The Steps to the Empty Throne

Not that all was hunting and jollity, of course. The business of mustering a host went on, with wapinschaws, archery contests, trials of strength, games and races, to keep the men engaged and in training. No doubt the Comyns were doing the same, not so relatively far away—but in this land of vast distances, high mountain ranges, and little sense of involvement with the rest of Scotland, no ominous signs of it disturbed them. Bruce did pay one or two visits to the Bruce lordship of the Garioch, consisting of fifteen parishes, to the east, the rents of which had been Christian’s marriage portion. Here he arranged for eight hundred men to assemble at the somewhat tumbledown old castle of Inverurie, and to train for service—Nigel would command these, in due course.

April passed into May, with the snow gone from all but the north-facing

corries of the surrounding mountains, whins blazing and cuckoos calling

endlessly in all the endless green valleys around Kildrummy. Word

percolated through from the outside world occasionally, but seemed to

lack urgency up here. Edward had returned from France, and had

apparently made a great show of coming to terms with the nobles. He

consented to ratify and confirm the terms of Magna Carta and the

Charter of Forests, and agreed that the new taxes and tallage should

only be levied with the acceptance of the nobility, prelates and

knights, and withdrew the edict about compulsory foreign service. But,

having done this, he had set up his headquarters at York, even moving

the exchequer and law-courts there, as a sign of his displeasure with

the south and as convenient for his campaign against Scotland. There

was also news that Lamberton had gone to Rome, and that Philip of

France had accepted a treaty of mutual aid with Scotland. Wallace had

been disciplining his army, hanging not a few who had been pillaging

and running would. The burghs were all raising armed bands, the

various crafts vying with each other. Roxburgh and Stirling castles

still held out. A Comyn host, said to number six thousand, was assembled in the Laigh of Moray This last did cast some small shadow at Kildrummy, and Bruce rode north by devious hill passes, further north than he had ever been, to Petty, on the coast east of Inverness, headquarters of the great de Moravia family, of whom Sir Andrew Moray had been the heir—the lord thereof still being Edward’s prisoner.

Here he found Andrew’s two brothers, Alan of Culbin and William of Drumsagard, had already raised fifteen hundred men, while their uncle, Master David, a priest, had gone still further north to raise Avoch and the Black Isle of Cromarty. He also learned that Andrew’s widow had given birth to a posthumous son, another Andrew to carry on the line. Giving Wallace’s authority, he took the fifteen hundred, with young Alan of Culbin to command them, and rode back to Mar with them, doing a little harmless spoliation and fodder-gathering in outlying Comyn lands en route, as per instructions.

Back at Kildrummy, in early June, the news was more grave.

Edward had assembled a mighty army at York, and was moving north. He was said to have no fewer than four hundred knights and gentlemen of chivalry, under the Earl Marshal, the Great Constable of England and the Earls of Gloucester, Lincoln, Arundel, Surrey and Warwick, besides the Scottish Earls of Angus and Dunbar. There was also the ominous Bishop Beck, 2,000 heavy cavalry, 2,000 light cavalry and no fewer than 100,000 foot and archers. These figures were almost certainly exaggerated, but clearly Edward was in deadly and determined mood.

There was another piece of news which indicated however busy Wallace must be in preparing to resist invasion, he was not failing to use his wits in other directions. King Philip of France’s signature of the treaty of aid was all very well, but he had not sought to use Edward’s return home to implement the bargain by any renewed attack on the English, either on the Flanders borders or by massing for invasion of southern England.

So Wallace had sent a new delegation to Paris, to urge military action upon him—and this was headed by John de Strathbogie, Earl of Atholl, and none other than Sir John Comyn, the Red. To have got Comyn out of the way at this juncture was a shrewd move, and might well make the Comyn forces mustered in Moray less dangerous—for the Earl of Buchan was less of a firebrand than his young kinsman.

These tidings were not rumour or hearsay, at any rate, for they had been brought to Kildrummy by the daughters of the Earl of Atholl himself. Strathbogie was the adjoining lordship to Mar on the north-west, and Atholl had married Mar’s other sister. Christian Bruce, always a romantic, and a born matchmaker, had invited the Ladies Isabel and Mary de Strathbogie to Kildrummy, clearly for the delectation of her brothers. They were pleasant, amiable, uninhibited girls, not beauties but comely enough and high spirited. Nigel was appreciative at least, and was getting on excellently with Isabel. Bruce, however, found some disinclination to live up to his reputation, with Mary-although he was by no means offended by her company, of which his sister saw to it that he had plenty.

A week or so after his return from Petty, riding back from heron-hawking up the Don, Bruce, momentarily alone, was joined by Christian.

“You look thoughtful, Rob,” she said, eyeing him keenly.

“Indeed, you are much in thought these days. Not as I mind of you.

I wonder why?”

“We live in thought-making days, Tina,” he returned easily.

“We always did. You are but twenty-four—early to become a greybeard!

You used to be other wise, brother—uncommonly so!

Something of a rakehell, even. And a notable wencher! Does that sport no longer rouse you, Rob?”

He shrugged.

“Say I have other matters on my mind, lass.”

“ I think you have!” She looked at him quickly, and away.

“But it is possible to … to allow some small distraction, on occasion, is it not? I would not have you turn into another Gartnait!”

It was his turn to look.

“Gartnait … he does not satisfy you, Tina?”

“No,” she admitted, simply.

“I am sorry. He is an honest, kindly man—if scarce a hero!

Generous—and not disapproving, I think?”

“True. All true. But it is of you we speak, brother—not me!

What do you think of Mary Strathbogie?”

He smiled.

“She is well enough. Good company. And sits a horse well.”

“She might sit a man well, too, Rob!”

“No doubt. Who is eager? She—or you?”

“Not you, it seems!”

”Should I be so?”

“You are still Robert Bruce, are you not? And Mary would make warm try sting Or better, a good wife. Your Marjory needs a mother. And Mary dotes on the child.”

“Insufficient recommendation for a wife, Tina!”

“She has more than that to commend her. She is kind, strong—not like Isabella Mar, a weakling. And she is taken with you, I can see. And mind, Rob—there are not so many women the Earl of Carrick might wed. You could not wed less than an earl’s daughter—and there is no routh of such to choose from.”

“Even so, I shall wait awhile, lass. My wife, see. you, should I marry again, might need even greater qualities than you give Mary Strathbogie.”

“You mean … you mean…? Nigel thinks that you might one day try for the throne. Is that so, Rob?”

“Has any greater right? After our father?”

“Right, no. But is that what matters, Rob? What good would the uneasy crown of Scotland do you? Even if Edward of England let you, or any, have it. You would have to fight long and hard to gain it. And fight as hard to keep it. Does that tempt you? A lifetime of fighting. For what? The empty, barren name of King!”

“Need it be so empty? Barren? Does not this realm require a king?