Your grandsire said the same. When Alexander, of blessed memory, lost his son and there was no heir. Save the princess in Norway. Your grandsire claimed to be named heir. Until a prince might be born. King Alexander acceding.
So be it. We nominate to parliament, to be held so soon as may be, the child Robert Stewart, son to the High Steward, as first heir to the throne.
Lacking a son to Your Grace, David of Moray put in.
But with regents. Good regents. Governors. Two. Other, my lord Steward, than yourself. I mean no disrespect. But this is necessary.
I say the same, my lord Bishop, Walter Stewart agreed readily.
What two better than my nephew, Thomas of Moray? And the good Sir James Douglas? the King said.
In their strong hands Scotland would be safe.
Approval for that was fairly general-although inevitably some frowned or looked blank.
De Soulis spoke again.
And, Sire-what if the child Robert Stewart dies? Bairns are fragile stuff on which to build a kingdom!
What then?
Men, who had sat back, thankful for the business to be over, turned
frowning faces on the Butler, annoyed that the thing should be further dragged out.
The boy is lusty. That can wait, Angus Og jerked.
Have you other suggestion, my lord of Liddesdale? Bruce asked level-voiced.
I would but remind this Council, Sire, that there are more strings to the royal lute, in Scotland, than that of Bruce. If male heir is to be found.
There were not a few indrawn breaths, at that.
So Edward Longshanks took pains to show, at the Competition.
In 1292, the King acknowledged grimly.
Do you wish another such contest for the throne?
By God-no!
A mercy-not that!
Better a Queen than that!
Are you crazy-mad, man …?
When de Soulis could make himself heard above the outcry, florid features em purpled he said, I made no such suggestion. I but reminded the Council of a fact. If a man to rule Scotland is vital, there are men to consider. With the blood-royal in their veins.
Comyns …?
Traitors!
Who, man-who?
Bruce raised his hand.
We shall not forget it, Sir William, he assured, carefully.
Others were less calm, restive, scowling, eyeing each other.
I move that we proceed to the next business, Sire, Lamberton said.
Is there more business, my lord Primate?
It may scarcely be Council business. But it is of interest to all here, and should be made known throughout the realm. The two Cardinals, before they left England, I am informed, made pronouncement of excommunication against Your Grace, and against all who supported you. This latter, I say, was not within their power to do, without my knowledge and agreement. I represent Holy Church in this realm. And I support Your Grace to the full.
No Cardinal, or other than the Pontiff himself, can excommunicate me, as Primate. Or over-rule me within my province. Therefore this pronunciamento is faulty. Faulty in one respect, faulty in all.
It is to be ignored. These are my instructions, as Primate.
Bruce actually smiled.
I thank you, my lord Bishop. We all do, I vow. Not only that you remove such great weight from our souls.
But that you end this Council on a light note. All shall hear of
this.
I thank you all, my lords, for your attendance and your advice. Let us now resume our celebrations. And mourn the Lord Edward, in our private chambers, anon …
Chapter Seventeen
Robert Bruce wondered how many times he had sat thus, in the saddle, at the head of a company of grim-faced armed men, great or small, and gazed southwards across the Borderline into England.
How often they had looked, dreading what would sooner or later bear down on them from over there, the great enemy hosts, intent on the annihilation of Scotland. Lately, of course, it had been rather the other way, and it would be the folk over there, south of Tweed, Esk or Solway, who must dread and quake when the smaller but faster lines of steel appeared on the Scottish slopes. How much longer, he asked himself? How long before proud, stubborn men, in York and London and Rome, would accept hard facts, recognise his kingship, and come to a peace conference? How much longer before he could lay down his sword?
Not that July night of 1319, at any rate. It was still the unsheathed sword. The only question was in which direction to wield it. Along the gentle ridge of Paxton, above Tweed, only five miles west of Berwick, they waited, the great Scots cavalry host, stretched out along the escarpment behind Bruce for a full mile, ten thousand armed and horsed men, silent, menacing, the largest raiding-force that he had ever mounted. Waited for James Douglas, as the grey summer night settled on land and sea.
They had moved south through Lothian and the Lammermuirs and into the Merse, by quiet, little-known passes, by Garvald and Spartleton Edge and Cranshaws. At Edrom, Jamie had left them, four hours earlier, and raced ahead with half a dozen of his own moss troopers None knew Berwick and vicinity, nowadays, so well as the Douglas. He had spies and informants scattered all around the area. Jamie would gain the information they required, if anybody could. He had promised to bring tidings to the King, here at Paxton, by an hour before midnight. He was almost an hour late.
Ten thousand men fretted and fidgeted.
Shall I take a troop? To seek him? the Earl of Moray asked, at his uncles elbow.
I know many of the places where he would go. To gain news … I
think Jamie would scarce thank you, Thomas! Bruce answered.
To play nurse. Give him time.
He should have taken more men, Gilbert Hay, at the other side, declared.
He should be less rash. More careful of himself.
Less rash? Gibbie, we are getting old when we talk so! James Douglas remains young at heart.
So did my uncle, the Lord Edward! Moray murmured.
No, Thomas. I said young of heart. Not young of head! Jamies head is not so young. He will not take undue risks. And sound tidings we must have.
You fear the King of England may have learned cunning, with the years? Fraser the Chamberlain asked.
No, Sandy. Edward of Carnarvon will never learn cunning. It is the loyalty, or otherwise, of his lords, that concerns me. Notably one Lancaster That mans behaviour, of royal birth and five Earls in one as he is, could change all at this juncture. I must know his dispositions.
Edward of England, stung by the loss of Berwick, the repeated Scots raids deep into his kingdom, and the Cardinals failed mission, had not proceeded to a peace-treaty, but had raised a new army and marched north to retake Berwickon-Tweed, summoning all his northern vassals to support him there. But his unpopularity was as great as ever, as even in the days of Piers Gaveston -for he had elevated new favourites, the Despensers. The northern lords looked towards Lancaster as their leader. If Lancaster came to join his monarch before Berwick, as commanded, then the Scots host, tough and potent as it was, would look puny.
Lancaster hates King Edward-all men know, Fraser was saying, when the drumming of hooves silenced him. All heads turned in an easterly direction.
It was Douglas and his half-dozen, lathered in horse-spume.
My sorrow that I have kept you waiting, Sire, he exclaimed,
panting.
But the English have got two great rings around the town. Earthworks. A double circumvallum. Thick with men. Winning through these is no light matter. It took time …
Double earthworks? That bespeaks many men.