by H A CULLEY
Then, at last, James Stewart had sent a page to fetch him. When William entered the High Steward’s private chamber James was startled by the size of the youth standing before him and puzzled by the other two who looked like a pair of matching urchins.
‘Who are these boys? Which one of you is William Wallace?’ He was uncertain of the exact age of his ward but he had a feeling that he was sixteen or seventeen. The big youth looked as if he was twenty or more and the other two looked thirteen or fourteen. One was wearing rather grubby hose and a tunic but it looked good quality whereas the other two wore undyed woollen tunics and baggy hose tied around the calves with ribbons. William had at least had the sense to replace the plaids that they wore at home with more appropriate clothing.
‘I’m Wallace and these two are my servants.’ William told him, ignoring the nudges of protest that the twins gave him at being described as servants.
The High Steward beckoned his squire over and whispered in his ear. The youth grinned and gripping the two boys by the shoulder propelled them out of the room.
‘Don’t worry, William. My squire will make sure those two have a decent bath and then outfit them with better hose, shoes and tunics appropriate to members of my household. What to do with you is more of a puzzle. You’re powerful but inexperienced so training as a senior squire could be a problem. In any case I don’t have a knight in my mesnie who needs a squire at the moment.’
‘I was my father’s squire for a while and I can use a sword, an axe and a bow,’ he said.
‘Yes, but not with the skill that a squire of your age should have by now. I think that perhaps I’ll have to get one of my serjeants to give you individual tuition for a while.’ He gazed speculatively at the young giant in front of him, noting the intelligence evident in his eyes. ‘Can you read?’
‘A little. My father could read the bible and used to check the bailie’s accounts.’
‘In that case I will ask my chaplain to spend a few hours a day with you. He can improve your reading, teach you to write and to do simple arithmetic. Do you speak any other languages except Norman French?’ The dialect of French spoken by the nobility of England and Scotland was the everyday language of the court and the major households. However Lowland Scots, similar to the English spoken in Northumbria and Cumbria, and Gaelic, the tongue spoken by the native Scots further north, were the everyday languages that William was used to.
William replied in both languages and James nodded before asking him whether he spoke Latin. ‘Only a little, but I wouldn’t mind learning more.’
‘Good. You can spend the mornings in military training and the afternoons improving your education.’
‘And when can I go hunting with the twins?’
‘Ah yes, the twins. What are we going to do with them? I take it you’re attached to them and want to keep them?’
‘We’ve grown up together and they wouldn’t leave me, even if I ordered them to go home.’
‘Right. Well they can join you for weapon training in the morning and learn to ride properly in the afternoon. You can’t take them hunting around here unless the king decides he wants some sport. But I don’t suppose for one minute that you mean stag hunting on horseback, do you? Don’t think about going out with a bow on foot; only poachers do that in the royal forests. I think that covers everything?’
‘Yes, thank you, my lord. Oh! Except do we continue to sleep in the great hall and fight the servants for the scraps?’
‘No, of course not! My squire will show you to the bedchamber that’s been set aside for you. It’s small but at least you won’t have to put up with the snoring and other unpleasant aspects of sleeping communally. As my ward you’ll sit at table, below the salt I’m afraid as you’re not yet a knight. I’ll appoint your urchins as cup bearers so they can join the pages and eat before the servants. It’s the best I can do.’
The next few weeks passed pleasantly enough. William was a quick learner and had soon gained all he could from his serjeant-instructor. The man continued to train the twins but William joined the knights for sword training and fighting with the axe. At first this was resented by the knights in the High Steward’s mesnie but, after several of them had been bested by William, he earned their respect. William also worked at expanding his academic skills so that he became passable in Latin and could read and write simple sentences in both French and Latin.
Then, in the summer of 1293 the king moved again, this time to Falkirk. William was conscious that there was growing discontent with Balliol’s rule. He had allowed Edward to impose several Englishmen on Scotland as sheriffs and to other important appointments and Edinburgh Castle still hadn’t been handed back. Then Robert Bruce arrived back from England bearing a letter from Edward to the King of Scots.
To our dearly beloved vassal, John, from the Lord Paramount of Scotland, it began which made Balliol’s face suffuse with blood. As he read on his rage grew worse. Edward was instructing him to restore the Earldom of Carrick and the Lordship of Annandale to Robert Bruce immediately.
As he finished reading and threw the letter away in disgust, Robert came forward uninvited and knelt before John. He grasped his right hand in a firm grip so that the king couldn’t withdraw it without an unseemly struggle and kissed his ring.
‘I hereby pledge my fealty to you, John Balliol, for my lands in Carrick, Annandale and the Garioch.’
At these words John Comyn sucked in his breath sharply and stepped forward to protest before he was restrained by his friends.
‘What does this mean, Sire? I am Earl of Carrick and Lord of Annandale,’ he shouted at King John.
‘It seems that Edward Longshanks has decided otherwise,’ John replied wearily. ‘I’m sorry, I dare not oppose his decree.’
Comyn looked at him with disgust before storming out of the great hall without another word.
Wallace watched the little drama unfold with anger at the way that the English king was treating his country and disgust at John Balliol’s lack of backbone. He vowed that this couldn’t go on and began to wonder what he could do about it.
~#~
Things went from bad to worse. The English king treated John as if he was just a figurehead and insisted that all important decisions be referred to him. The final indignity occurred when Edward sent for John Balliol in the summer of 1294 and told him that he had until 1st September to provide Scots troops to take part in his forthcoming campaign on the Continent in addition to a demand for money to help fund it.
‘He can’t do that. It’s got nothing to do with us; it’s his territory he’s fighting Phillip of France over.’ The Earl of Athol told King John when he heard what Edward was demanding.
‘It’s time that we took back Edinburgh Castle and threw all of Edward’s appointees back across the Tweed,’ the Earl of Mar agreed.
‘It’s hardly likely to be that easy,’ James Stewart reminded them. ‘They are well ensconced in our castles and have a sizeable garrison here.’
‘But they’re spread out and that bastard Edward is concentrating on his French War,’ John Comyn of Badenoch pointed out. ‘And he’s got a rebellion in Wales to deal with as well. Now is the ideal opportunity to strike against him.’
‘But where do we start?’ the Earl of Buchan, another member of the powerful Comyn family, confusingly also called John, asked.
‘If Edward is going to war with the French again it makes sense for us to ally ourselves with King Philip. That way we can co-ordinate our invasion of England with Philip’s campaign in France,’ Athol suggested. ‘The English will find it difficult to deal with war in two places, three if you count Wales.’
King John nodded. ‘Yes, it makes sense to approach Philip for an alliance. We certainly can’t go on as we are.’ He turned to John Comyn. ‘Will you and the Earl of Buchan lead a delegation to Paris and negotiate the alliance?’
‘Can I suggest a betrothal between your son, Edward Balliol, and a French princess to cement the treaty?’ Athol
suggested.
John was taken aback by the proposal. His son was only eleven and he hadn’t thought about his marriage yet. However, it made sense and so he slowly nodded.
‘Very well. But just explore the idea without making any commitments; it would need to be a close relative of King Philip if it’s to strengthen the alliance.’
Two months later the Earl of Buchan and his cousin, John Comyn, arrived in Paris having had a narrow escape off the East Coast of England. They were travelling in four cobs when they were sighted by half a dozen English ships. The wind was light and variable and the heavy cobs were wallowing in the swell. Luckily the English didn’t have any galleys with them and they were dependent on the wind for propulsion as well. The two flotillas spent the rest of the day making slow progress and by nightfall the English were still a mile abeam of the Scots ships.
During the night the wind picked up and, to the amazement of both nobles, the senior Scots captain changed tack towards English coast.
‘What are you doing, man? Are you mad?’ Buchan gripped him by the arm.
‘Not at all, my lord. Let go of me and I’ll explain.’ The earl reluctantly let go and stared at the man belligerently, suspecting that he might be in the pay of King Edward.
‘Well? Explain yourself!’
‘The English will expect us to beat further out to sea before heading south again. So we will pass behind them in the dark and then head south again. By dawn we will be well below the horizon.’
‘But suppose that there are more English ships closer to their coast?’ Comyn asked, only slightly mollified by the captain’s explanation.
‘If there are they will be fishing boats. We would be extremely unlucky to run into another patrol of warships.’
The two lords spent an anxious night and were on deck again as the sun rose. They both breathed a sigh of relief at the empty sea. The next day they docked in Dieppe.
They had to wait for a week before being granted an audience with King Philip but, when they were ushered into see him, they were relieved to see that the meeting was to be held in a small private chamber. Philip sat behind a table with two advisors and a scribe sat at a small portable table in a corner. A page stood behind the king holding a pitcher of wine.
The room was illuminated by two large windows and the sunshine spilling into the room highlighted the motes of dust that spun around in the air. A fire crackled merrily in the large fireplace on one wall, making the room a little too warm for comfort.
Both John Comyns could see why Philip was nicknamed the Fair. He had an attractive face with soft, almost feminine, features. It certainly wasn’t because of his character. He was anything but fair in his dealings with others. He was ruthless and focused on ruling France with a rod of iron. In this he had been very successful, eliminating those of his nobles who opposed him by a mixture of dispossession and execution. Others had been bribed and thus owed too much to Philip the Fair to think of betraying him. The two remaining vassals who remained obdurate in their opposition to his control were Edward Longshanks, as Duke of Aquitaine, and the Count of Flanders.
After the two Scots had explained their proposal Philip sat for a moment not saying anything. Then he turned and had a whispered conversation with the two men sitting either side of him.
‘I think we can act in concert over this,’ he began. ‘But I’m not sure I can trust your king to fulfil his part of the treaty. I am told that he has a reputation for being indecisive. Perhaps you can reassure me on this point?’
The two Comyn cousins looked at one another. They could hardly explain that many Scots felt that there was no substance to John Balliol. Philip would hardly support a man who was thought to be spineless.
‘It’s a scurrilous rumour put about by the English, probably to poke fun at us. Who knows?’ John Comyn replied after a moment or two.
‘Hmm, Perhaps.’ Philip plainly wasn’t convinced.
‘What have you got to lose, Sire?’ one of his advisors whispered in his ear. ‘If the Scots can keep some of English in their god-forsaken country instead of fighting us over here, all well and good. If not, then we haven’t lost anything. It’s not as if they are asking for troops to help them.’
‘Not yet,’ the king whispered back. ‘I don’t want to go to the trouble or expense of helping them in any practical way.’
Turning back to the Comyn cousins he smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Well, I think we have agreement in principle. I’ll leave it to the four of you to work out the details.’
Before he could get up from his seat the Earl of Buchan spoke again.
‘There is just one more thing, Sire,’ he began deferentially. ‘In order to cement our new alliance King John suggests a betrothal between his son, Prince Edward, and a French princess.’
‘I see, but I can’t think of any of my female relatives who might be suitable. The boy is eleven, I think?’ The King looked thoughtful, though in truth his thoughts were how he could avoid the proposal without giving offence. Once again one of his advisors whispered to him.
‘Ah yes.’ He smiled. ‘There is my niece Jeanne de Valois, daughter of my sister and the Count of Hainault. However she is only a baby so Prince Edward will have to wait a little while before it would be seemly for them to wed.’
‘There is no reason why they couldn’t become betrothed, though?’
‘No, none,’ Philip smiled again briefly. ‘But of course I would have to consult her parents first.’
With that King Philip rose from his chair and quickly left the room before the Scots could raise anything else.
~#~
Robert, Earl of Carrick sat on a stool beside his grandfather’s bed at Lochmaben watching as the old man slowly slipped away from life. His second wife, Christina de Ireby, sat on the other side of the bed looking bored. They had enjoyed a comfortable marriage, but she was much younger than him and she made little secret of the fact that she wanted to marry again as quickly as possible, once her husband finally gave up the unequal struggle and died. After all, she was still in her late thirties and could still have children, if she hurried.
That was something that her husband hadn’t been able to give her and which she regretted. It never occurred to her that, as Robert had already sired five healthy children by his first wife, it might be her that couldn’t have children. Her first two marriages had been to much older men when she was still quite young and she hadn’t conceived with them either.
Robert had respected and liked Christina when he had been her page but he now realised that she was quite a selfish and slightly embittered woman. He couldn’t really blame her. Marrying three old men in succession and having them die on her can’t have been the life she would have chosen. Of course, she had little choice in the matter as the first two weddings had been arranged to improve her family’s standing and wealth. Then, when her father had died, her mother had pressured her into wedding Robert de Brus of Annandale. Her motives had been purely selfish. She wanted to continue to rule the household at Ireby without clashing with her daughter over who was the lady of the house the whole time. It was ironic that her mother died less than three months after Christina married the Lord of Annandale.
‘There’s no point in both of us sitting here,’ she said eventually. ‘I’m going to get some sleep. Call me if there’s any change.’
As Robert watched her leave the bedchamber he wondered how he could have been so blind to her self-centred character when he was her page. About ten minutes later he suddenly noticed that his grandfather was awake and was feebly motioning with his hand for Robert to bend closer so that he could whisper to him.
‘Ignore her. She always was ….’ Whatever his wife was became lost in a fit of coughing that wracked the old man’s feeble frame. When it had finished he lay back exhausted then, after a few minutes rest to gather the necessary energy to carry on, he gripped his grandson’s arm tightly.
‘Balliol won’t last long as king; he’s too weak,’ h
e gasped. ‘So is your father. You are Scotland’s hope now.’ He sucked in air, desperate to finish what he wanted to say. ‘Stay close to Edward until you are ready to make your move. It’s a waiting game and time is on your side.’
He groaned in reaction to the effort of wheezing out his message. His head, which he had raised slightly in order to whisper in Robert’s ear, collapsed back onto the feather-filled bolster, and he closed his eyes. He fell asleep with a slight smile lighting up the sunken features of his face. He died an hour later without waking again. Robert sat there after he had gone, looking at the shrivelled remains of the powerful man that had been his grandfather. He had literally wasted away with his muscle falling off him until there as little left except a skeleton cased in dry papery skin.
He sighed and got up to go and tell Christina that she was now free again. He thought about his grandfather’s last words to him. It was clear what he had advised. He should pretend to support Edward Longshanks until he felt the moment was right to turn his coat, seize the throne for himself, and drive the English back south of the border. It was not something he was comfortable with but it would bear thinking about.
~#~
Robert’s father had effectively become an Englishman after transferring the Earldom of Carrick to his son and spent his time managing his estates south of the border. In October 1295 Edward Longshanks appointed him as the Governor of Carlisle and he took up residence there. Robert de Brus had scarcely settled in before the news reached him that King Edward had seized all of Balliol’s lands in England in retaliation for the alliance he had agreed with France. When Robert Bruce arrived there to visit him he found his father in a state of some agitation.