-stone town of Annan, blackened and charred now, below the castle that still stood intact on its mote, they learned the full grim details from Thomas, Alex and Mary. Clifford had come raging from Carlisle with thousands, mainly footalthough they had returned to England mounted. It had not been any military campaign but purely a savage punitive onslaught.
Indeed Cliffords orders to his men had been every man for himself, no quarter to be given, no prisoners taken, all booty and plunder to remain the property of whoever could take it. The Bishop-Governor of Carlisle had lent him troops for the outrage, offended by Bruce the Elder having bargained Annandale men for his own freedom and then seen them change sides. As a consequence, hell had been let loose on Annandale.
Robert Bruce had now more than enough to keep him busy, without concerning himself overmuch with affairs of state. It was a notably hard winter, setting in early with snow and ice and gales, and folk in no state to cope. The needs of his own people took up all his wrathful energies. He set himself to organise the transfer of grain and cattle from Carrick to Annandale, re housing and rehabilitation of refugees and homeless, rebuilding and repairing whole townships and villages. He had never applied himself like this in his lire, and was glad enough to tire himself out day after day. This he could do, must do. The rest could wait.
Thoughts of Elizabeth de Burgh came to him not infrequently, but she seemed to occupy a different world to his.
Occasionally word of the doings of men outside this South West reached them. William Wallace had indeed invaded the North of England, and a bitter and harsh retaliatory campaign he appeared to nave waged, giving the Northumbrians and Cumbrians precisely the same sort of treatment that had been meted out to the Scots. Tales of savagery, violence and slaughter percolated through to Annandaleand though, in his present mood, Bruce was not inclined to feel squeamish towards the English, part of his mind told him this must result in a hardening of the enemys determination, a uniting of fronts, and ultimate fury of attempted reprisals. There were ten times as many English as Scots, and this simple truth was something that they had to live with, to ever take into account. Their every effort, therefore, should be to divide and disunite, not to unify. This campaign, however justified, would have that effect, for certain.
Great convoys of grain and cattle and sheep were said to have been sent back to Scotland. This at least was satisfactory. But the cruel weather triumphed over cruel warfare, and the now distinctly undisciplined Scots army was forced back across the Border before Christmas. Wallace, it was said, had retired to his favourite refuge in Ettrick Forest, and his mixed host had largely dispersed to their homes all over the land.
Then came the first and inevitable counter-attack. Surrey drove north again, on the east side, and retook Berwick and Roxburgh.
But the weather was too much for the English likewise. The advance
could not penetrate the snow-blocked passes of the hills which guarded
most of Scotlands southern counties, and ground to a halt. It was
stalemate, meantime, in the worst winter of living memory.
It was late February before the icy grip began to relaxand with it came word from the south that King Edward, from France, had commanded that there be no major invasion of Scotland until he came in person to lead itominous tidings. When that would be was not revealed, but rumour said in the late spring. Perhaps spurred by this grim warning, movement stirred again in Scotland. Wallace sallied forth from the Forest, to besiege Roxburgh Castle, and his emissaries were once again going through the land calling men to his standard. None came to Annandale.
But in early March a courier arrived from James the Steward, to announce a great assembly of the magnates and community of the realm to be held in Ettrick Forest, at Selkirk, in the middle of the month, and requested the Earl of Carricks presence thereat.
Bruce considered well. He recognised that important decisions could not be put off for much longer. If Edward was coming, then the ranks had to be closed and vehement steps taken. He himself could not hide away here in Annandale indefinitely. And he might usefully influence the steps that might be taken. The fact that the assembly was being held in the Forest, in Wallaces own chosen haunt, not in Stirling or Edinburgh or at Scone, was surely significant. It meant in large measure an acceptance of Wallace as leader. The lords were to come to him, not he to the lords. Bruce decided that Annandale might now be left to his brothers care.
He would go to Selkirk.
It was hills and passes for every mile of the fifty that stretched between Annan and Selkirk, and the snows and floods. still blocked much of the way, impeding and delaying Bruce and his small escort more serio
usly than he had anticipated. He was hours later than intended in reaching the venue of the assembly, in that fair hub of green valleys where Ettrick, Yarrow and Tweed all joined, amongst the oak, ash and pine glades of the greatest forest south of the Highlands. The gathering was being held in the ruins of what had once been the Abbey of Selkirk, a Tyronensian foundation of David the Firsts, which 170 years before, had been removed twenty miles further down the Tweed, to Kelso, for convenience.
The remains, though abandoned, were extensive and picturesque, providing a certain amount of shelter, but more of dignity, for a large-scale conclave. As Bruce rode down through the haughs of Yarrow towards it, he saw the entire wide valley floor filled with encampments and horse lines the silken pavilions of lords and knights, banners and standards everywhere, the blue smokes of a hundred cooking-fires rising over all.
It seemed that the actual conference and council was already started, being held partly in the open, in a sort of amphitheatre formed by the broken-down former choir of the abbey, backed by the square of the cloisters and opening on to the neglected sunken gardens and pleasance. Here a great crowd of folk were assembled, of all sorts and conditions, gazing up to where, in the paved approaches to the gaping chancel, the quality and landed men and churchmen stood, or sat on the flanking cloister benches.
Up in what was left of the choir stalls certain great ones were seated, in the centre of which was the Steward, who appeared to be presiding. A cleric was holding forth.
… all kinds and conditions of men, their treasure, their toil, their very lives, he was declaring, in a richly sonorous voice.
This being so, it is necessary, essential, that due and proper direction be given them. With authority. The Church can do this, in the name of God and His kingdom. But who may speak, with full authority, in the name of this earthly kingdom of Scotland?
My Lord Stewardyou occupy high office and bear a proud name, of excellent repute. But you cannot speak in the name of the Kings realm. My Lord Constablenor can you. You are one of the great Seven Earls of Scotland, and have authority to raise the realm in the Kings cause. But you cannot speak in the realms name, so that all men must obey. I say that it is entirely necessary for the governance and saving of this kingdom that one be appointed, here and now, lacking the Kings royal presenceappointed by the magnates of the realm here assembled, who may take fullest command in all matters, and speak for this ancient people. I do declare that this assembly is entitled to name itself a parliament of the estates of Scotland, and that it should hereby appoint one to be Guardian of the realm.
In the applause and acclaim Bruce, peering over the heads of spectators, asked of a black-robed Dominican friar who it was who spoke.
That is a great man, Master William Comyn, brother to the Earl of Buchan, sir. They say he will soon be bishop. He is Provost of the Chapel-Royal.
A Comyn! Then we know what will be coming next! Bruce began to
edge forward through the throng.
The speaker continued.
The Guardian must be strong, else he is useless, my friends. He must dispose of great forces. He must be renowned as a warrior, a man of great repute. Also he must be strong in support of Holy Church. I say to you that such a man stands here amongst us. He is indeed the head of the family of which I am the humblest member. A family which none will deny is the strongest, the greatest, in this land. Which boasts three earls, three bishops, and no less than thirty-three knights. I say to you that none is more fit to be Guardian of Scotland than Sir John Comyn, Lord of Badenoch.
There was considerable acclamation for this nomination, but Bruce noted that it was confined to the quality. Few of the watching throng raised voicebut there was a ground-swell of muttering.
Although they were powerful indeed in the North, in the South here the Comyns were not popular. They were too closely identified with the despised Baliol.
Bruce, in his edging forward, had reached a point where he became aware that, behind a massive broken pillar of the former transept, William Wallace stood, towering hugely over a group of his lieutenantsthese no longer a ragamuffin crew but now all clad in excellent armour and broadcloth, no doubt captured. Only Wallace himself was dressed exactly as previously in rusty chain mail and leather guardsperhaps because he could find none amongst his defeated enemies of size sufficient to supply him. He stood listening to the proceedings, hidden from most in his retired position, expressionless.
The Constable was now adding his support to his brothers nomination. It may have cost him dear to do so, for there was said to be little love lost between the two John Comyns, Buchan and Badenoch; but though an older man, more experienced, and outranking his distant cousin, he could not but concede that the other was chief of the name. Their mutual Norman great-great grandfather had married as his second wife the heiress of the ancient Celtic mormaership and earldom of Buchan;
Badenoch was the heir of the first family, himself of the second. And in public, the Comyns always put up a united front.
Earl Malise of Strathearn spoke next. He proposed, as somebody must, in decency, that James, High Steward of Scotland, be appointed Guardian. He was formal, brief.
Men stirred uncomfortably. The Steward was well enough respected as an honest man and a patriot. But as mouthpiece of the nation … I From his presiding seat in the choir, James Stewart raised a thin open hand and waved it back and forth.
I decline. I decline such nomination, he said thickly.
I am old. Of insufficient strength. A younger man is required. I decline. At least, that is probably what he said, though his difficult tongue and slobbers muffled it. But the gesture of his hand was sufficiently clear.
The Abbot of Dunfermline suggested that a bishop of Holy Church might well prove the wise choice, uniting all classes and divisions or the people. He would have proposed their beloved Robert Wishart, Bishop of Glasgow, who had once acted Guardian previously, he saidbut unhappily he was a prisoner of the English. The Primate, Bishop Fraser of St. Andrews, had just died, exiled in France. Bishop Crambeth of Dunkeld was also in France, ambassador to the French king. He therefore named Thomas of Dundee, Bishop of Ross.
There was now some applause amongst the commoner folk, for Bishop Thomas was one of Wallaces supporters. But there was no like enthusiasm visible amongst the ranks of the nobility; nor indeed amongst much of the clergy, where Ross was considered to be too junior a see to be thus exalted.
A new voice broke in, musical, with lilting Highland intonation.
My lords and friends, a slight, delicate-seeming but winsomely good-looking youngish man said, hear me, Gartnait of Mar. I say that if there is one man who should be Guardian of Scotland, it is Robert Bruce of Annandale, who should rightfully be our King. But since he is not within the realm at this present, I say to you that his son should be appointedthe Lord Robert, Earl of Carrick. He is not here, but is expected…
Bruce cursed beneath his breath. His brother-in-law, the Earl of Mar, meant well, no doubt; but this was not the time to advance his name. Gartnait, although amiable, had always lacked practicality.
He was much troubled by his neighbours, the Comyns, of course, and no doubt was as much concerned to counter their ambitions as to aid Bruces.
Bruce is here, my lords! he cried aloud, interrupting Mar, and pushing strongly forward now, through the press, to break out into the open nagged space which had once been the abbeys nave.
I come latebut not too late, I say!
There was a great stir and exclamation now, on all sidesby no means
all of it enthusiastically welcoming, as he strode up to where the
Earl of Mar stood, clapped his sisters husband and first wifes brother on the shoulder, and bowed to the Steward.
You give me leave to speak, my lord? he said strongly.
James Stewart nodded.
I have heard what is proposed, my friends, he said.. Not onl
y as regards myself, but others. And I too say that a Guardian of the realm should be appointed. Now. But not myself, who have fought no battles, earned no plaudits, am but untried amongst you. My father, were he here, would himself be no candidate for Guardianthat I swear. If he were to present himself to you, I say, it would be as your rightful King, not Guardian…!
A wave of reaction, cheers and dissent mixed, comment and question, greeted that, a new vigour and excitement manifested itself throughout the great gathering.
Bruce held up his hand.
But my father is not here. I have heard the names suggested as Guardian, and I say that, good and sound men as these are, they do not, cannot, meet the case, my friends.
Only one man can fill Scotlands need today. Only one man will the people follow. Only one man, at this juncture, can speak with the voice that not only the folk but England, Edward Plantagenet, will hear and heed. That man is William Wallace of Elderslie. I name you Wallace as Guardian!
It was as though a dam had burst, and the emotions of men surged free in clamour. The very surrounding hills seemed to shake to the shout that arose and maintained. Not all of the vociferation was favourable, of course, but the vast mass of it was wildly so. Almost to a man the common folk, the men-at-arms, the lesser lairds and small landholders, even the bulk of the clergy, roared their approval, hands high or beating each others shoulders, feet stamping. It was amongst the nobles, needless to say, that the opposition was expressed, but compared with the mighty explosion of applause, it was a small thing that faded where the other went on and on.
It was some time before Bruce could make himself heard again.
I commend … I say, I commend your judgement! he shouted.
This man has done what no other could do. He has rid us of the English …
Again the uproar.
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