The Price of the King's Peace

Taking the King’s hands in his, the Earl repeated the oath of fealty as forthrightly as he had done all else. Bruce nodded.

“Your homage I receive gladly, Cousin,” he said.

“We shall let the past be past, for our mutual weal. And that of this realm. Your lands and estates are herewith returned to you.” This was said more loudly than the rest, and was aimed at the ears of those who believed still that the King was over-kind and gentle to traitors.

For Patrick of Dunbar could still indeed have represented much danger to Bruce’s throne.

This was not only for geographical and strategic reasons, important as these were. It was what was in the Earl’s veins that represented the greater menace. For his line was royal, descending directly-more directly than Bruce’s own-from the ancient Celtic monarchs. The first of the line had been Malcolm, a grandson of Malcolm the Second, and the brother of Duncan the First whom MacBeth had murdered. The descent had been from father to son since then. Moreover, this same first Malcolm had married a granddaughter of Ethelred, King of England: while the 4th Earl had wed an illegitimate daughter of King William the Lion. In the great competition for the Scots crown, after the Maid of Norway’s death, this man’s father was one of the competitors. In the end he had thrown in his weight behind Bruce’s grandfather’s claim. But the fact remained that here was an alternative line to the Scots throne, which could be used against Bruce and his successors. This oath of fealty, pronounced before an entire parliament, was a major insurance against trouble.

As Dunbar stepped down from the dais and proceeded to the earl’s benches, amidst mutterings from sundry present, led by Edward Bruce, the Chancellor raised his voice again.

“The matter of the recent negotiations at York relative to a peace between this realm and that of England. My lord William, Bishop of St. Andrews, who led His Grace’s commissioners, to speak.”

William Lamberton rose, at the head of the bishops’ benches.

Last time he had sat in this castle of Ayr” he had been a hunted refugee, dressed in ragged, nondescript style, and hungry, seeking to persuade Robert Bruce to accept the Guardianship along with John Comyn. His great gaunt frame had a permanent stoop to it now.

“My lord Chancellor, we have little good to report. After the raids deep into England, and His Grace’s resumption of the Tynedale lordship, King Edward was forced to take measures. He appointed Aymer de Valence, Earl of Pembroke, to be governor of all the North of England, between Trent and Tweed, wielding viceregal power and authority-a thing unprecedented in England while the monarch is himself in the country. But Pembroke, although a hard man and an able soldier, found both lords and people in no mood for fight. Or, let us say, in no mood to fight the Scots, since they were scarce loth to fight amongst themselves.

Indeed, defeat in the field, at Bannockburn, and weak leadership, has brought the English to do what they have ever mocked the Scots for doing-fighting each other instead of the enemy! There was, and is, near to civil war in the North of England, with large bands, often led by lords and knights, harrying the land. Some even claim that they do so in the name of the King of Scots!”

There was some laughter and acclaim at this picture of their enemy’s discomfiture, but Lamberton held up his hand sternly.

“If this is of no credit to the English, nor is it of any benefit to

us,” he declared.

“It but creates confusion, and distracts King Edward from the true issue-coming to terms with His Grace. He did go so far as to agree to talk with us. At York. On the subject of a peace. His Grace sent four commissioners, myself honoured to be one. We went to York, to treat with the English commissioners. And did so treat. For weeks. With little result. The English would not concede our terms. Even the most modest.”

“How modest, my lord Bishop, were your terms?” the Earl of Dunbar and March asked, not aggressively but not diffidently either. Obviously he was going to be no cypher in the realm’s affairs.

“Questions may be asked only through myself, my lord,” Abbot Bernard

reminded, but not objection ably

“Entirely modest,” Lamberton answered.

“We demanded the recognition of this realm of Scotland as the independent kingdom which it always was; and that our Lord Robert was our lawful and rightful king. And, secondly, that the English troops be withdrawn from Berwickon-Tweed, the only Scots fortress they still hold.

This, and assurances of no further interference in the affairs of our

realm Sundry other small matters, but these were the main

requirements.

None can say that they are not modest. We could demand nothing less. Yet it is these that King Edward will not accept. The independence of Scotland, and the suzerainty of King Robert. He still claims to be Lord Paramount of Scotland, as did his father. Despite all. Despite defeat, raids, and His Grace’s homage-taking in Tynedale.”

“Then we must teach him otherwise!” Edward Bruce cried.

“I

have said all along that we were too gentle, too soft. The English understand only one argument-force. Naked steel. Show them that, and they will bargain. If I had but been allowed to drive on to London, last June …!”

There was a growl of approval from many throats.

“My lord Bishop-have you finished?” the Chancellor asked.

Lamberton nodded.

“Save only to say that though we talked for weeks, we could move them nothing, in this. King Robert is a rebel, they said. The English have an arrogant assumption of authority that is beyond all debate. I do believe that they conceive it God given! Certain subjects are not for discussion. One is that the Scott are an inferior people. As are the Welsh and the Irish. They cannot be other than subject. Possibly the French also. Save that there are more Frenchmen!” That the stern and statesmanlike Lamberton spoke so, was eloquent testimony of his frustration and helplessness.

Sir Neil Campbell, who with the Earl of Lennox and Bishop Balmyle of Dunblane had been Lamberton’s fellow-commissioners, stood up.

“My lord Chancellor,” he said, “it is my belief that we but waste our time seeking this treaty of peace. The English have no intention of making such. And even if they signed some form of words, it would not be worth the paper on which it was written.

They lick their wounds, yes-but only that they may be able to strike back. It is not peace they seek. One of their lords, at York, told me that, now that the former King John Baliol is dead, in France, King Edward is cherishing his son. In London. The English king, who hated the father, has taken the son into his personal care. For what purpose, think you?”

Bruce was struck anew by the sad change in his old friend and companion-in-arms-who was now his brother-in-law, having recently married the Princess Mary. Campbell, although still on the right side of forty, had grown thin and hollow-cheeked of late, a man fading before their eyes. Wags put it down to marriage with the over-sexed Mary-but Bruce knew that it had started even before Bannockburn. One of his original band, the King grieved for him sorely; also for his sister, who had surely suffered enough.

Lennox spoke up, amidst the exclamations at this revelation.

“My good friend, the Lord of Lochawe, takes too gloomy a view. I say. This of Edward Baliol could be only a bargaining gesture. To win better terms by the threat. Such as we ourselves make, with the raids and the Tynedale progress. The English are sore troubled.

They have lost much faith in themselves. All that has been done-the

expedition of my lord of Carrick, the raids on their coasts of my lords

of Ross and of the Isles, Your Grace’s move in Tynedale—all this has