The Steps to the Empty Throne

Bruce almost laughed aloud as, after an agonising moment or two, Sir John inclined his arrogant head, unspeaking. The other surprised nominees murmured varied acceptance.

Apparently satisfied, Wallace went on, “Two other matters.

This realm had an ancient alliance with France. The French are now attacked by the same foe as are we—Edward of England. We must see to it that both realms act in common against him. Make a treaty of aid, one with the other. If Edward, as is said, does return from France to lead attack against us again, then the French should attack England in the south. It is our blows, here in Scotland, and into England, that will have brought him back.

This must be our enduring policy. King John saw this three years ago, but was forced by Edward to denounce his treaty. We must renew it. I say that we should send envoys at once to King Philip, new envoys. It is in my mind to send Master John Morel, Abbot of Tedburgh. And Sir John Wishart of the Carse, brother to the imprisoned Bishop of Glasgow.”

Men stared at each other. The proposal was a sound one, and the envoys named no doubt suitable enough. But none could fail to be astonished at this naming of names. That Wallace should already not only have his road mapped out, but have men in his mind to carry out his designs, could only mean that he had been prepared beforehand for some such eventuality. But his knighting and appointment to the Guardianship had been wholly at Bruce’s sudden instigation. How then … ?

Bruce himself, listening, came to the conclusion that he had underestimated and misjudged his man. He had thought by these actions of his, he had hoisted him into the Guardian’s seat;

it looked now very much as though Wallace had been prepared to assume it, on his own.

Distinctly chagrined, if not humbled, Bruce listened to a further demonstration of the big man’s forethought and sheer ability.

He, the former pud aw and small laird, had the effrontery there and then to create a new Bishop of St. Andrews and Primate of all Scotland-or, at least, to take the essential steps there for He did it, first by adding Master William Comyn’s name as a third envoy to France; then by announcing senior bishop present, Galloway, as Chancellor of the realm, or first minister of state;

and finally proposing one William Lamberton, Wishart’s chancellor of Glasgow Cathedral, as Bishop of St. Andrews, in the room of the late Bishop Fraser—adding on his necessary visit to Rome to be consecrated, he should also present to the Pope the Scottish realm’s entire and leal duty to His Holiness and its request that the Holy See declared its disapproval of Edward of England’s invasions and savageries, and threaten him with outlawry from Christendom, anathema and excommunication if he persisted in such wicked warfare.

Quite overwhelmed, the company listened. Never had anyone present heard the like of this, such vehement forcing of the pace, such high-sounding a programme, such confidence of delivery-and all done before a great gathering of the people, not behind the closed doors of the council-chamber.

The Comyns were silenced-for Master William had undoubtedly been hoping

for St. Andrews for himself, as a senior member of the chapter and

brother of the Constable; Galloway Bought off, who might have claimed

the Primacy, Wishart being a captive and Crambeth of Dunkeld overseas;

and all muffled up and confused by this ambitious bringing in of the Pope as possible ally in the struggle.

“For what? Amongst Wallace’s group of immediate supporters, a tall, strong-faced, keen-eyed churchman stood beside the Benedictine friar, John Blair. By the way the others were looking at him, it was evident that this man must be Master William Lamberton.

A long sword-hilt peeped from beneath this individual’s black robe.

Another Benedictine, and a fighting one, apparently.

So Wallace was making a bid to control the Church, as well as the state. One of his own band Primate and Galloway Chancellor.

And Pope Boniface was a Benedictine also, it was said.

There were murmurs, growls, alarmed looks, amongst the nobility and some of the churchmen, but no vocal or affirmed opposition. That this was not the place, nor the time, any man of discernment would understand. This was Wallace’s day, and any who openly opposed him would go down.

Grimly the giant considered them all, waiting. Waiting for the outcry that did not materialise. Then he nodded, and turned.

“My lord Steward,” he said, “it is enough. I thank you for your patience, your courtesy. I thank all. Let a feast, a great feeding, be prepared. For many are hungry. There is much food here in the Forest—the famine has not touched it. Many wild cattle, many deer. Sufficient beasts are already slain. All shall eat and drink tonight.” And, the King’s representative having given his orders to the King’s Steward, he bowed briefly and, waving to his own close group to follow, strode by the vestry door out of the ruined chancel.

Later, with the camp-fires lighting up the March evening, and the rich smells of roasting beef and venison filling the night air, a very thoughtful Bruce, in company with the Earl of Mar, pacing the shadowy, broken cloisters of the abbey, was startled by a deep voice speaking close behind them. They swung round, to find Wallace there, with the man Lamberton. Like so many big men, he seemed to have the ability to tread very softly.

“So, my lords,” he said, “you commune closely I As well you might I For in this Scotland, I think, the very stones listen and whisper. And there will be much whispering tonight. How long, think you, before word of this days doings reaches Surrey? And Edward?”

The two earls, who had indeed been discussing Wallace, looked a little uncomfortable.

“What mean you, Sir William? By that!” Bruce asked tensely.

“That wise men do well to look over their shoulders—that is all,” the other answered lightly.

“This is a notable realm for traitors, is it not?”

Was this, could it possibly be, some sort of warning?

“I do not take you, sir,” Bruce said.

“Then you are less shrewd than I esteemed you, my lord I The House of Comyn may not love Edward Plantagenet. But they may prefer him to William Wallace! Or even Robert Bruce!”

“So-0-0 I You fear the Comyns will not accept what is done?”

“Only if they must, I think. And they are very strong. I ask you, my lords, as men of the same noble rank and station as these -should I feel secure, when Edward strikes, with the Comyns in arms at my back?”

Bruce glanced at Mar, and cleared his throat.

“I do not know!”

“Nor do I! Master Lamberton, here, believes that I should not.”

The tall priest spoke in a crisp voice smacked of the field rather than the chancel.

“I do not name them traitors,” he declared.

“But I hold they believe themselves better suited to rule Scotland than is Sir William Wallace I And will not hesitate to stab him in the back, if by so doing they may take over that rule. And esteem themselves to have done Scotland service I To do so, they must be most fully assembled in arms. As they can, in answer to the Guardian’s summons to the nation. The Comyns could raise ten thousand men. A sore host to have at your back, in battle!”

“True. But how may this be countered?” Mar demanded.

“You cannot keep the Comyns from mustering their men. Nor deny them the right to fight for the realm.”

The cleric lowered his voice.

“My lord-you control the vast earldom of Mar, a mighty heritage in the North. My lord of Carrick, yours is the Lordship of the Garioch, nearby in Aberdeenshire—half a province. Moreover, Sir Andrew Moray is dead, woe is me—but his brothers are sound for Wallace, and hold the great Moray lordships of Petty, Innes and Duffus. All these abut the Comyn lands. If you, my lords, were to go north and, with the Morays, muster the men of these lordships—as all will be called upon to do by the Guardian—then you have a force assembled on the Comyns’ doorstep, do you not? Men so mustered in arms are ever … restless.