The Steps to the Empty Throne bt-1

The Steps to the Empty Throne bt-1 Page 32

by Nigel Tranter

  “Witless one, indeed I Think you I would be here now, otherwise? Think you I write such letters to any man in need? Why think you I resisted all the King’s schemes to marry me to others?

  Worked on my father to oppose him in this …?”

  “And I did not know it I I believed that you might think a little kindly of me, yes. When you wrote so. And when last we met, and parted. But never this …”

  “You would not have had me to declare my love, sirrah? Before you did? Bold I maybe, but scarce so brazen. Though, mercy on us, few might agree! If they could see me lying bare as the day I was born, in a man’s arms. On this island. Waiting. Waiting for …”

  “Aye, waiting. For the man to become a man again! As he will, my love-I promise you I You aiding him! You know men, I think? How it is with men. That is clear …”

  “You mean that I am no shy virgin? Does it trouble you?”

  “No. Not so …”

  “Few girls grow to womanhood in warrent Ireland and remain virgin. Even de Burgh’s daughter. In especial, de Burgh’s daughter, it may be I For I was not of the shrinking sort, I fear.

  And I have managed my father’s household since I was fifteen, played the countess since my mother died. But, if I am less than chaste, Robert, I am no harlot. Many men would have me. But I have known none since I saw you that day on the road to Berwick.

  When you unseated me. Overturned me, in more than my litter …!”

  “My dear—you shame me. For I have been less-, less constant.

  Lacking you. Scarce believing that I should ever have you. I am not so enamoured of virginity. In woman or man. Any mouse, any craven, can be a virgin. You, I would not expect to be. Nor wish. Although, see you, once you are my wife …!”

  “Wife? Then you would wed me, my lord?” That came a little more quickly than what had gone before.

  “What else, woman? Elizabeth de Burgh lies thus, and asks?”

  “Elizabeth de Burgh loves. And gives. And takes. But… marriage.

  That is other. That is what King Edward desires. Now.

  You may not wish to seem to humour him?”

  “Aye. Edward would use us, no doubt. We must see that he does not.

  Or only insofar as it serve us.”

  “That is why I was cool to you. Before the Queen. I would not have you forced into marrying me! I have that much pride…”

  “And a little more, I trunk. But forced into marrying me you will be I By myself I By you. None other. If you will have me?

  For not only do I greatly love you, Elizabeth, my heart. But I need

  you by my side. Always. Will you wed the ruined Earl of Carrick, Ulster’s daughter?”

  She ran her fingers lightly over his face.

  “Perhaps I might.

  Indeed, I feel wed to you now. This, it may be, is our true marriage.

  Yes, Elizabeth de Burgh will wed Robert de Bruce. And hold him fast Till death do them part.” She shivered.

  He made to draw the cloaks and clothing closer about them.

  “It was not cold.” she said.

  “It was a sort of joy.”

  “Joy?” Suddenly he was sombre, lying there.

  “I fear mat being wife to Robert Bruce will not be all joy. I am scarce the sort of husband to offer you peace and comfort, lass. I was born to trouble, I think. I have lived with it for long. And see scant signs of betterment ahead. Whatever Edward promises…”

  “Am I one to shirk trouble, think you? Ulster’s daughter?”

  “No. No, I think not.”

  “And Ulster’s daughter can bring the Earl of Carrick more than her heart and body. My father is the greatest lord in Ireland.

  He can field more gallowglasses than any man in all Scotland. He is rich, with a score of castles, and manors by the hundred. My dowry will not be scanty. And, allied to Ulster, Bruce will not be weakened.”

  “Aye. This I have not failed to think on. But … Edward must have thought of it also. And your father is his closest friend.”

  “Close, but not servile. He has opposed the King many times.

  Is indeed well placed to do so. He is no man’s puppet.”

  “Yet I swear Edward believes this match to his benefit.”

  “He can make mistakes. He has made many. He misjudges your coming to Linlithgow, does he not?”

  “That is my hope. But—who knows? Edward is … Edward.

  He is no fool. I am at a loss to know what he plans for me. Not only in this of the marriage. It is strange. He gets me here, offering great things. Many things. To my advantage. And when I am at my lowest. Least danger to him. Apparently forgiving all my rebellion. Why? It is not like him. He would use me against Comyn, of course ..

  .”

  “Yes. I think that he sees you as the best way of dividing Scotland.

  So my father believes. If he is to keep Scotland down, without each year having to come campaigning in war, he must keep the Scots divided against themselves…”

  “Always we are that, by the Rude I Without Edward’s aid!”

  “Perhaps. But that means that one side must not win in this struggle.

  For if it does, the land will be united behind the winner.

  At this present, your enemy Comyn grows too strong. Matters have gone his way, while you have suffered and lost ground. So Edward would build you up again. Lest all men nock to Comyn. Who, it is said, would try for the throne. This above all must be stopped. The King would even make you Governor of Scotland, I think. His governor. Or so says the Queen. But, get you too strong, in turn; let Comyn be brought low—and he will bring you down. It is simple. He has come to know the Scots.

  How you ever fight amongst yourselves. So he uses you.”

  “Aye. It could be . But, offering so much? You, in marriage.

  Why so much?”

  “He is a strange man. I believe he has a true fondness for you. Of a sort. He would bind you to him if he could. If you would play his game, he would cherish you, I think. But you would wholly have to accept his rule of Scotland.”

  “That I will never do. I am Bruce.”

  “He still must believe he can win you, bribe you, frighten you, hold you. He will work on you, seek to mould you, as a potter moulds his clay. Use you and mould you.”

  “I am no clay to be moulded. I will watch him always. Like a hawk. And seek to use him. Make him win Scotland for me I With your help, my dear.”

  “So you stay? Here, with Edward. In what he calls his peace?”

  “So long as I may. With profit. And you, my wife. Is that not what you would wish? Why you sent the message I should come? By St. John.”

  “It is, yes. But—there are dangers in it. For you. Let the King once suspect you are but waiting to turn against him, and he will be ruthless. Without mercy. However fond he may seem.”

  “I know it. And you? What of you? If you are my wife?”

  “I shall be Elizabeth de Bruce,” she said simply.

  “Aye, bless you. But it could be to your grievous hurt. What would you have me to do?”

  “I would have you to be what you are. To do what you must.

  I do not like puppets. That dance to any man’s strings. Or woman’s!”

  “Or woman’s …? I think, my love … that I am prepared to dance!

  Now. To your string, again ..!” His voice had gone thick, husky.

  She gurgled willing laughter. Affairs of state and dynasties went

  down before the assault of still more elemental forces.

  They were wed within the month, in the handsome Church of St. Michael, which shared the green hill with Linlithgow Castle, in ceremonial and magnificence seldom seen in Scotland—all at the King’s own planning and expense. Edward himself aiding her father to lead the bride to the altar. Old Bishop Wishan of Glasgow officiated, assisted, of all men, by Bishop Beck of Durham—Bruce acceding with a sort of grim forbearance which he was coming to wear like a garment. He would have wished his friend William Lamberton to have married them, but the Primate was still in France; anyway, Edward might not have permitte
d it in a protege” of Wallace. For, whatever else he might be prepared to wink at meantime, he would not countenance the man Wallace as other than a lowborn outlaw. No fewer than fifteen earls attended, and the King may have rubbed his hands that four of them were Scots who had fought against him—Atholl, Lennox, Menteith and Strathearn—this not counting the child Earl of Mar who acted page to his uncle. James the Steward was there, with his lady, Egidia de Burgh, sister of Ulster. Also many of the sore-battered lords of Bruce’s party. Of the other faction, needless to say, none came or were invited. It was noticeable mat few Scots churchmen graced the occasion; less so that none of Wallace’s people came.

  Seldom can there have been a marriage so politically contrived, where bride and groom cooperated so satisfactorily.

  PART THREE

  Chapter Sixteen

  Spring came a deal earlier and more kindly to Southern England than it ever did to Scotland, Bruce noted. Already, in March, there was a lightness in the air, a stirring in the woodlands and copses, and a trilling of larks above the rich Essex plain, such as would not be seen in Scotland for a month yet. It was the first spring that he had ever spent in the fair, fat English countryside, despite the presence of Bruce properties here, and he savoured all with a sort of rueful appreciation, all the signs of peace and security, of wealth and ease and genial living mat he saw around him. Rueful, for settled and assured as it was, it was all ephemeral, hardly real, for him. This was but an interlude; and though something in his nature responded to it all, he knew that it was not for him, in fact ever, suitably as he and his might appear to blend with the goodly scene, there and then.

  For it was not only the rich landscape and air of wellbeing which affected him, but his own present seeming identity with it all. Surely the condition of few men could have Deen so radically transformed in one short war? He rode to London, from his father’s great manor of Hatfield Broadoak, like any prince, summoned to celebrate the Shrove-tide carnivals with the King.

  Dressed with a richness to which he had never hitherto aspired even in his most extravagant youth, with his wife as splendid on his right, he rode, magnificently mounted, his brother Nigel brilliant as a peacock at his other side with their cousin Gloucester, married to Edward’s daughter. Horsed musicians made melody for them as they went, and half a hundred lords and knights and their ladies trotted behind him, glad to do so. For none was higher in King Edward’s apparent regard than the Earl of Carrick, none more smiled upon, more liberally favoured. Where the unpredictable monarch heaped gifts and privileges, much could overflow to others conveniently nearby.

  At least there was no danger of all this prosperity going to Bruce’s

  head. Indeed, Elizabeth not infrequently chid him with being

  unnecessarily wary and foreboding about it. His contention that

  Edward could, and would, as easily take it all away again, she admitted—but pointed out that by no means all of it was the King’s to give or take back. Her own handsome dowry of 10,000 pounds for instance, and the ten manors that went with it. The revenues of the Bruce English estates, which were much larger than either of them had realised, and more wealthy, having an accumulation of receipts scarcely touched for years—with Robert Bruce senior now an ailing shadow of his former self, all but a bed-ridden recluse, spending nothing. Moreover, although the King could remove him from the wardship of the far-away earldom of Mar, in theory, the amassed products of it, thriftily garnered by the careful Gartnait, were already at Bruce’s disposal.

  He was prepared to concede that all this might be so. But experience had made him chary of good fortune. Though meantime he agreed that it might be wise to spend lavishly—since it all might not be his to spend for much longer. And there was such a thing as making friends with the mammon of un righteousness while you had it.

  The laughing, resounding company made gay progress through London’s narrow streets—even though the smells caught at their breaths—but at the Palace of Westminster there was a different atmosphere, decorated for carnival but with no heralds or emissaries sent to greet them, or even welcoming smiles. Sober faced guards and courtiers indicated that Majesty was in wrathful mood. There was bad news from Scotland.

  They found the Great Hall, hung with evergreens and coloured lanterns, and set for feasting, thronged with anxious-looking men and women, who stood in groups and spoke low-voiced. While many turned to bow to Lancaster and Gloucester, it was noticeable that most looked askance at Bruce. They were motioned onwards to the throne-room, where the King was holding a hurriedly-called Council.

  A pursuivant slipped in ahead, to inform of their arrival—but it was ominous how long it was, despite the illustriousness of the waiters, before he returned to beckon forward the leaders of the Essex party. Moreover, he signed to the Gloucester Herald not to trumpet the entrance of his lord. Royal Gilbert of Gloucester, Edward’s son-in-law as well as Bruce’s cousin, looked distinctly chilly at such treatment.

  But when they entered the throne-room, Elizabeth holding back a little reluctantly with the other ladies, any petty irritation was quickly lost in sheerest apprehension and alarm. There was absolute silence, save for the sound of heavy breathing from the throne at the far end of the chamber. Right down the long central table men sat stiffly, looking as though they would have risen to their feet, but dared not.

  Edward Plantagenet, angry, was a fearsome sight—and worse, emanated a terrifying aura, like a baited bull about to charge. But a cunning, killer-bull would charge with shrewd deadliness rather than blind fury. He sat hunched forward, purple of face, great head out-thrust, jaw working slowly, rhythmically.

  The newcomers bowed—and received no acknowledgement.

  Gloucester coughed.

  “My lord Edward—greetings, sire. Had you sent word to us of this Council, we would have attended earlier.”

  The King ignored him. He was staring at Bruce.

  That young man, requiring all his hardihood, held his head high and stared back.

  “Perfidious … rebellious … dogs!” Edward said, at length, enunciating each word as though savouring it.

  “Base … treacherous . dastards! Scots!”

  Bruce held his tongue if not his peace.

  “After my royal patience I My clemency. My forbearance. All wasted. Spurned. Spat upon! By graceless rogues and lowborn scum! But, by God’s precious blood, they shall suffer I I swear it!”

  Bruce did not feel it incumbent upon him to argue.

  “Speak, then—curse you!” the King roared suddenly, jabbing a finger towards Bruce, all men jumping.

  “Speak, man. You-Bruce! These are your friends, your precious countrymen. You are all alike—murderous rebels!”

  The other gestured with his hand.

  “How may I speak, Sire, until Your Majesty informs me what’s to do? I know nothing of this.”

  “Aye—you would say I Why should I believe you? Are you more to be trusted than the rest? Working against me, despite all I have done for you? There has been bloody rebellion in Scotland.

  Widespread attack. The slaughter of my servants. It is the ruffian Wallace—I swear it I Behind all. Returned, and spurring on lesser rogues and knaves to murder and treason. It is not to be borne! You Knew Wallace had returned, I vow?”

  “I had heard so, Sire. But I have been in England with you, since before the truce expired in November. If hostilities have now been resumed …”

  “Hostilities resumed …!” Edward all but choked.

  ”Traitorous revolt and shameful massacre—and you name it

  hostilities!” The King, crouching, part rose from his throne as though he would launch himself down the chamber at Bruce. But, drawing a deep gulping breath, he swung round instead, to point at a cleric who sat at a side table.

  “You,” he commanded, “tell him.”

  It was the same Master John Benstead, former royal pantryman who had once lorded it at Lochmaben. Bruce had not noticed him. He stood, a hunched crow of a man, bowing deeply.

  “Your gracious Maj
esty-where do I begin? I do not know how much the Earl of Carrick, and these other lords, may know.”

  “Begin at the beginning, fool! But be quick about it.”

  “Yes, Sire. To be sure, Sire.” The Pander turned his chalk-white face in the direction of Bruce.

  “Since the truce ended there have been small risings all over South Scotland. Attacks on castles, on the King’s garrisons. Ambuscades. The work of the man Wallace and his brigands, no doubt. Sir John Lord Segrave, His Highness’s Governor, made protest to him they call the Guardian, the Lord of Badenoch, who followed on Sir John de Soulis. You know of this …?”

  Bruce nodded. De Soulis had relinquished the guardianship in order to go in person to France, with Buchan and de Umfraville, on the return of Wallace and Lamberton, with new proposals about Baliol; and John Comyn had had himself appointed sole Guardian in his place, with the Bruce faction for the time being out of the running.

  “The Lord of Badenoch made insolent reply. So His Majesty commanded Governor Segrave—brother to Sir Nicholas, whom you had occasion to know, my lord, at Lochmaben I—to march north from Berwick. With 20,000 men. To punish Wallace’s outlaws, who were in the Tor Wood of Stirling. He reached Roslin, in Lothian, in the valley of the Esk, his army in three divisions.

  And encamped for the night…”

  “The fool! The thrice-accursed dolt!” Majesty interrupted.

  “To encamp, apart. In three arrays. In such close valley as the Esk.”

  “Yes, my lord King. The Scots, under the Lord of Badenoch himself, fell upon Sir John’s array, while yet it slept. With great slaughter. In unfair fight. A shameful thing, unworthy of Christian men! Many were slain, some fled, but most were taken prisoner. Sir John himself, and his son. Also Sir Nicholas, his brother. And my own self. Then came the word that our second array was warned, and advancing to our aid, under Master Ralph Manton, Cofferer to Your Majesty’s Wardrobe. The Scots were then beyond all in villainy. Before facing Manton, they slew all the captives. In wanton slaughter. Without mercy. Sir John and Sir Nicholas with the rest. Sixteen other knights, and all their men. Myself and one or two others they spared. Because we were priests. But all others were butchered …”

 

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