Bruce was suddenly stern, patience exhausted.
But enough of this, sirrah. It is not my habit to debate with
vassals! You have my royal permission to retire.
Majesty-of a mercy! Not that. I will do homage. Whatever you say.
He plumped down on his knees.
My lord Bishop-and the Archbishop-they would be wrath.
Exceedingly.
If the lands were lost. I would be dismissed. Let me take the oath.
Very well, my lord Prior. I will overlook your ill-spoken words.
On this occasion. But not again. Say on.
Not waiting for the heralds prompting, the cleric launched into the fealty formula, clutching the Kings hand between sweating palms.
The entire distasteful business over, Bruce rose, wiping his hands.
He turned to his wife and daughter who had sat throughout just behind his chair.
So much for the delights and majesty of kingship!
he said wryly.
A huckster, I have something to sell, and must needs drive a hard bargain! Men are scarce at their noblest when chattering. I hope that you have been entertained, if not elevated?
Better this than swordery and bloodshed. Or burning, Elizabeth commented.
Think you this will bring Edward of Carnarvon to the conference table?
If it does not, nothing will! He shrugged.
But that is the worst of it done with, God be praised! Now for better things-the tourney, games, feasting. Be gracious to these English now, my dear-but not too gracious! They must learn who is master here.
And tomorrow we will enter Hexham …
Chapter Five
Turnberry, in spring, was a fair place, all shouting larks and wheeling
seabirds, great skies, spreading sandy ma chars blue seas, white waves
and magnificent vistas across the Firth to the soaring, jagged
mountains of Arran. The castle itself, above the shore, was less
daunting than many, a wide-courtyarded place of mellow stone with walls
which, because of its low protective cliffs on three sides, did not
require such lofty and prison-like masonry as was usual. It was
Bruces birthplace, chief seat of his mothers Carrick earldom, and his memories of it still tended to glow with the light and lustre of boyhoods carefree days-even though there were now apt to be occasional shadows from the grim night of massacre, eight years before, when he had returned here from his Hebridean exile, to make his first bloody assault on an English-held fortress of his mainland realm.
But, this breezy, bright morning of billowy white cloud galleons and the scent of clover, seaweed and raw red earth, the mans thoughts were concerned with the future, not the past, as he picked his way alone down over the rocks, sand-slides and crevices of the shore. It was good to be alone for a little; yet he frowned as he went. Elizabeth said that he frowned too much, these days … He was seeking his daughter Marjory. Elizabeth said that she came down here, to the shore, a lot, to sit, also alone. With any other young woman of her years, status and looks, such withdrawals could be looked upon as far from unnatural-and the parallel absence of one or more young men could be looked for also. Not so with Marjory Bruce. If one thing was sure, it was that his only child would be alone, despite the plenitude of escorts who would have jumped at the opportunity to accompany her.
He found her in a hollow of the broken cliff-face, dabbling her feet in a clear rock-pool, and gazing out across the sparkling Clyde estuary to the blue, shadow-slashed mountains. She withdrew and hid her white foot hastily at sight of her father. Bruce shook his head at that automatic, almost guilty gesture, but restrained his tongue.
I used to know every inch of this shore, he told her, casually.
I played here, as a boy. And found it a deal more kindly kingdom than that I now cherish!
Yes, she said.
He sat down near her, and began to loosen his boots.
A pool, replenished by the tide, is a world in itself, is it not? A different order, of time, strength, beauty. A starfish for king! These winkles, in their shells, for knights and lairds in their castles.
Clinging little limpets who cleave to their patch of stone, for the
humble folk-for it is all they have. Scurrying, fearful creatures
that hide in the waving forests of weed. Hunters or hunted? All
conforming to some laws and order we know not of. Until some uncaring, heedless god puts in his great foot-so! And all seems changed.
For a moment. And only seems so. For all is everlastingly the same.
And he dabbled his bare foot in the cold water.
She did not comment, nor ventured her own foot back again.
Each creatures world is, in the end, what he makes of it, he went on.
The heavy feet of fate disturb the surface, yes. But underneath, the inner life is our own. To make or to mar. I have marred much of mine. Shamefully, terribly marred. But I have made something, also.
Yes.
You lass, esteem this world but little, I think? And would make your own? Withdraw from the one, into the other. Is it not so?
The inclination of her head was barely perceptible.
That is well enough. As an escape, a refuge. But not as a world to
live in, my dear. We must live in the world into which we were born.
And make what of it we may.
What are you seeking to tell me? she asked then, level-voiced.
That I must do better? That I must laugh and sing and dance?
That I must find all men a joy and a delight? And all women, too?
Scarce that, lass. I would but have you to understand that your life can still be full and rich. Rich, for you. That although you have suffered grievously, that time is past. You are young, and have most of your life to come. You can still make much of it. Being my daughter is not all trial and sorrow. You can have … almost anything that you ask for. Anything you may wish.
The look she turned briefly on him, then, shocked him.
He bit his lip.
MarjoryI know that, for my sake-or because you were my daughter you suffered intolerable things. Were for years shut up, alone, first in that Tower of London, then in a nunnery.
Kept alone, spoken to by none. God knows I do not, cannot, forget this. Part of the price I paid for this kingdom! But… you must seek to put the ill past from you. As I seek to do. As the Queen seeks to do. And your aunts. I have much to put behind me, sweet Christ! I, who murdered a man at Christs own altar. Who have condemned three brothers, by my actions, to death most shameful-three brothers, and friends innumerable. The guilt of it comes to me, often. In the night, especially. But, see you, I do not, must not, dwell on it. You have no guilt; the guilt is mine. But the weight of woe is ever with you. You must put it from you, lass-I say, you must!
Marjory only shook her head.
You do not understand, she whispered.
Then tell me. Tell me, your father.
Helplessly she spread her hands.
How can I? It is not possible.
Her eyelids drooped.
I wish that I had died. In the Tower.
Almost I did. They wished that I would. As did I. But I did not die.
It would have been better …
Dear God, girl-never say it! Not that.
Why not. When I think it, know it. What is wrong with death?
Almost he groaned, as helplessly he looked at her.
What … what have they done to you? he said.
She made no answer.
Bruce fought down the rising tide of anger, frustration,
apprehension.
Determinedly he steadied his voice.
See you, daughter-I ask you to turn your mind to this matter. This matter of the realm. Of todays parliament. It is necessary that we speak of it Now. I have tried to speak with you on it, so many times. But you would not. The succession. Today it will be decided. You are listening? Todays parliament must decide the matter.