The Steps to the Empty Throne

There was only one faint glimmer of light that presented itself to Robert Bruce in those agonising moments. All the appointments Comyn had so blatantly demanded were in the North.

Apart from the question of the Privy Seal and bishopric, he was at the moment confining his hegemony to the North. Always Scotland had tended to divide into two; the land south of the Forth, and north, echo of the old kingdoms of the Northern and Southern Picts, and their Celtic successors. It might be that Comyn was more or less proposing, not joint guardianship but divided guardianship, one to rule north of Forth, the other south.

If this was so, it could change the entire situation. The South was smaller in territory but infinitely more rich and populous.

Or had been, before it had burned itself. And it was the South that

must bear the brunt of Edward’s ire … Lamberton was speaking—and

clearly he had been thinking along the same lines as Bruce. “… since

such appointments undoubtedly would strengthen the rule of the Joint

Guardians. In the North. To the internal peace and security of the realm. A similar list of nominations-, made by the Earl of Carrick, for the South, would be to the advantage of all. A … a balanced responsibility.

Of the Joint Guardians. On such joint security the kingdom might rest firm. In this pass.” He was looking hard at Bruce—as indeed were all others.

That young man took a deep breath.

“Very well,” he said, shortly.

“I accept these appointments. And shall produce my own, in due course.

Proceed.”

In the buzz of talk that followed, John Comyn turned in his seat to stare at his companion long and levelly.

After that there was little more than formalities. The main confrontation and decisions had been made, and all knew it. In effect, Scotland would be partitioned into two mighty provinces, North and South. It was the natural, age-old division, and in line with the two great houses’ spheres of influence—for though the Comyns held lands in Galloway, and the Bruces in Garioch and Angus, these were very marginal to their main power.

There was, of course, an unspoken corollary, which few failed to perceive. When Edward struck, the South would have to face him first. And it would be wise, then, for Bruce to look back over his shoulder. And if Edward over-ran the South, and could be held again at Stirling, as before, then the North would become all there was of Scotland. In which case, there might well be a new king in the land.

The parliament in the Forest broke up. It was agreed that the Guardians should meet again at Stirling, where North and South joined, in a month’s time, to confer, and sign and seal edicts, charters and the like, with their two halves of the Great Seal.

Robert Bruce, with his brothers, rode south again for Annandale, ruler, in name at least, of Scotland south of the Forth.

Chapter Eleven

So commenced months of trial and frustration as difficult as any Bruce had experienced, with problems multiplying, patience taxed to the limits, and his hatred and distrust of John Comyn gnawing like a canker within him. He felt himself to be hamstrung, almost helpless, ruler in little more than name, able to achieve as little for himself and the Bruce cause as for the country as a whole, a land burned out and a people in dire straits, living in makeshift shelters and ruins, and on the verge of starvation.

It was a wet and dismal winter, with little snow but floods making travel difficult—and Bruce seemed to spend his time in wet and uncomfortable travel, constantly on the move, though having little to show for his journeyings. He had nothing that he could feel was home, no real base or headquarters even—for Annandale was too far south for practical use, and his castles of Turnberry and Ayr, like all others, were but burned and blackened shells, and Lochmaben, the all-but-impregnable, was back in English hands. He went to Stirling monthly, for his formal meetings with Comyn—grim and profitless episodes which he loathed—and which only were made bearable by the patient ministrations and devices of the churchmen, especially Lamberton and William Comyn—the last proving himself to be able, shrewd and cooperative, however clearly ambitious. Without these two the Joint Guardianship would not have survived even the first acrimonious encounters.

Lamberton was in fact Bruce’s mainstay and prop, without whom he would have thrown up the whole sorry business. More than that, he became a friend as well as guide, a strong, constant, clearheaded man, less stern than he seemed, with a faculty for quiet understanding and even a wintry humour. He was, indeed, if anyone was in these grievous months, the real ruler of Scotland, tireless link between the undamaged North and the devastated South. If Bruce travelled endless uncomfortable miles, then the Primate did double and treble, since not only did he move between the Guardians but he kept in touch with Wallace, who Had made Dundee his headquarters for the recruiting of a new people’s army—not to mention seeing to the rule of the Church from his own St. Andrews.

Nigel Bruce, too, was a major comfort to his harassed brother, his close companion throughout, a consistently cheerful, extrovert influence and link with happier, carefree days. But Nigel was of little help where guidance and good advice were required, seeing everything in simple blacks and whites.

Bruce’s problems, during this period, fell mainly under three heads; to

prepare for invasion; to alleviate something of the distress of the

people; and to try to get at least the elementary machinery or

government working again. All were almost equally difficult, in the

prevailing state of the country. He could appoint his nominees to the

key sheriffdoms of Lanark, Ayr, Dumfries, Galloway and the like—his

brother Edward in this last position—but these were little more effective than he felt himself to be. Of revenue there was none, so that the sheriffs had only their own pockets, and those of their friends, to call upon, to pay for their efforts—and friends do not long remain so in such circumstances. Had it not been for the whole-hearted support of the Church, little or nothing would have been achieved.

The ecclesiastics still had some of the garnered riches of generations hidden away, and now expended them liberally. Moreover, they had great local influence over the minds of the common folk, and could rally and persuade where commands and threats from higher authority were meaningless.

Lamberton gave good reports of Wallace’s force, growing in Angus and life. But to some extent, this was of little comfort to Bruce. For Wallace made it clear this was very much a people’s army, destined and trained for guerilla warfare, not to be hurled headlong against the English chivalry. Which left Bruce with the task of mustering an anti-invasion army from, as ever, the levies and tenantry of the lords. And since these were needed for the widespread local rehabilitation works, and moreover he had not the wherewithal to feed them, en masse, this had to remain very much a paper force, problematical indeed as to numbers and availability.

And all the time, the shadow of the Comyn thousands, and how they would be used, hung over all. Lamberton brought word that John Comyn was assembling great numbers in the North—employing them meantime admittedly to further his sway over the wild Highlands—as perhaps was his right and duty. But their presence, a hundred or so miles to the north of him, was no aid to Bruce’s sleep, of a night.

Then, with the long wet winter over at last, and the campaigning season drawing near, a messenger found his way to Bruce at Tor Wood Castle, between Falkirk and Stirling, where he was awaiting Comyn for the April meeting—Stirling Castle still being held by the English, which made the town below its walls unsuitable for the Guardians’ conclaves. This was a wandering Dominican friar, who spoke with an English accent. From his leather satchel he brought out a letter, its folds somewhat creased and grubby, but sealed resplendently with the arms of de Burgh of Ulster. The recipient waited carefully until he was alone, even from Nigel’s presence, before he broke that seal and read the strong, flowing writing.