When all was in readiness, a fanfare of trumpets sounded, and the great church doors were thrown open. Then, as musicians played a funereal dirge, the Scots filed in.
Edward evidently had been concerned to make this a very different affair from the somewhat similar occasion eight years before, at Stracathro parish church, when John Baliol had made his submission. Now the iron fist was to be hidden in the velvet glove. There was no armour, little steel, and certainly no warhorses in sight. The King and his whole Court were in a glittering splendour of gold, silver and jewellery, velvets, satins and silks. The Scots had also been told to eschew all armour and warlike garband a sorry, ragged, threadbare crew they looked in consequence, patched and out-at-elbows. For these were men surrendered only after long and unsuccessful campaigning in the field, living rough and in the saddle. Their armour, however rusty and battered, would have had some dignity; but denied it they had come to court little better than a band of scarecrows.
They held their heads the higher therefore, of coursebut it was difficult to maintain any martial carriage shuffling forward to the slow strains of a dirge.
Three gorgeously-apparelled English heralds led, setting the desperately slow pace. Then, alone, paced John Comyn, the Guardian.
Bruce, watching, was almost sorry for his enemy. Not that the man looked humbled, or other than a proud fighter forced to take part in folly; but unkempt, unshaven, shabbily-clad and obviously weary, he represented defeat, a grievous state for the Lord of Badenoch. He did not hang his head, however, but, avoiding looking at the King, stared levelly at Bruce as he walked.
Behind him came Lamberton, the Steward, Buchan the Constable and the Earls of Lennox and Strathearn. The Steward was better dressed than the others; perhaps his wife had managed to smuggle clothing to him. The Primate was not in his wandering friars rags, but not a great deal finer. Buchan was limping from a leg wound. Lamberton exchanged a quick glance with Bruce, and then gazed straight ahead.
There followed the main body of the Scots lords, temporal and spiritual, led by de Umfraville, the former Guardian, the Lord of Crawford, the Bishops of Glasgow and Galloway, Master William Comyn. De Soulis was still in France, Wallaces enormous figure notably absent.
The sight of them all stirred a great wave of emotion in Bruce.
These grim years he had sought to steel himself against emotion, a weakness he could not afford. But in the face of his former associates and comrades in arms, thin, war-ravaged, humiliated, he groaned a littlethough he did not know it. He saw himself as they must see him, and swallowed.
Edward, smiling genially and tossing comments and identities to his
wife loudly, waited until no more of the surrendered Scots could be
crammed into the great church. Even after a trumpet had stilled the
mournful music and a herald demanded silence for the Kings Majesty,
he chatted on, apparently casual, to the Queen, to Ulster, to Brucehowever un forthcoming the latter.
Then, as the ranks before him fidgeted, stirred, he gestured to them.
Welcome, friends, to my peace, he exclaimed.
You come belatedly to my Court and presence. But now here, you are welcome.
None attempted answer to that.
So many faces well known to me, the King went on, jovially.
Some less ruddy, it may be, than when last I saw them! So many who swore fealty to me at Berwick, that dayeh, Robert my friend? You were there assisting!
Scarce assisting, Sire. Then. Any more than today. That was level, almost expressionless, from stiff lips.
Edward ignored it.
Friends of yours. Friends of my ownor so they swore! Absent friendsso long absent. Now wisely returned to my peace. But … less wise than you, Robert. Better that they had followed your lead the sooner?
Biting his lip, Bruce forced himself to meet Comyns baleful stare.
Edward actually turned in his throne, to grin at the younger man.
You are silent, lad? Does the sight of these your friends distress you? On my oath, it should not! For you greatly aided in bringing them here, did you not?
You credit me with too much, Sire, Bruce got out.
I have done nothing. Towards this.
Hayou were not always so modest, Robert! How say you, my lord of Badenoch? Are not youis not all this Scotland-beholden to my lord of Carrick for leading the way into my peace? And then labouring valiantly to establish it.
Comyn bowed, wordless.
Another modest man! Edwards smile was wearing thin.
Yet you both set yourselves up to rule this realm of mine. In my place. And that is treason is it not, my lords?
Into the quivering quiet which greeted the enunciation of that dread word, it was William Lamberton who spoke.
My lord King, he said clearly, firmly, the Lord of Badenoch, as Guardian of Scotland, has surrendered on terms. We with him. To which terms Your Majesty has assented. We are here to claim those terms. There was not, and could not be, treason. From Scots, to the King of England. But even had there been, you annulled it. By treating. This is established usage, known by all.
Which none can contest.
Gods eyes-you are bold, Sir Priest! You will be the clerk, Lamberton! Whom the outlaw Wallace raised up.
I am William Lamberton, appointed to the see of St. Andrews by the Guardian and Council of Scotland, and consecrated Bishop thereof by His Holiness of Rome.
The Crown appoints to bishoprics, sirrah! And I am the Crown!
Edward thundered.
Hereafter keep silent. No man speaks in my presence save by my invitation.
Bruce flashed a glance of acknowledgement at his friend, who had so evidently sought to divert the Plantagenet from his strategy of seeming to establish Bruce as largely responsible for the downfall of his fellow-countrymen, and so still more deeply dividing Scotland.
Edward turned back to Comyn.
You, my lordif you still have a tongue in your head! Did you or did you not swear fealty to me at Berwick, eight years ago? Do you deny your signature on that Ragmans Roll?
I do not, Sire, the other admitted.
But an oath taken under duress is not binding.
So that is how you keep your word! Why, then, should you expect me to keep mine now? As to these so-called terms.
Your Majesty assented to the terms under no duress. You could have rejected them. We could not have rejected your oath, at Berwick, and saved our heads.
You have a nice sense of honour, sirrah! As well for you Edward of England is otherwise. For, by the Mass, the heads of every one of you should fall this day! As forsworn rebels and traitors. But … I honour my word. Even to such as you. The terms stand. Your lives are spared, your lands are not forfeit. And the laws, customs and liberties of this part of my realm shall remain unchanged. Some of you I shall require to go into exile north of Scotland, at my pleasure. For the better peace of this my realm.
In exchange for these mercies, I accept your fullest surrender.
Yours, and that of all who have risen in arms against me. Save onethe base murderer Wallace! Him I will nowise accept to my peace. Now or ever. It is understood?
Lamberton seemed about to speak again, despite the Kings warning, but Bruces quick head-snaking halted him.
Edward leaned forward, pointing that imperious finger at Comyn.
My lord, where is he? I do not see the man Wallace.
Yet I commanded that you bring him with you. To me. Bound.
Where is he?
Wallace is not a man easily bound. Or brought. Or found. Of this
Your Majesty is well aware. Your servants have sought him often enough
…
Where is he, man? Do not bandy words with me!
I do not know, Sire. Wallace … is Wallace. A man apart. He heeds no mans voice …
He shall heed mine, by Gods wounds! And you also. All of you. See you, ComynI want Wallace and shall have him. I give you command to find him. To deliver him. And I do not give you overlong. Wallace was at that devilish massacre at Roslin. When you slew, as prisoners, better men than yourselves. You commanded there, my lord of Badenoch. With Sir Simon Fraser, Sir Alexander Lindsay of Crawford and Sir David Graham of Dundaff.
I require Wallace of you all. I will do most favour to whosoever shall capture him, in expiation of that vile deed. And let the others beware!
Sirethis was no part of the terms…
Silence! You have heard me. See you to it. As so often happened, Edward Plantagenet tired suddenly of the scene he had himself prepared. Without warning he stood up.
It is enough.
This audience is over. Away with them. He reached over and almost lifted the Queen out of her chair, and turning his back on the entire alarmed assembly, strode with her up the chancel, to the vestry-door, and out.
Belatedly the trumpeters grabbed their instruments and blew a notably ragged and uneven fanfare.
The eyes of Bruce and Comyn met in a long hard glare, before the heralds pushed the latter round and hustled him oft.
Few there contemplated the festivities to follow with any delight.
Chapter Seventeen
Heavily, even tripping a little with weariness on the worn stone steps, Robert Bruce climbed the narrow turnpike stair of the Sea Tower of St. Andrews Castlewell named, with the spray from the surging waves below actually coming in at him through the arrow slit windows as he mounted, and the chill March wind of the North Sea flapping his long mud-stained travelling-cloak. The angle smoking pitch-pine torch-flame, flickering and waving wildly in the draughts, did little to light his footsteps. He cursed as he stumbled for the third time, sword clanking, spurs scrapingbut his cursing was spiritless, automatic, and not only with physical weariness. It seemed a long time since he had even cursed with spirit and enthusiasm.
The door on the third-floor landing was thrown open before even he reached it, and Elizabeth held out welcoming hands to him.
My dear, she said, I prayed that it might be you. Thank God that you are back!
He took her in his arms, and she clung to him, wet as he was.
Bless you, lass! You are the first sight to gladden my eyes in three weeks. He kissed her hungrily, and then held her away at arms-length.
Dear Godyou are bonny! Fairer, more beautiful, than ever, I swear!
You are the saving of me, and that is plain truth.
Has it been so bad, Robert?
Bad? Worse than bad. I have been mocked and trodden under by these English like any condemned felon. Day in, day out. To send me to hunt Wallace was ill enough. But to place me under Clifford, who has ever hated me, and who lords it over my Annandale! And Segrave, a man soured with disgrace. And that bastard Botetourt. This was beyond all bearing. Yet, God forgive me, I had to bear it I A round score of days and nights of it.
Of Cliffords and Segraves spleen. Safe to bait me as they would.
By Edwards permission!
One day you will repay them, my heart. But … Wallace?
Did you catch him?
No. For that, thank all the saints I A fine dance he led us. All over the Forest, in foulest weather. But never once were we within reach of him. Fraser we almost caught, twice. At Peebles and at Tweedsmuir. But Wallace, never. He was always an hour gone from every hiding-place we flushedthough we quartered Ettrick Forest for him. More than once, mind, I was able to lead those devils the wrong roadfor none of them knew the Forest as I did …
Oh, I am glad I Glad. Elizabeth was aiding him off with his soaking and mud-stained outer wear, before the blazing fire in the little tower chamber which was all that even Lamberton could provide for the Bruces in his overcrowded Castle of St. Andrews, where Edward was holding his parliament.
Aye. Had we indeed captured Wallace, I scarce know how I would have
done. That Edward should send me on such errand, and in such company … I But he will be beside himself now.
Beyond all in fury. For if he hates me, tramples me, it is as nothing to his hatred of Wallace.
He has, I think, more to dwell on tonight than your failure to bring him Wallace, the young woman interrupted.
The King is ill, Robert.
ill? Edward ill? Sick?
Yes. It was at todays parliament. He was speaking. Very angry that Stirling Castle still holds out against him. When he was seized. A great choking and gasping, that felled him. I was with the Queen, watching. His face was blue, like to burst with blood I Always he has had too much blood. We feared him dead …
Feared! By the Rudewhy fear? Bruce cried, eyes alight as they had not been for long.
Edward dead might mean life for many. For us. For this Scotland.
But… he is not dead? Only ill, you say.
Ill, yes. And making recovery, they say. I am not long back from the Queens chamber. She is much upset. They are bleeding him. The fever abates. But it is a warning. To be heeded …
Heeded, yes. Pray God he does not heed it!
She shook her fair head.
Do not say it, Robert. He can be hard, cruel. But he can be kind, too. I have known much kindness from him. He is my fathers friend. He is a king, and kings are not to be judged as other men.
They need not become monsters I As he has done. I esteemed Edward once. But he has forfeited all esteem.
And yet, he still has esteem for you. In some measure. Today, before the parliament broke up, he appointed you, with Wishart, Bishop of Glasgow, and Sir John de Moubray, to take rule in Scotland. Until his nephew, the Lord John of Brittany, can come to be Governor …
A trap, I vow! Another trick. An empty title, with his underlings firm in control. Have you forgot that he made me Sheriff of Ayr and Lanark? Aye, then Moray. With no more power than a babe at the breast I Wishart is an old done man. And Moubray is a creature of the Comyns. So much for Edwards esteem I He would but use me again.
It may be so. But at least he seems to honour you. And more.
You three are empowered to work out a new policy for Scotland.
The new Scotland as he names it. What he called a constitution.
To be presented before a great parliament at Westminster in the autumn of the year …
What is this? A constitution? A new constitution for a new Scotland! For a beaten, humbled vassal Scotland, in thrall to the Plantagenet. A province of England, ruled from Westminster.
This he would have me to make upRobert Bruce!
It might give you opportunity to serve Scotland well, she pointed out.
Better that you make up such a constitution than some others, is it not?
I faith, no I Think you Edward will accept anything that does not give him all he wants? And then can use my name, and Wisharts to take the blame for it, when the bite hurts. Bruce, the traitor, contrived this I Do you not know Edward yet, my dear?
You cannot concede him any good, Robert? Anything?
The only good thing I will concede to Edward Longshanks is that he desired me to marry you, my dearest I For that, and that only, I am his debtor.
She smiled.
You still believe yourself favoured in that? Still find me to your taste?
To my taste? Save us, girlIll show you how much to my taste you are! Here is simple proving. As I have been desiring to prove since I entered this room I Why waste we time talking!
And he advanced on her, weariness apparently quite forgotten.
No, no! Laughing, she backed away.
That is not what I asked. You rise too fast, my lord I I but questioned whether you still find me a good and dutiful wife … ?
And that is what you yourself will prove, young woman. Here and now! he dec
lared. It was not a large apartment, and her backing away soon was halted.
Foolish fool! Heres no time. Besides … you will be hungry.
I have food and drink …
Hungry, yes! Well you may say it. But they have not starved me of food, set you! He had her now, urgent, knowledgeable hands pressing, moulding, caressing. Her protests were vocal only, and easily stopped with kisses; and her person made no resistanceindeed her hands were soon aiding his with her gown.
In glorious disorder he picked her up bodily in his arms and, no 8 weight as she was, strode with her to the couch.
Elizabeth de Burgh was all woman, and no passive partner in love-making. In mutual fervour and uninhibited passion they took and received each other, mounting swiftly, joyfully, to tremendous cataclysmic fulfilment.
As well they were so swift. Scarcely were they lying back, in
murmurous relaxation, than they heard footsteps on the stairway, and voices. They waited, for there were two more storeys above;
but when a knocking sounded at their door, Bruce sat up, cursing againalthough this time the spirit and vigour had returned.
Wait you, he called, out of it.
In haste they drew on and rearranged their clothingthough even so there was a quiet calm and dignity about mat young womans movements that seemed to be part of her very nature.
They were only approximately restored to respectability when Elizabeth went to open the door. Bishop Lamberton stood there, with another man who lou ted low respectfully. If the Primate noted anything amiss, in heightened colour and dishevelment, he did not remark on it.
Your pardon, my friends, for this intrusion, he said.
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