The Steps to the Empty Throne

Two nods from the chairs established the matter.

There was much routine business to get through, administrative detail which had piled up during Wallace’s regime and which required ratification by parliament, most of it of minor importance or un contentious There was, in especial, the new French treaty and its ramifications to discuss. John Comyn, who had been sent to take a leading part at its negotiation, now sat silent, allowing his able kinsman, Master William, of the Chapel Royal, to speak of this-which he did clearly and persuasively.

The King of France’s promises regarding armed help and intervention were noted and approved—and queries as to how much they were worth were kept to a minimum. Lamberton then gave some account of his negotiations with the Pope, at Rome, on Scotland’s behalf, with assurances of Papal sanctions against Edward. Indeed, he had to announce that this, plus France’s representations, had already resulted, they had just heard, in Edward releasing King John Baliol and his son from strict ward; they were now more or less free, in the custody of the Pope, at Malmaison in Cambrai.

No cheers greeted this news. Indeed a pregnant silence fell, as men looked at Bruce to see how he took it. He sat motionless, expressionless. In a parliament it was normal for the King to preside, but not to intervene in the actual discussions unless to make some vital and authoritative pronouncement. The Guardians were there as representing the King. Bruce could scarcely express forebodings about John Baliol’s limited release.

Then there were a number of appointments recently made by Wallace, which fell to be confirmed, few of any prominence. But one raised eyebrows. Alexander Scrymgeour, of Dundee, his own standard-bearer in all their affrays, had been appointed Standard Bearer of the Realm, and Constable of Dundee—the former a new office of state.

Buchan was on his feet to question it immediately.

“My lord Chancellor,” he said, “here is a strange matter. A new office. Is this the time to create new offices of state? Such should be by the King’s own appointment. And … and if Standard-Bearer there must be, it should be one of the King’s nobility. I move against.”

There were a number of ayes from the assembly—but some growls also; the first sign of a clash.

“Do you contest the right of the Guardian to create such office, my lord?” the Chancellor asked mildly.

The Constable hesitated.

“No,” he admitted, after a moment.

“But it requires confirmation by this parliament. And by the new Guardians. I move that confirmation be withheld.”

“Noted.” Galloway looked round.

“Does any other wish to speak on this matter?”

“Aye, my lord Chancellor—I do.” Wallace, standing in a lowly position but tending to dominate by his very presence, spoke up.

“With great respect to my lord Earl, I would say that the creation of this office is no whim or caprice. Nor the filling of it by Alexander Scrymgeour. In this our realm’s warfare, none I swear will question who suffers most. The common people. Few will deny who has achieved most in it, as yet. The common people. Even you, my lord Constable, will not gainsay that if the people of Scotland lose heart, or fail in their full support, then the realm is lost. The common folk, then, must see that they are considered.

Represented. Given their due place. I say, who are more fitted to bear the Royal Standard of Scotland than one of themselves?

And of them, who more fitted than Alexander Scrymgeour, who has fought

in every conflict against the English, fought with valour—and stood

his ground! I crave, my lords temporal and spiritual, barons of

Scotland and gentles all—confirm the office and appointment both.”

There was a curious sucking noise as the Steward, rising, sought to control his saliva.

“I so move,” he got out, and sat down.

This was it, then. So soon. The moment of decision. All eyes were fixed on the two new Guardians who sat side by side looking straight ahead of them, rather than on the Chancellor, Wallace or Buchan.

Galloway, tapping fingers on the stone recumbent effigy of a former abbot, which served him as desk, looked in the same direction as all others.

“Before putting this to the vote, I think, the minds of the two Lords Guardian should be known,” he said, and for once his confident sonorous voice was uneven.

Promptly Bruce spoke.

“I accept the office, and accept and agree to confirm Alexander Scrymgeour as Royal Standard-Bearer of Scotland.”

Seconds passed as all waited. Then John Comyn smiled suddenly, that brilliant flashing smile of his which not all found an occasion for joy.

“Why, then, we are in happy accord, my friends,” he declared easily.

“For I too accept and accede. Let the excellent Scrymgeour bear his standard … so long as he can!”

The sigh of relief that arose was like a wind sweeping over the Forest outside. Men scarcely noticed the Chancellor’s declaration that he thought there was no need for a vote, or Buchan’s snorting offence and the angry look he cast at his kinsman. Everywhere the thing was seen as much more than just Scrymgeour’s appointment; it was the sought-for sign that these highborn rivals might yet sink their personal preferences for the common good.

But even as the Chancellor, like others, relaxed a little, he was suddenly alert once more. John Comyn was speaking again.

“Since appointments are before us,” he said crisply, sitting a little forward in his chair, “here are some that I require. For the better governance of this kingdom. My lord of Buchan to be Justiciar of the North. Sir Alexander Comyn, his brother, to be Sheriff of Aberdeen and keeper of its castle. Sir Walter Comyn to be Sheriff of Banff, and keeper. Sir William Mowat to be Sheriff of Cromarty, and keeper thereof. Sir Robert Comyn to be Sheriff of Inverness. Sir William Baliol to be Sheriff of Forfar. And Master William Comyn, of the Chapel-Royal, to be Lord Privy Seal and elect to the next bishopric to become vacant. All that due rule and governance may be established in the land.”

Bruce all but choked, as all around men gasped and exclaimed.

Never before had a parliament been presented with such demands from the throne, such an ultimatum. For clearly that is what it was. This, then, was Comyn’s price for superficial cooperation.

He had come prepared. Already the Comyns possessed enormous power in the North; with these key positions in their hands, they would be in complete control of all the upper half of the kingdom, not only theoretical but actual control.

Bruce bit his lip, as the startled Chancellor groped for words, looking in agitation for guidance, first at Bruce, then at Wallace and Lamberton. Agog, the assembly waited.

Bruce had only brief moments for decision, a decision there was no avoiding. Either he accepted, or refused agreement—and was thereupon branded as the man who broke up the Joint Guardianship, refused to make it work, out of enmity to Comyn. After Comyn had made his gesture of acceptance. The fact that was on a tiny matter, a mere empty title, while this was a wholesale grab for effective power and dominance, would not help him.

That Comyn had chosen to cast down the gauntlet now, before all, had obviously come prepared to do so, was evidence that if he, Bruce, countered him, the Joint Guardianship was finished before it had begun. Nothing was more sure..

Yet, how could it possibly continue, or succeed, on these terms?

As good as a knife at his throat. Was there any point in going on with the farce?