Each one will be worth many of my own, wisely used, lad.
You would not begrudge me them? In your loyalty?
Bruce looked at his wife, helplessly. She nodded, almost imperceptibly.
I
shall go with my lord, to aid him, Sire, she said.
You would not part husband and wife?
Alas, my dearI fear it is necessary. The Queen requires your presence. She greatly leans on you. And this is mens work-mustering forces and hanging rebels. Not such as you may aid in.
Moreover, lassyou will but bring Robert back the quieter, will you not? To win back to your side I swear I would do all in notable haste! It will be so with him, I vow.
There was silence in that tent for a space.
Then Edward laughed.
But, save usI have almost forgot the good dings! En, John? From France. As you know, my uncouth allies the Flemings surprised and defeated my good brother-in-law of France at Courtrai. Last July. His fortunes have scarce mended since. The foolish fellow has come to blows with His Holiness of Rome! So I have had to act to save him from himself-as kinsman should I Now, at last, he has signed a peace. No truce, but a final peace. After all these years, England and France are at peace. The Holy See also. Is this not excellent?
Bruce drew a deep breath.
And … the terms?
Terms? Why, scarce any, Robert. Merely some … adjustments.
To our mutual advantage. One which will rejoice your heart, I have little doubt. The man Baliol to be held secure in his own house at Bailleulen-Vimeu. Henceforth. He and his son.
Never to return to Scotland. Does this not please you?
The other knowing Edward Plantagenet, did not commit himself.
One or two other small matters. We have, as it were, exchanged our allies! Problems, as they were. I relinquish all interest in Flanders and the Flemingsa small loss! And Philip le Bel relinquishes all interest in Scotland and the Scots. As is only proper. So an ages-old stumbling block is removed. Is it not satisfactory?
Hoarsely Bruce spoke.
And the Pope?
Why, Pope Boniface also joins in this goodwill. He declares Scotland and Flanders, both, in wicked rebellion. And all who bear arms against me, or Philip, their lawful sovereigns, in danger of hellfire! Were you not wise, my good Robert, to submit to my peace when you did?
Wordless, Elizabeth moved over, to put her arm in Bruces, a simple but eloquent gesture which drew a quick frown from the King.
You seem less joyful than you should, my lord, he grated, suddenly harsh, accusing.
Should I rejoice, Sire, to see my country utterly betrayed and abandoned? By all. By its most ancient ally. Even by Holy Church?
Betrayed, sirrah! You to say that? Robert Bruce speaks of betrayal!
When the younger man answered nothing but looked steadily, directly into the others choleric eyes, the King thrust out a jabbing, pointing hand.
We shall see. None betrays Edward, and does not suffer. And Edward
is Scotland. Now. Forget it at your perilyou, or any.
You will leave at once. Tonight. Ride with Sir John. For Ayr.
See you to it. Without any other leave-taking, he turned abruptly and strode from the tent, de Botetourt silent at his heels.
Husband and wife turned to gaze at each other. After a moment, Elizabeth flung herself into the mans arms.
It was many months before Bruce saw his wife again, appalling months for Scotland and grievous for Robert Bruce; months in which Edward stormed his brutally determined way northwards, by Perth and Coupar and Arbroath and Brechin, over the mouth to Aberdeen, and onwards to Banff and Elgin and Kinloss, within sight of the blue mountains of Ross; further than he or any other invader had ever gone, leaving utter desolation behind him in a blackened swathe from the sea to the Highland hills. One by one the Comyns northern strongholds had fallen until the last remote strength of Lochindorb, on its island in deepest Strathspey, was brought low, and no major strength in all the land, save only Stirling Castle, remained opposed to the conqueror. That is, except for the eyries of Highland chiefs who were interested in neither the one side nor the other.
During those months Bruce in fact sent no thousands of West countrymen to increase the Kings mighty northern host. It had not been easy to avoid doing sobut after long battling with Edward personally, he found his bastard son de Botetourt rather less hard to get round. Not Sir John was a lenient guard or mild of temperamentquite the reverse; but he lacked his sires shrewdness and experience, and Bruce was able to deceive him where he could not have done the King. He managed time and again to put off the required transfer of men, mainly on the grounds that they were more urgently needed there in the West than by the so victorious monarch. He ensured that this was so by secretly fomenting strategically-sited and timed revolts and uprisings in various parts of his domains and sheriffdomsnot too difficult to do here in his own earldom. His newly-mustered vassals and levies were kept busy dashing hither and thither in Galloway and Carrick, ostensibly keeping King Edwards peace.
Edward himself would have seen through it and clamped down sternly. De Botetourt may have suspected, but he could prove nothing, and was somewhat beyond his depth in dealing with Bruce. Moreover he could not deny the need to put down all armed rising in the rear of the Prince of Wales army, and was much aware of the threat of a link-up with Wallace, who was still active in the central forests and marshes between Clyde and Fortha danger which Bruce never failed to stress. The Prince, too, was unhappy in his Galloway adventure, finding that vast province a most awkward place to campaign in, as others had done before him. He sent conflicting demands to Botetourt and the Sheriff of Ayrand Bruce was glad on more than one occasion to despatch south to him parties of men who should have gone north to Edward.
But it was a dire and sorry business, for all however great a relief it was to be quit of the monarchs personal presence. His bastard made a sullen and unattractive companion, and Bruce had also to put up with quite a lot of his old foe Clifford, whom the Prince had installed as a sort of governor of Annandale and keeper of Lochmaben. Oddly enough, Clifford had as lieutenants two men who Bruce had thought to be deadthe Lord Segrave, demoted and disgraced but still alive; and Sir Robert Neville, also alleged to have been slain at Roslin. Apparently Master Benstead had not been entirely to be trusted as informant and courier.
It was with mixed feelings, men, that in early October, Bruce received a peremptory summons from Edward, sent from the castle of his own nephew and ward, at Kildrummy in Aberdeenshire, to come north forthwith, still in de Botetourts care. Presumably the King had come to accept the fact the West experiment had failed, and that Bruce would be of more value in the North where, for his own interests, he might be expected to desire to keep down any resurgence of the Comyn power. Edward had cancelled his appointments as Sheriff or Ayr and Lanark, making him instead Sheriff of Moray, Nairn and Inverness, and reminding him that he was keeper of the royal forests of Kintore, Darnaway and Longmorn, as well as controller of the earldom of Mar. In name, at any rate. Edward himself was returning south, to winter at Dunfermline in life; Bruce was to hold the North, in his name, against any attempt of Comyn. But he would not be left to hold it alone; he would have ample help. Which meant that he still would be a well-guarded prisoner.
So, with the shortening days, Bruce and de Botetourt rode northwards
through a ravaged, shattered land. Only the hope that he might find
Elizabeth at the end of his journey gave the former any satisfaction.
In this, at least, he was not disappointed. Edward had left behind at Kildrummy, as well as some few thousand Englishmen, both Elizabeth and her father, Richard de Burgh, to ensure Bruces good behaviour and cooperation in the Norm.
Kildrummy was good for Robert Bruce. As on the previous visit, he was able partly to relax, here amongst the skirts of the great H
ighland mountains. The air, the people, the entire tempo and tenor of life was different, easier, more genial. The stresses and strains of war and dynastic manoeuvre seemed far away, and even Edwards heavy hand had made but little impression on this mighty land of vast horizons. He had burned a few towns in Aberdeenshire and Moray, yes; but the people hereabouts did not live in towns and villages, being a pastoral folk wide-scattered over a thousand hills and valleys. It was strange that this should be the fierce Comyns land, for it seemed out of sympathy with all he stood for. Or so mused Bruce that Yuletide, as 1303 gave way to 1304.
He had not, in fact, come to blows with John Comyn as yet, that man having kept his distance. Word of him came intermittently from places wide apart, mainly in the WestGalloway, the Lennox, Argyll, and as near as Lochaber He was still free, still resisting after a. fashion, still sole Guardian of Scotland; but he could effect little, fugitive rather than commander or ruler, and for some reason he avoided the North-East, where Bruce, in name at least, now governedand where he and Buchan and the other Comyns might between them have raised many thousands more men. Bruce often wondered whybut he was thankful.
Such thoughts were always at the back of his mindeven as he stood this Yuletide night in the hall of Kildrummy, eyeing the pleasantly domestic scene. By the light of two great log fires and many candles, a childrens game was in progress, involving Donald, the boy Earl of Mar, Marjory Bruce, and young John de Strathbogie, heir to the Atholl earldom. Assisting were Elizabeth, Christian, Countess of Mar who was taking her widowhood philosophically, and, crawling about on hands and knees, none other than Richard, Earl of Ulster. The last, with a few drinks to aid him, made an excellent charger for Donald, replacing Bruce, exhausted and sore of knee. The ladies undoubtedly had the best of this game, requiring only to look gracious, curtsy occasionally, and commend the noisy activities or the children. Elizabeth and Christian were already close friends, although so different in temperament. The former was taking her new step motherly duties seriously.
Bruce was laughing heartily and heartlessly at his father-in law, an excellent thing, when a servant came unobtrusively up to him.
My lord, a friar has come seeking you. A ragged, wandering friar, but asking for your lordships self. Secretly. He says you will see him if I say he comes from Stowburgh or some such.
Stowburgh .. ? HaStobo! Stobo, is it? Bruce glanced over at the others quickly, caught his sisters eye, and shook his head briefly.
Then he slipped out, with the servit or
It was Lamberton, as he had guessed, a weary and dishevelled figure to be Primate of Scotland. This device of dressing as a begging friar might enable him to move about the land with some freedom, but only on foot and with the minimum comfort.
The Bishop looked almost an old man, although he was little more than forty. Last time Bruce had seen his friend, he had been disguised thus. It was two years ago.
Stiffly formal until they could be alone in a private room, the two men then gripped each other with some emotion.
God be praised for the sight of you! Lamberton said unsteadily.
It is long, long. I have feared if ever I would see you again. Feared that I was a done and broken man. Priest of a done and broken land. And you lost to both of us…
Not that, my friendnot that. I am not lost. Yet! Although at times I know not where I go. Which way. Whether indeed there is anywhere to go. Save into the Plantagenets bloody arms!
Where most men think me already, I swear!
They looked at each other.
Were we wrong, then? In error? the Bishop asked.
In what we put our hands to?
God knows. But we have achieved little. Or, I have. Save sorrow and affliction, the land destroyed. Everywhere, save in Galloway, Edward supreme. Myself a watched puppet, forced to dance to this tune. You, head of the Holy Church, a furtive skulker, forced to creep and crawl, hungry …!
The land is not destroyed. Not yet. Nor, pray God, ever will be.
Sore stricken, yes. But not beat, not destroyed. He paused for a
moment.
And something is achieved, at least. What I came chiefly to tell you.
Comyn will yield. He is seeking terms from Edward.
So-o-o I Comyn! He is beat, then?
Aye. Or, shall we say, forced to a new course. There has been great talking, great debate, great wrath. John Comyn sees no nope of success in this warfare. He will yield if Edward accepts him to what he calls his peace. And restores him to these his Comyn lands.
His lands! Aye, his lands. Now that the North, his lands, are in Edwards hands, the man is less bold a campaigner I While it was the South, it mattered not! His lands are his price, then!
Part of it. And I think that Edward knew it, always. He is shrewd, cunning. That is why you are here, my friend. Edward knew that you, sitting supreme in the Comyns lands, was more than the man could stomach. If it had been just the English, he might have bin low, left them and hoped for better days. But Bruce … So he yields to Edward. On terms. And your removal from the North, his sheriffdoms back againthese are his terms.
As Edward foresaw from the first, I do swear!
Dear God I Plantagenet … and Comyn I Curse them both-they are the
bane of my life! They stand between me and all that is worth having
…
Lamberton looked at him steadily.
At least the throne is safe from him, now. Him and Baliol both. This of France and the Pope. Ill as it is, it means Baliol will never return to Scotland.
So… the throne stands vacant. As never before.
Bruce drew a long quivering breath. Then abruptly he changed the subject.
Comyn would yield, then. But what of the others?
There is more man John Comyn opposing Edward.
All see it as Comyn doessave one. All will yield. Save William Wallace.
HaWallace! Aye, Wallace will not yield. Ever. And who supports Wallace?
None. Save his own band. And William Lamberton!
Save usso it has come to mat? We are back to where we started!
Not quite, friend. Not quite. There is an evil here you may not have thought on. When Comyn yields, it will be as Guardian of Scotland. This Edward requires, and this Comyn will agree.
So he yields Scotland, not just John Comyn. And yielding Scotland to
Edwards peace, leaves Wallace, who will not yield, an undoubted and
disavowed rebel and outlaw. And those who aid
But that would be betrayal! Throwing him to the wolves!
Will Comyn care for that? He has ever hated and despised the man. Though, see you, we must give Comyn his due. He has fought bravely and ably. Moreover, there is more to the terms he seeks than just his own weal. In surrendering Scotland he asks that our laws and liberties be protected. And that there should be no disinheritance of other lords lands as well as his own. But he will not speak for Wallace.
What are we to do, then? What can we do?
Nothing, I fear. I tried to sway Comyn, but to no avail. Wallace will have to look to himself. Edward will never treat with him. But the people will aid him. He has their love …
Aye. And what guidance do you have for me? In my present state?
Bruce asked.
That you endure, Robertthat is all. Endure. Seem to go along with Edward, where you may with any honour. Your time, if it comes, will only come out of patient endurance. As will Scotlands.
Bruces sigh of acceptance of that was almost a groan.
Lamberton would not, dare not, stay at Kildrummy, tired as he was. At any time someone might recognise the Primate. Given food and money for his further journeying, he was not long in taking leave of his friend, commending him to Gods care, and then slipping out into the cold and windy dark, quietly as he had come. He was going to Wallace, somewhere in the Tor Wood,
a hundred miles to the south.
A month later, in early February, the anticipated summons had come from Dunfermline. The Earl of Carrick, no longer it seemed Sheriff of Moray, Nairn and Inverness, was to be brought south without delay, by order of the Kings Majesty. As bald and unvarnished as that.
The Kildrummy party found a changed atmosphere prevailing when they reached the ancient grey town on the north side of Forth, from which Malcolm Canmore had ruled Scotland. The smoke of war had dispersed, superseded by the smell of triumph.
The Scots had finally surrendered-or all of them that were worth
acknowledging. Comyn, the so-called Guardian, was due to yield himself
two days hence, at Strathord near Perth, and Edward was in expansive
mood. He welcomed them all affably, publicly commended Bruce for his alleged notable aid in bringing the rebels to heel in the North, and announced more or less unlimited wassail and celebration to mark the establishment of peace, Edwards final and distinctive brand of peace. A parliament would be held to formalise mattersan English parliament, of course, but with some suitable Scots taking their places.
Bygones would be bygones.
The first large-scale demonstration of the new genial dispensation was not the parliament but an elaborate reception, at Dunfermline, of the surrendered Scots leadership. Edward had a fondness for defeated opponents in clanking chains, wearing sackcloth and ashes, and otherwise emphasising the evident; but on this occasion it was to be different. The victor would be magnanimous, and the vanquished made aware of how mistaken and foolish, as well as wicked, they had been.
The ceremony was held in the Abbey itself, since the English earlier had burned down the Great Hall of the palace, one of the finest buildings in the land. It was packed, for the occasion, with half the nobility of England, and all foreign ambassadors.
Bruce found himself very much part of the proceedings, to his discomfiture. The King and Queen had thrones set up within the chancel, with the Prince of Wales seated a little to one side. Bruce was commanded to come and stand directly at Edwards left hand, with Ulster at the right, Elizabeth being required to take up a similar position beside the Queen, with her aunt, the Stewards wife, at the right. Not only so, but the Bruce brothers, with the exception of Alexander, who was still at Cambridge, had been summoned to Dunfermline also, and were now placed behind the thrones. None looked any more happy than their elder brother; but there was no doubt that the impression given was the Bruce family was the principal support of the King as far as Scotland was concerned.
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