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by Nigel Tranter


  Bruce could not refute the validity of any of it. But it was personality, not validity, that was his trouble.

  “John Comyn will not work with me,” he said flatly.

  “We have never agreed on any matter. Nor are like to!”

  “But when the matter is the saving of the realm? For whoever may eventually sit on its throne? Can you not, at least, seem to agree, my lord ? Since neither of you, I vow, would wish the other to be Guardian alone!”

  That left the younger man silent.

  Lamberton had joined them.

  “The Comyns have been sighted, my friends,” he said.

  “They are riding down from Tweed. A great company of them. The Constable’s banner alongside that of Badenoch, they say. They have come far. From Spey. I do not think that they have come for nothing! John Comyn intends to be Guardian, I swear—whoever else may be!”

  Bruce did not fail to take the point.

  The Comyns arrived with a deal more circumstance than had the Bruce brothers, in splendid clothing and array, confident, assured, and with an indefinable appearance of prosperity and lack of tension, which contrasted notably with the demeanour of most of those assembled—for, of course, they came from the North, untouched by famine or war. The drawn, guarded, battered look which had become so much part of the others showed in them not at all. They had brought a train of over a score of knights, their own clerics, standard-bearers, pursuivants, trumpeters, entertainers, even a group of Erse-speaking, barbarously clad West Highland chiefs. There was no doubt that they had come prepared to take over the rule in Scotland.

  It was their complete assurance, their unspoken but unmistakable

  assumption or authority, which almost automatically forced Robert Bruce into a position from which there was no drawing back. At no specific moment did he make his decision. The thing was obvious, no longer to be debated.

  John Comyn of Badenoch and he did not actually speak to each other for quite some time, after the arrival, eyeing each other warily, like a pair of stiff-legged dogs considering the same bone, by mutual consent keeping their distance—a metaphysical distance, not an actual one, for inevitably amongst the small circle of the high magnates of the realm, they could not avoid being in the same group frequently. Bruce was apt to find the Red Comyn’s brilliant, fleering eyes fixed on him—and realised that his own were drawn equally to the other. But neither went the length of words.

  As closely as they watched each other, undoubtedly Wallace watched them both. Lamberton also. All there did, indeed; but these two in especial, and did more than watch. They manoeuvred, they guided, they tempered. And skilfully, their policy to ensure that Bruce and Comyn, or their supporters, did not come into any sort of clash before the thing could be brought to a conclusion. Wallace was less proficient at it than was the Bishop, perhaps.

  As soon as it might be done with decency, the King of Arms had them all to sit down to a repast—and all his fussing about precedence was now seen in a new light. As far as the great ones were concerned, everything had been thought out. Normally, in any castle-hall, the dais-table stretched sideways across the head of the chamber, while the main table ran lengthwise down one side of the great apartment, leaving the rest free for the servitors, entertainers and the like. Now, since practically everyone present in Selkirk’s castle would have been entitled to sit at the dais-table, this had been brought down to add to the length of the other.

  Moreover at its head, where the Guardian’s great chair was flanked by two others, two further small tables had been placed at right angles, with a couple of seats only at each. At that to the right was placed Buchan the Constable, with Lamberton the Primate at his side; on the left was seated James the Steward, with the herald King. There was no certainty as to which great office of state was senior; but Buchan was an earl and the Steward was not. In the same way, at the main table-head, Bruce was placed on Wallace’s immediate right, and Comyn on his left;

  again there could be no quarrel, since Carrick was an earldom and Badenoch only a lordship. Other nobles found themselves equally heedfully disposed. There were no solid groups of pro Comyn or pro-Bruce supporters. And everywhere Lamberton’s clerics were set between, to act as both catalysts and buffers. The Scots lords, used to jockeying for the best places by initiative or sheer weight, were taken by surprise, and strategically seated where they could cause least trouble.

  Bruce and Comyn thus were sitting in isolated prominence-but the mighty figure of Wallace was between them. Moreover, Bruce had Buchan sitting at the little table, next on his right, while Comyn had the Steward to contend with, on his left. Seldom can there have been less general converse at so illustriously attended a meal.

  Wallace spoke to each of his immediate companions, and sometimes to them both, seeking to involve them in mutual talk which he might control. But they were a mettlesome pair to drive tandem, and it was a somewhat abortive exercise. The Guardianship issue was not actually mentioned.

  “How long have we, think you, before Edward attacks once more?”

  Wallace asked, presently—a safe subject, surely.

  “How serious are his troubles with his lords?”

  “Do not ask me, Sir Guardian,” Comyn returned quickly.

  “I

  have no dealings with the English. Ask Bruce. He knows Edward passing well. Or his friend Percy may have told him!”

  Bruce drew a swift breath. Then he let it out again, slowly and raised his wine goblet to his lips.

  “My lord of Carrick has put himself more in Edward’s disfavour than has any other in Scotland,” Wallace said heavily.

  “He burned the SouthWest in Edward’s face, forcing him to call off his campaign. Much of the land burned Bruce’s own. As for Lord Percy, I think he is scarce likely to call my lord his friend, now!”

  “Yet the woman Bruce is like to marry is Percy’s kinswoman.

  And bides with him, at Alnwick, does she not? While her father fights for Edward in France. Against our French allies!”

  “Curse you, Comyn! I am not like to marry Elizabeth de Burgh. Edward would have had it once—but now would not, you may be sure!”

  “Yet she is a comely wench. And well dowered, I swear I Ed Ward’s god-child-a useful go-between…”

  ”I’ll thank you to spare the Lady Elizabeth the soiling of your

  tongue!” Bruce exclaimed, leaning forward to glare round Wallace.

  “My lords! My lords-of a mercy!” the big man cried.

  “Moderate your words, I beg you. Here is no way to speak to each other.”

  “Have I said aught against the lady? Save that she is Edward’s goddaughter. Bruce has a guilty conscience, I think, to be so thin of skin!”

  “What knows a Comyn of conscience!”

  “My lords—at my table, no guest of mine will be insulted. By

  whomsoever. I ask you to remember it.” Wallace brought down his vast

  fist on the board with a crash to make the platters, flagons and

  goblets jump—and not a few of the company also. Then

  Pushing back his chair abruptly he rose to his full commanding eight.

  All eyes upon him, he raised his tremendous vibrant voice.

  “My lords and friends, fellow subjects of this realm, I, William Wallace, Guardian of Scotland, crave your close heed. I took up that duty and style seven sore months ago. Now the time has come to lay it on other shoulders than mine. They have been ill months for our land. We have survived them only at great cost. But there are as bad, and worse, to come. Let none doubt it.

  The man, Edward Plantagenet, is set on this. He will make Scotland part of his crown. A lowly servile part. If he can. While breath remains in him. That is sure. And he has ten men for every man of us.”

  He paused, and though all present were aware of all this, men hung on his careful words.

  “I say to you that I know now what I should have known before—that I cannot fight Edward the King. I can fight his underlings and minions. I can, I have done, and I will. But not Edward himself
. Only Edward’s own kind can fight Edward—I see that now. And I am … otherwise. Scotland’s own king it should be who fights him. But since that is not possible now, it falls to the Guardian. Therefore, I cannot remain Guardian. Falkirk proved that. The Guardianship must be in the hands of Edward’s own kind.” Deliberately he looked round on them all.

  “In this realm today there are two men who could, and should, be Guardian. Two men whom all must heed, respect, obey. For what they are, and who they are. They are here at my side. Sir Robert Bruce, Earl of Carrick, grandson of Bruce the Competitor; and Sir John Comyn, Lord of Badenoch, nephew to the King.

  King John. On these two, who are both of Edward’s kind, I lay my Burden. Jointly and together. These two can, and must, unite this realm against the English usurper. These two I charge, in the name of God and of Scotland—fight Edward! Save our land.” He pointed.

  “My lord Bishop of Galloway—the seals.”

  As men exclaimed, from further down the table, the Chancellor rose, to bring up the two silver caskets that were his charge, and set them before Wallace, opening them to display the Great Seal of Scotland, and the Privy Seal.

  The first the big man took out, and raised up—and it required both hands to do it. Not because it was so heavy, but because its bronze was in two parts, two exact halves. He held them high.

  “My friends,” he cried, “Here is the Great Seal of this realm and nation. I broke it. This day I broke it. For the good of all.

  Now, before anything may be established and made law, bearing the Seal of Scotland, these two parts must be brought together and set side by side. One, in the name of the Crown, the magnates and the community of this ancient realm, I give to Sir Robert the Bruce, Earl of Carrick. The other to Sir John the Comyn, of Badenoch. I do now declare them both and together to be Joint Guardians of Scotland. To them I hereby pass the rule and governance. Declaring that I, William Wallace, will from now onward be their leal and assured servant. God save them both, I say.”

  As all men stared, the giant thrust his chair far back, and bowing to Bruce first, then Comyn, turned and strode down the length of that great table, right to its foot, where he gently pushed aside his own standard-bearer, Scrymgeour, modestly seated there, and sat himself down in his place.

  Something like uproar filled the hall.

  Each holding his half of the Great Seal, Bruce and Comyn gazed at one another before all, wordless.

  Gradually the noise abated, and men fell silent, all eyes upon the pair at the head of the table, clutching their half-moons of bronze. All knew that these two hated each other. All knew that they represented mutually antagonistic claims to the throne.

  Moreover, there could be few indeed who could have accepted Wallace’s dramatic gesture in itself as any kind of valid appointment.

  It was not for the outgoing Guardian to appoint a successor;

  that was for the barons of the realm to choose, their choice to be

  confirmed by a parliament. What Wallace had done in itself carried no

  real authority. Yet, if these two indeed elected to accept it as such, none there were in a position to contra vert it, even if they so desired.

  The hush was broken by the scrape of Bruce’s chair on the rush-strewn flagstones, as he rose.

  “My lords,” he said thickly.

  “Here is a great matter. Here is the need for decision. I, for myself, do not want this duty, this burden, that Sir William Wallace has laid upon me. I am young, with no experience of the rule of a realm. I have much to see to, without that. My lands are devastated, great numbers of my people homeless, hungry, living in caves and under tree-roots. Winter is coming upon us—a winter that will test us hard. And in the spring, Edward will return.

  But… all this, if it is true for Carrick and Annandale and Galloway, is true also for much of Scotland. Save, perhaps, the North.”

  He glanced down at Comyn.

  “The land faces trial. Destiny. All the land. The people. The need is great. And in this need, unity is all-important. Only unity can save us from Edward of England.

  None shall say that Bruce withstood that unity. If you, my lords, will have it so, I accept the office of Guardian. With …

  whomsoever.” He sat down abruptly.

  There was acclaim. But it was tense, almost breathless, and brief.

  Every glance was on John Comyn.

  That man sat still, toying with the segment of bronze. He seemed to be under no strain, no sense of embarrassment that all waited for him. His sardonically handsome features even bore a twisted smile, as he examined the broken seal in his hand. The seconds passed.

  When a voice was raised, it was Bruce’s.

  “Well, man?” he demanded.

  “This of the seal was cunning,” the other said, almost admiringly amused. He looked up, but not at Bruce.

  “How think you, my lord Constable?” he asked his fellow-Comyn conversationally.

  Buchan huffed and puffed, looking towards his brother, Master William, the cleric, some way down the table. Almost imperceptibly that smooth-faced man nodded.

  “Aye. So be it,” the earl grunted.

  “In a storm a man may not always choose the haven he would.”

  “Ha-neatly put, kinsman!” John Comyn acceded.

  “No doubt you are right. So there we have it. Joint Guardian—heh?

  With Bruce! God save us all!”

  It was moments before it sank in. That this was acceptance.

  That Comyn was in fact going to say no more. That, smiling and lounging in his chair, he was reaching for his goblet, to drink.

  And that he had pocketed his half of the seal. The thing was

  As the recognition of this dawned, the company broke forth in excited chatter, comment, speculation. There was no longer any semblance of order. Men rose from their places and went to their friends and fellow clansmen. Chiefs and lords beckoned their knightly supporters, prelates put their heads together and rubbed their hands. Down at the foot of the table, Wallace sat expressionless.

  But after a while, as the noise maintained, the big man signed to the Bishop of Galloway. That cleric raise his hand, called out, and when he could make no impression, banged a flagon on the table for silence.

  “My lords—this matter is well resolved. But it falls to be confirmed.

  To be accepted and duly made lawful. By a parliament, I, therefore, as Chancellor of this realm, for and on behalf of the Guardianship, do call such meeting of parliament tomorrow, at noon, in the former abbey here. To be attended by all and sundry of the three estates of this kingdom. At noon, my lords, gentles and clerks. So be it. God give you a good night.”

  Bruce rose, and looked down at Comyn.

  “This means … no little … accommodation, my lord,” he said slowly.

  “It will tax our patience, I think, ere we are done.”

  “You think so? Patience is for clerks, and such folk. It is not a quality I aspire to, Bruce!”

  “Nevertheless, you will require it, if I am not mistaken I As shall

  I!”

  “If you esteem it so high, then I shall leave it to you! Myself, I see the case calling for quite different virtues. Valour. Daring.

  Resolution. Spirit. These, and the like.”

  “Such as the Comyns showed at Falkirk field?” That erupted out of Robert Bruce.

  The other was on his feet in an instant, fists clenched.

  “By the Rude—you dare speak so! To me! You—Edward’s … lackey 1” “For that, Comyn … you shall … suffer! As God is my witness!”

  For moments they stared eye to eye. Then John Comyn swung about, and stormed from the hall. Few there failed to note it.

  There was a deep sigh at Bruce’s back, from William Lamberton.

  Next day, in the ruined abbey, a tense and anxious company assembled,

  anticipating trouble naked and undisguised. And they were surprised, relieved, or disappointed, according to their varying dispositions. A night’s sleeping on it, second and third thoughts, and the
earnest representations of sundry busy mediators—mainly churchmen, and Master William Comyn in especial-had produced a distinct change of atmosphere. Nothing would make Bruce and Comyn love each other, or trust each other; but it was just conceivable that they might sufficiently tolerate each other to work, if not together, at least not openly in opposition.

  At any rate, John Comyn arrived at the abbey, with his supporters, apparently in a different frame of mind. He favoured Bruce, even, with a distinct inclination of the head, did not address him directly, but appeared to be prepared to co-operate in some measure with Wallace, Lamberton and the Chancellor.

  Presently he allowed himself to be escorted to the Guardian’s seat by the Steward, while Buchan, stiffly, silently, did the same for Bruce. They sat down, a foot or two apart, not looking at each other but not fighting either. The Primate said a brief prayer over their deliberations, and the Bishop of Galloway, as Chancellor, opened the proceedings by asking if it was the Guardians’ will and pleasure to declare this parliament in sitting-even though lacking required 40 days’ notice.

  Two nods from the chairs established the matter.

  There was much routine business to get through, administrative detail which had piled up during Wallace’s regime and which required ratification by parliament, most of it of minor importance or un contentious There was, in especial, the new French treaty and its ramifications to discuss. John Comyn, who had been sent to take a leading part at its negotiation, now sat silent, allowing his able kinsman, Master William, of the Chapel Royal, to speak of this-which he did clearly and persuasively.

  The King of France’s promises regarding armed help and intervention were noted and approved—and queries as to how much they were worth were kept to a minimum. Lamberton then gave some account of his negotiations with the Pope, at Rome, on Scotland’s behalf, with assurances of Papal sanctions against Edward. Indeed, he had to announce that this, plus France’s representations, had already resulted, they had just heard, in Edward releasing King John Baliol and his son from strict ward; they were now more or less free, in the custody of the Pope, at Malmaison in Cambrai.

 

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