The Steps to the Empty Throne

Presently, while still perhaps half a mile from the town, a fairly large mounted party could be seen coming out towards them.

Well out of bowshot-range this company halted, and sent forward two horsemen, one of knightly appearance.

These came cantering up, and Bruce saw that the knight was the same Sir Richard Lundin who had stood before him in the sorry queue to sign the Ragman’s Roll at Berwick those months ago. He raised hand in salutation.

“My lord—here is a strange meeting,” Lundin called.

“I greet you. But my Lord James, the Steward, commands that you leave your company here and come on alone to speak with him.”

“As Earl of Carrick, I obey no commands, here in Ayrshire, from the Steward or other, Sir Richard,” Bruce returned, but not harshly.

“I will, however, come with you of my own goodwill.

And gladly. Go you and tell the Lord James so.”

Nodding, the knight turned and cantered back whence he had come.

Bruce told his people to wait where they were. But the Lady of Douglas declared that she would come with him.

“Not so, madam,” he returned.

“You remain here with the others, if you please. Until we see what my reception is.”

“So! It is as I thought I You use me as a hostage, sir. You bargain with me. To your shame!”

“Say that I look well to your safety, lady. Until I learn what is to befall. But I will take the lad James. To greet his uncle.”

So the young man and the dark boy rode on alone towards the waiting party.

They were within a hundred yards or so when, with a cry, a big burly man, in rusted but once handsome armour, burst out from the Irvine group and came spurring towards them.

“Jamie!”

be shouted, a; he came, “Jamie!”

“Father!” The boy went plunging to meet him.

Bruce watched their reunion, a touching scene, the more unexpected in that Sir William, Lord of Douglas, was known to be a fierce, temperamental and wayward character, as unpredictable as he was ungovernable. Bruce had not met the man but his reputation was known to all. Now he was embracing his son like any more gentle father.

Others rode forward now, foremost amongst them a tall, elderly, cadaverous man, armoured all in black without the usual colourful heraldic surcoat. Tightlipped, rattrap-jawed, thoughtful of when, his sour and gloomy features were redeemed by great soulful brown eyes, wildly improbable in such a face-James Stewart, fifth High Steward of Scotland. Bruce knew him, of course; he had been one of the Bruce supporters in his grandfather’s claim to the throne.

“My lord of Carrick,” this apparition announced in a lisping voice-for his tongue was loose and on the large side for his tight mouth, and he dribbled somewhat, “I had not looked to see you here. Do we greet you as friend, or foe? What is your purpose here?”

“The same as is yours, my lord Steward, I would say,” Bruce replied.

“To help raise the banner of freedom.”

“You say that? Edward’s man!”

“My own man, sir.”

“And your father’s son!”

“My father will choose for himself. 7 have chosen to come here.

Would you have had me choose otherwise?”

“No-0-0.” The older man rode closer.

“You change sides, then?”

“Sides, my lord? Say that I do not take arms against my own flesh and blood. While that was not required of me, I preferred Edward’s train to the man Baliol’s. As, I think, did you! Today, all is changed. The sides, not I.”

Doubtfully the other was considering when Douglas came thrusting from his son’s side, voice raised.

“My wife, Bruce?” he cried.

“You hold her? You dare to lay hands on Douglas’s wife!” Meddle with me and mine …!”

“I brought the Lady of Douglas to you, my lord. For her wellbeing and safety. She awaits you, there. Unharmed. As is your son …”

Father,” the boy called eagerly.

“He is good. The Lord Robert has treated us kindly. Saved us from the English …”

Without a word, Sir William wheeled his horse around and set off into a gallop towards the Maybole contingent. After a moment’s uncertainty, the boy went hot-foot after him.

The Steward looked from them back to Bruce.

“You surprise me, my lord. But the support of Bruce is welcome—so be it is true, sure, honest. Those are men you have brought to our cause?”

“Some seventy from Annandale, two hundred from Maybole.

More are to come.”

“And we can do with all such. At Ayr—did you have sight of the English?”

“I kept my distance. Saw nothing stirring.”

“Aye. Well, come you. We shall go see Wishart, my lord Bishop. Like myself, he stood your grandsire’s friend. When Edward Plantagenet chose the wrong king for Scotland ..”.”

Chapter Five

That night, in the hall of Eglinton’s Seagate Castle at Irvine, Bruce sat at ease, as he had not done for many a day. With him, at the long table, lounged a goodly company—better than he had known or anticipated. As well as the deceptively gentle-seeming and almost diffident Robert Wishart, Bishop of Glasgow, the Steward, and Douglas, were the Steward’s brother, Sir John Stewart of Bonkill; Sir Alexander Lindsay, Lord of Crawford;

Andrew Moray, Lord of Bothwell, heir of the great de Moravia family of the North; Sir John the Graham, of Dundaff; Sir Robert Boyd of Cunninghame; Thomas Dalton, Bishop of Galloway;

and Sir Richard Lundin, as well as other knights and barons of less renown. This revolt, it seemed, was no flicker of a candle-end.

The new recruit was comforted, the more so as, after an initial hesitation, almost all had accepted him warmly enough. As the only earl present, of course, though the youngest save for the Graham, he outranked all.

The discussion of future strategy inevitably dominated the evening’s talk. Bishop Wishart was for moving on Glasgow, from which bishop’s burgh he could assure them of much support; the Steward, whose lands of Renfrew and Bute were in that direction, inclining to agree. Moray of Bothwell, however, declared that this would be a waste of time and strength, at this stage.

They should make for the North. All Scotland north of Forth and Clyde could be theirs, with but little effort. That was where the English were weakest. His own uncle had risen, in Ross and Aberdeenshire. And the Comyns, the most powerful house in all Scotland, were there—and hated Edward. They must link up.

Graham, whose lands were in Perthshire, supported him; but Douglas declared that they must hold the West March of the Border, above all, and so prevent Edward reinforcing in the west.

Then attack across country to Berwick itself, the headquarters of the English dominance. Cut that trunk, and the branches would wither away.

Back and forth went the argument. With the two senior leaders advocating Glasgow, of course, there was most weight in that direction; but on the other hand, Sir William Douglas was the most experienced soldier present, and his views, forcefully given, carried conviction-at least to Bruce, though he could not like the man. Moray’s scheme won least backing. It seemed to Bruce a longer-term project—and any talk of linking with his family’s enemies, the Comyns, raised his hackles.

He had listened, hitherto, silent save for a brief question or two.