In the event, it was driving rain in the morning, shrouding the hills, and no conditions for holding a large meeting in the open, as had been intended. The largest room of the Bishops manor-house was much too small, as was the church. The nearest large chamber was the Hospitium of St. Leonards, at Peebles, a few miles to the east. There was a castle there also, actually a royal hunting lodge, but it was a small place.
So to the town of Peebles a great company rode, through the rain, by a Tweed already grown brown and drumly with the hill burns swift spates. Men forgot their dynastic and clan rivalries for the moment, to look anxiously up at the lowering clouds, and to hope that the good weather was not broken for long and the harvest put in jeopardy.
But in the refectory of the Hospitium at Peebles, even as the Prior welcomed his numerous distinguished guests, all the churchmens efforts at peace-keeping were abruptly brought to naught.
Upraised voices in angry altercation drowned the Priors. All eyes turned.
… jumped-up scum I Those lands are mine, I say. And Ill have them back, Wallace or no Wallace 1 The speakeror shouter, ratherwas the Lord of Dundaff, Sir David Graham, younger brother of Wallaces friend, Sir John, who had died heroically on Falkirk field. But brother of a different kidney, a vociferous supporter of Baliol and Comyn. Now he was shaking his fist up in the face of a tall and rather gangling man, largely built but giving the appearance of being but loosely put together, who flinched somewhat at the truculence of the smaller mans outburst.
The lands are not yours, sir. Never were, this other protested.
They but neighbour yours. And you may covet them. But they were granted to my brother, granted by my lord Guardian .
Unlawfully granted! Those lands of Strathmartine are ours.
Grahams. Always we have claimed them. No upstart bonnet laird from the West shall have them, I say. The Earl of Carrick had no right to grant them. Any more than he should have knighted such as you …!
Sirrah! Bruce rapped out, sharply.
Watch your words.
It is truth. Strathmartine is Graham land. And you gave it to a felon!
Knave! Stung to fury, the big shambling man dropped his hand to the hilt of his dirk. He was Sir Malcolm, Wallaces brother, recently knighted by Bruce out of respect for his brothers fame. A very different man from the giant Sir William, he was like a blurred, indeterminate and somehow bungled version of the other.
Still more swiftly the Grahams hand dropped, and his dagger was whipped out.
Fool! Put that away. Are you mad? Bruce cried.
This… mountebank called me knave! Me, Graham!
Sir David! Drawn steel, in the presence of the realms Guardians, is treason 1 That was Lamberton, in his sternest voice. He pushed forward towards the irate knights.
Sheath your dirk, man. I command you. Sir Malcolmstand back.
Treason! Graham cried, beside himself.
You, Wallaces creature, to say that! And what of Wallaces own treason? He is (bolted. Gone. Fled the country. In time of our need. Without the permission of the Guardians! Here is treason, if ever there was.
And you say treason to me!
You babble, sir. Bairns ha vers the Primate declared coldly.
Sir William has gone overseas. On a mission to the rulers of nations. To the King of Norway, the Pope, and the King of France. To seek bind them together against Edward of England.
How dare you raise your voice against the man who saved this realm!
The man your own brother died for!
from the straitjacket of his emotion. Like an uncoiling spring he hurled himself against his brother, beating aside the dagger.
Comyn had not stirred, even flinched.
No! he cried.
No! My quarry I Mine. Mine only. Panting, still with one hand on his brothers wrist, he pointed with the other.
ComynI should kill you. For that. Now. Before all. But but it is not the time. Or the place. Not yet. One day, I will pay that debt. I promise you! As all these, and God and His saints, will be my witness! Till thenwait, you! Wait, and regret!
Thank God, my lordthank God! Lamberton exclaimed.
For your lenity. Your forbearance. Fortitude. He swung on Comyn.
And you, my lord-shame on you! Here was infamy.
Unworthy. Unworthy of any noble knight…
Quiet, priest! the Red Comyn jerked, from stiff lips.
Enough. He looked at Bruce.
At any time, my lord of Carrick, should you wish to take this matter further, I am at your service.
And shall cherish the day!
Do so. For it will be your last! the other said levelly.
Master William Comyn, of the Chapel Royal, laid a hand on the arm of his brother Buchan, who was about to speak, and raised his own mellifluously soothing voice.
My lords and gentles allwe have come here for urgent business. A council. Not for profitless wrangling. Much is at stake. I pray that we may move to that business. If the Lords Guardian will take their seats. At the Priors table …
Sit! Bruce swung on him, eyes wide.
Think you that I will sit at any table? With him ? Now! Do you, man?
Heres a mercy, at any rate! I am to be spared that! Comyn found his smile again.
My lords, my lordsthink! Consider. You are both Guardians and governors of this realm, still. Lamberton supported his fellow-cleric.
The realms affairs must go forward.
This joint guardianship is over, Bruce declared shortly.
On this at least we are agreed. The other bowed elaborately.
Scotland deserves fairer than that, I think, the Primate said slowly, authoritatively, and with great dignity, looking from one to the other sternly.
Those who take up the realms direction may not so toss it away, without loss to their honour. I beg your lordships to perceive it. And for your good names sake recollect your duty.
Those were hard words for such as these. But William Comyn reinforced them, although in his own more suave fashion.
I am sure that my lord of Badenoch, at least, will know his duty. And will well serve the realm, now as always. He eyed his kinsman meaningly.
There was a pause, and then Bruce shrugged.
To business, then, he said.
We will consider this of the guardianship at another time. ButI will not sit there. With that man!
Comyn was about to speak when Lamberton forestalled him.
Very well, he acceded.
The form of it matters little. Let us proceed, here standing. He pointed.
The clerks may use the table. Without pause he went on.
The matter of Sir William Wallaces mission to the rulers has been dealt with and, I submit, is not profitable for further discussion here and now. And before any might plunge again into those troubled waters, added, The besiegement of Stirling Castle proceeds. My lord of Badenoch may wish to speak to it?
Thus invoked, Comyn could scarcely refuse to participate, in his own project.
It goes but slowly, he said, seemingly casual.
My people have assailed it for ten weeks. With little gain, as yet.
Save that we constrain the English closely, and have driven them into the inner citadel. But it is strong. The strongest place in Scotland. We shall have it, in time, never fear. And investing it demonstrates to the whole land that at least some will draw sword against the invader! He tossed a glance at Bruce.
I commend my lord of Badenochs assault on Stirling, that man commented shortly.
Even if barren of result!
The Earl of Carrick might have better fortune were he to take up arms against one or other of the less powerful holds the English enjoy in his territories! His own house of Lochmaben, in especial.
N
one failed to see significance in that; but not all probably perceived the fuller implication. The main object behind holding this meeting here in the Forest was in order, thereafter, to lead a united assault on the great English-held base of Roxburgh, which lay some thirty miles down Tweed, near Kelso and the actual borderline. Bruce, ever chary of becoming bogged down in siege warfare, had only been persuaded to this by Comyns threats that he would do it alone, if need be. Such a move undoubtedly would look as though the other Guardian was dragging his feet, in the Popular view. Hence the great array of magnates and nobles, of both factions, here assembled. Yet now Comyn was talking about Lochmaben and not mentioning Roxburgh.
I have not the same itch to take castles as has this lord, Bruce
declared, slowly.
Even my own. Which is very strong also. As Sir John Comyn knowssince he assumed possession of it during the short reign of King John Baliol…!
Whom God save and protect! Comyn rapped out.
In duty bound, many requested the Deity to save the King.
No doubt, Bruce went on dryly.
But, despite its strength, the English in Lochmaben can do us little harm. They cannot be reinforced without a major invasion.
I have heard it said, Comyn observed, looking round him, with his hard grin, that Bruce may be well content to leave the English in Lochmaben. That, should Edward triumph, he may find it a convenient stepping-stone back into the Plantagenets good graces I Idle ha vers no doubt…
Damnation! This is a malicious lie…!
Idle ha vers no doubt, as I say! the other repeated loudly.
But a warning of how mens minds may go. Is it not?
My lords, Lamberton intervened again, with a sort of weary urgency, Lochmaben is of less importance in the realm than are the others. Roxburgh is otherwise…
Aye, the Earl of Mar broke in, Roxburgh is only a mile or two from
the Border. It can be supplied and reinforced with ease by the English
…
Which means, my lord, does it not, that it is scarce worth our troubling with? Comyn asked.
Since, even if we succeed in taking it, as soon as we are gone, the English can retake it. With ease, as you say. If worse does not befall.
But… but… ?
They are raiding from there. Becoming devilish bold! Mars other brother-in-law, Atholl, supported him.
Did we not come this far to teach them a lesson? At Roxburgh?
My information is that they are much reinforced. Their raiding is no more than a ruse to draw us mere. Into a trap, with large English strength waiting on their own side of Tweed. Comyn spoke in jerking, unusual fashion, clearly ill at ease on this. But it was equally clear that, whatever the reason for this change of front, his mind was made up.
It would be folly to advance on Roxburgh, in the circumstances.
All men stared at him now, Bruce included. He at least had no doubts as to what this meant. It was highly unlikely that Comyn could have any new information regarding Roxburgh, or that there could be any large English force approached so near without word being brought to Bruce himself. Therefore it was merely an excuse. Comyn, now, would not proceed on any joint action. It was as simple as that. There was to be not even a token cooperation between the Guardians.
Even Buchan was taken by surprise, obviously. He peered at his cousin, and coughed.
A simple blow, John. A show of strength, he suggested.
We need not make a siege of it, if the signs are contrary. But a raid, at least. Into England. Since we are here in force …
No! the other snapped.
It would be folly. I march only with my rear secure!
There was no question what he meant by that. The guardianship was irrevocably, blatantly, split.
As all there contemplated the ruin of it, and perceived the dread shadow of internecine civil war to add to bloody invasion, Lamberton, flat-voiced, sought once more to ease the tension, to salvage something from the wreck, to make time for calmer thinking.
The Lords Guardian have rejected the suggested raid on Roxburgh, then, he said.
But there is more business. Appointments.
First, the Wardenship of the West March. Sir William Douglas, in English hands, has been Warden. While prisoner, his deputy has been Sir Christopher Seton, here present. There are now tidings that the Lord of Douglas has died in the Tower of London. May God rest his soul. Whether he died of Edwards malice, or of bodily ill, we know not. But, my lords, a new Warden is required.
It was skilfully done. The fiery Douglas had been popular, something of a hero, if an awkward one. The announcement of his death, as a prisoner, made a major impact, and set up an angry clamour against the enemya healthier demonstration than heretofore. In the stir, it was agreed almost without discussion that Sir Christopher Seton, the deputy, should be raised to full warden ship He was a sound Bruce supporter.
One or two other appointments were quickly disposed of thereafter, following as far as possible the non-controversial line of Comyn nominees for those in the North, Bruce for the South.
Lamberton steered them deftly through that strange, standing assembly, with the curt nods or complete silence of the two hostile Guardians accepted as the ultimate authority of the kingdom.
Men stirred, shuffled and fidgeted as the formalities were hurried through.
Undoubtedly all now were anxious for the uncomfortable proceedings to
be over. Yet men dreaded what might follow, once the two factions were released from the Primates dexterous handling and patient but firm authority. That these two men, Comyn and Bruce, could go on ruling Scotland conjointly, for the kingdoms wellbeing, or their own, was manifestly impossible. But neither was going to resign and leave the other in supreme power. And even if both were to resign, who could effectively replace them?
They represented the two great power-divisions of the country, and any other successors would in fact be nothing more than the nominees and puppets of these two. For a land which so desperately needed unity, Scotland was in a sorry state.
As the half-desired, half-dreaded moment arrived, when the proceedings were being closed by William Comyn, the Lord Privy Seal, announcing that the necessary papers and charters were there on the table for the Guardians signature and sealing, it was a much less smooth and assured clerical voice which at this last moment galvanised the company. Old Robert Wishart, Bishop of Glasgow, had aged noticeably from his spell in an English dungeon.
He quavered painfully.
My lordswe cannot break up so. The government of the realm, in this disarray. It is our bounden duty, before God and the people of Scotland, to take further steps for the better rule of the land. My Lords Guardian, you must see it?
I see it. Bruce acceded briefly, but shrugged helplessly.
Comyn showed no reaction.
The Crown rests in two hands, the old prelate went on, panting a little, Those two hands may be strong, but they … they are scarce in harmony. Why should there not be three hands? If there is joint guardianship, there could likewise be triple guardianship.
I commend such to you. I commend to you all my lord Bishop of St. Andrews, Primate and spokesman of Holy Church in this land, as Joint Guardian with the Earl of Carrick and the Lord of Badenoch.
Into the hum of excited comment, James the Steward, Wish arts old colleague, managed to make thick interjection.
I agree. I say, I agree.
Bruce was about to announce hearty and thankful approval, when Lamberton himself caught his eye and almost imperceptibly shook his head, before looking expectantly at Comyn. Bruce held back, in belated recognition that what he signified approval of, his rival would almost automatically oppose.
Comyn> narrow-eyed, kept them waiting, while he weighed and calculated.
It was his kinsman, the Lord Privy Seal, who, spoke.
>
Here is a notable proposal. Which could well serve the realm, I think. Whatever was his reason, Master William was being very cooperative this day.
Ignoring Bruce entirely, Comyn turned to Buchan.
How think you, Cousin? Shall we have the priest?
Lamberton actually raised a hand involuntarily to restrain the hot flood that rose to Bruces lips.
The Constable had the grace to flush.
The rule of the realm must go on, he muttered.
Very well. So be it. The Red Comyn turned away, with a half-shrug, towards the table.
Nowthese papers … ?
My lord …! Robert Wishart gasped.
My lordthe Earl of Carrick I Do you agree?
Strangle-voiced, Bruce got it out.
Aye.
God be praised! The old mans voice broke.
Then … I declare … he is … I declare the Bishop of St. Andrews is Guardian of the realm. My lord, my good lord …!
The assembly at last broke up in disorder. But the thing was done. There were now three Guardians in Scotland. And one, men acknowledged with relief, was strong enough and supple enough perhaps for the unenviable task of holding the balance between the other two.
After the signing and sealing there was no pretence at further cooperation between the two great factions. It was clear that despite the rain, Comyn was for heading north again at once. He was going, he declared loudly, back to real work, after his bellyful of clerks, idlers, poltroons and their talk, back to the siege of Stirling. Others could go where they wouldto hell, if need be I Watching the Comyns and their following ride off, Bruce pale faced, fists clenched, found his shoulder gripped by William Lamberton.
My son, my very good friendmay God reward you for your restraint this day, the Bishop-Guardian said.
It cost you dear, I know. Butit saved the kingdom. Not once, but many times. I thank you, my lord, from the bottom of my heart.
I reel soiled. Besmirched. The name of Bruce spat upon. Trampled by that… that devil! That braggart!
The Steps to the Empty Throne bt-1 Page 26