The Price of the King's Peace

“Any more than do we!”

“What do we do now, then?” Hay the Constable asked.

“Muster to arms-what else?” Edward Bruce declared strongly.

“Do what we should have done six weeks ago-invade. In this, at least, I am with the Campbell.” He and Sir Neil had never been friends.

“Aye! Aye!” Many there undoubtedly agreed with this course.

But some did not.

“It is peace we need, not war,” Lennox insisted.

Essentially a gentle man, it was his misfortune to have been born one of the great Celtic earls of Scotland; and so, willy-nilly, a leader in war.

“The English may be too proud to treat with us. But they are

nevertheless sore smitten, and cannot be looking for war.

Meantime. They need peace. But, I say, we need it more!”

“I agree with Malcolm of Lennox,” the Earl of Ross, his fellow Celt put in, a huge man, with something of the appearance of an elderly and moulting lion.

“Our land is in disorder. We have had enough of fighting.”

“Hear who speaks, who fought nothing!” That was Angus Og MacDonald. The Highlands were no more united than were the Lowlands-and Ross and the Isles had been at feud for centuries.

“If it is fighting you want, Islesman—I am ready to oblige you,

whatever! And gladly …!”

“My lords,” Bruce intervened patiently.

“May I remind you that we are here discussing the English peace treaty. Our terms are rejected. They were honest terms-not hard. Merely that the English should renounce all their false claims of suzerainty over Scotland, assumed by the present king’s father. And that they recognise myself as lawful king here. This, in their pride, they will not do.

We are still their rebels! So peace is not yet, whatever we may wish.

So we plan anew. I seek your advice, my lords. That only.”

None there was abashed by any implied reproof, being Scots.

“How does my lord of St. Andrews gauge the English mind in this matter?” Sir James Douglas asked.

“The English Council, rather than King Edward? Since they sway him greatly. Is it only pride and spleen? Or do they intend more war?”

Lamberton shrugged wide but bent shoulders. Like so many men there, he was aged before his time, only in his mid-forties but looking a score of years older, his strong features lined and worn. The years of war and captivity had left their marks-and the Church was far from spared.

“Who can tell? With the English. As a people they are assured of their superiority over all others. Nothing will change them. Now they are struck in their pride-which is their weakest part. Galled by their defeat, who knows what they will do.”

“But that very defeat! Surely it must give them pause?”

“Pause perhaps-but little more, I fear. If England was governed from York, I’d say we should have peace. But from London …!”

“Why say you so?”

“Because the South is too far from Scotland and their warfare.

Shielded from war and its pains, the Southrons are the arrogant ones.

Their armies are mainly of Northerners or Welshmen, or mercenaries. With these they will fight to the last! The southern lords are beyond all in pride. And they are rich-we here cannot conceive of their riches. And there are so many of them …”

“Here’s a sorry tale, I’ faith!” Edward broke in.

“Must we sit here and bemoan our lot? We, the victors! We beat them, did we not? And shall do so again. Enough of such talk. I say, muster and march!”

“What my lord Bishop says is wise,” the King declared, the more sternly in that it was his brother whom he contravened.

“I, who also know the English south, take his meaning. He says, in fact, that the English will not make peace until their southlands suffer. How to make them suffer, then? Here is our problem.”

“How can we reach them, Sire? They are safe from us,” Douglas said.

“Directly, yes. But there may be other ways.”

“What has Your Grace in mind?” the warrior Bishop of Moray asked.

“Not outright war. But enough to make them fear war. And its hurt. To them. On more sides than one. The French threat, again, We are still in treaty with France. There is a new king there, now that Philip the Fair is dead. Louis is weak, perhaps, and may not act-but he this likes Edward of England and grudges him his French possessions. He could be persuaded to threaten, if no more, I think. Across the Channel.”

“Little that will serve us!” Angus Og commented. Although one of Bruce’s most formidable and valuable supporters, he always required to assert his cherished status as a semi-independent princeling, and frequently chose to do so by way of criticism and by never using the normal honorifics of the other’s kingship, to imply fealty.

“Ay, my lord-of itself. But taken with other measures. As, let us say, your own! How far south, on the English coasts, would my Lord of the Isles venture his galleys?”

“Ah-now you talk good sense, Sir King! My wolfhounds will raid right to the Channel, to the Isles of Scilly, if need be. There is naught on the seas to stop them!”

“The English have many stout ships, friend.”

“Stout, it may be-but slow. They have no galleys. My galleys are faster than any other ships that sail the seas.”

“So be it. You will go teach the proud Southrons what war means! Raiding their coasts. My lord of Ross has galleys also-as I know to my cost! He can serve their east coast, while you the west and south.”

The two chiefs glared at each other.

“At the same time, there should be raiding all along the North of England. That is easy. But one fast-moving strong column to drive south. Its flanks and retreat covered by others. To strike fear nothing more. Deep into the soft Midlands. As far as may be, and return safely. How far, think you, it might win?”

“London!” James Douglas exclaimed, amidst laughter.

“I will frighten London for you, Sire!”

“Scarce that, Jamie! But, moving fast enough, you could win far, I believe. Well below Yorkshire.”

“Far further than that…”

There was much spirited agreement now.

But Lennox was doubtful.

“This is war, Sire. Will it not but provoke retaliation? It is peace

we need, I say, not such prolonging of the war.”

“To be sure, my friend. It is for peace I plan this. For permanent peace. Not merely a pause in the fighting. Somehow we are still licking their wounds. Not full invasion. That would cost us too dear. Especially at harvest time. We need this year’s harvest indeed. But sufficient to alarm them, down there in their south.

How say you, my lord Primate?”

Lamberton, his most trusted friend and councillor, former Chancellor of the realm, raised his brows.

“It is worth the trial, Sire.”

“You say no more than that?”

“I do not know, Sire. It would have to be done at once. Before representatives could be sent to the French. If there was something else that we might do …”

“Ireland,” Edward Bruce said shortly.

“Threaten them from Ireland, instead of France.”

“You mean …?”

“I mean use Ireland. The Irish hate their English oppressors near as much as do we. They have risen against the English many times, always they are doing so. Invade, and they will rise again.

Together we shall drive the English into the sea! Then, from the South of Ireland, we shall offer a threat that will make the English tremble in their beds!”

There was much acclaim and support for this bold programme and for the dashing Earl of Carrick. It was not a new idea, of course. Bruce and his associates had often discussed it in the past, as a means of reducing the pressure on Scotland. This was but a fresh aspect of its possibilities.

“That would entail a major campaign, brother,” the King objected.