The Price of the King's Peace

In this realm no man trades words with the monarch-save in a privy chamber. Now-let us proceed, my lords. It seems that there is little that may be done anent bringing back of the Scots force from Ireland. Though what can be done, must. Therefore, our immediate concern is this of the succession.”

“My good liege lord,” Lamberton said, at once, “I speak for all when I say that we all do most deeply grieve for you in the loss of your royal brother. This, the last of your brothers. He was a brave man, and a mighty fighter. As are all of your race. He was perhaps over-bold. But who here will judge him, in that? Is it Your Grace’s wish that this night’s feasting and masque be set aside, in mourning?

For the heir to your throne?”

“I think not, my lord,” Bruce answered.

“I know-or knew-my brother, passing well, whatever our differences. His failings were those of a high spirit and a light heart. He would never wish this great day’s celebrations to be curtailed-he who would most have found them to his taste. Nor do I believe it right.

This day we celebrate not only the completion of a large work in God’s name and to His Glory, but the final freeing of this realm from the invader. After the fourth part of a century, no enemy English foot defiles our soil. To this end Edward Bruce laboured, fought and suffered as much as did Robert. As have done so many.

All here-or most! Therefore, since this day will not come again, let there be no damping of its joy. So Edward would say-of that I am sure. And all those, our friends, who died with Edward. So say I. Let all proceed. Now-to this sore matter of the sue-, cession.”

“Lord King.” Again it was William Lamberton who spoke.

“I

think it no such sore matter-by Your Grace’s leave. All sorrow that

your royal health has in some measure suffered the price of a score of

years of war and privation. But it is none so ill that we must

conceive the appointment of a successor to your throne to be of

urgency. God willing, you will reign over us for long years yet. I pray you not to conceive otherwise.”

Again the two men’s eyes met, sharing their grim secret, as all around men cried acclaim and agreement.

“You have much recovered, Sir King, since your return from Ireland. Do not tell me that Robert Bruce has become fearful for his body, like some old woman-for I’ll not believe it!” Only Angus Og would have dared to speak thus to the monarch, even with a smile, the independent Prince of the Isles.

“His Grace was more sick than you know, my lord,” Moray declared stiffly.

“Even though he was concerned to hide it from all.”

Bruce glanced quickly at his nephew. He was a keen and observant man.

Could he possibly know? Have guessed?

“I am less young than once I was,” he said, shortly.

“Sickness that in a younger man might be thrown off, might serve me less lightly now. I desire the succession to be settled.”

There was a pause. Then Gilbert Hay spoke.

“Is there indeed any choice, Sire? Lacking a son from your own loins which pray God, may still be-there is only your grandson, the child Robert Stewart. No other of the royal line survives.

Since the Lord Edward had no lawful issue.”

The old Earl of Ross was not asleep after all. He cleared his throat, and looked at his son, Sir Hugh. Edward Bruce had indeed a son, by their daughter and sister, the Lady Isabella Ross-only he had omitted to wed her. As he had omitted to wed that other, the Lady Isabel de Strathbogie, the forfeited Earl of Atholl’s sister, to the realm’s cost. Neither of the Rosses spoke.

“There is surely more choice than this?” James Douglas pointed out.

“Your Grace has two fine daughters. Although the realm has never had a queen-regnant- save for she who died at Orkney, the little Maid of Norway who never ascended the throne-is there aught to make such Queen impossible? Other realms have had such monarchs. Must Scotland be different?”

There was a muttering round that table, from many. Clearly it was an

unpopular suggestion-although it was like loyal and devoted Jamie Douglas to have made it, for his liege’s sake. And Elizabeth’s.

When none actually raised voice to speak against it, Douglas

reiterated, “I say is there aught against it? In fact? Other than

prejudice? If, as God forbid, we should have a child as monarch, does it matter so greatly if the child is a female? Either would require sound guardians, regents. Does the law of this land say otherwise? I know little of these matters, of rights and laws of succession. My lord Primate-can you tell us?”

Lamberton spread his hands.

“It is scarcely a matter of law or right, Sir James. I see it as a

matter of choice. Two concerns bear on our decision-or, on

parliament’s, for we only do advise parliament on this issue. One concern is what is best for the realm.

The other is His Grace’s own desires. I agree that, as an infant, a princess might serve as well as a prince. But infants grow apace.

And in a nation which must ever fight for its survival, a Queen would serve less well, I fear. And there comes the thorny question of marriage, and a new male strain to the dynasty. Too many would seek to supply it! A realm with a young Queen to marry, could be endangered, a bone of contention for dogs to fight over.”

“There are dogs a-plenty to fight for this bone, it seems-Queen or none!”

“My lords,” Bruce intervened.

“I have thought much on this matter, in the past. I believe there is a side to it which we must needs consider. It may be as my lord Bishop says, that the succession is not a matter of right, of law. But I think that there is guidance, at least. Consider. My style and title is not as that of the King of England. Or the King of France. Or of Norway. I am, for better or worse, the King of Scots. Not the King of Scotland. Here is more than the mere form of words. It is so because of our ancient Celtic polity. From which this crown descends. Never forget it, when you think of Highlands and Lowlands. It was the Celtic support, which saved me, and the realm, at our lowest fortunes.”

And the King glanced over at the Lord of the Isles, Sir Colin Campbell, and other Highland chiefs present.

“In that language,” he went on, “I am Ard Righ. Ard Righ nan Albannach, High King of the Scots. As in the Irish polity-also Celtic. And if High King, or King of Kings, there must be lower kings. In Ireland they so call themselves. Here, this has not been our custom. Save in the Isles. And in Man. The great Earls of Scotland were our lesser kings-the Seven Earls. But now more.

All the land was divided between these. The Ard Righ was appointed by them, his line sustained by them. But, unlike the monarchs of other lands, the land of Scotland was not the High King’s.

It was, and is, that of the lesser kings, or earls, who support him. As an Earl himself, he has his own lands-but as King, no. So he is not King of Scotland, but of Scots. The people of the land, not the land itself.”

Men nodded.

“It is both the strength and the weakness of your throne, Sire,” Bishop Moray said.

“Perhaps. But all this you know. It bears, however, on this of the succession. Our kingship is different-as you say, in some matters weaker than others. The Ard Righ, if he rests on the support of his earls, and other lords, must be their choice, their representative.

Hence this Council; hence parliament’s decision. And if this is our ancient custom, then it follows that the succession is one of choice, within the royal line. And where there is doubt, as here, the choice should be such as the lesser kings would select to be their strong right arm. Therefore, I say, it should be of a man, a male, a prince, where possible. As it ever has been hitherto.”

There was a murmur of agreement.

“Spoken like a Bruce, Sire!” Malcolm, Earl of Lennox declared -as one of the original Seven Earls.