The Steps to the Empty Throne

Meanwhile, the Prince of Wales and Surrey turned into Galloway, with Comyn retiring before them, risking no more pitched battles. De Soulis himself, after deciding the real lines of the English thrusts, positioned himself, with the Church army and Wallace’s guerillas, between Lanark and the sea, to deny if he could the Clydesdale access to the north.

Edward seemed to be in no hurry, this time. He consolidated as he went, and once out of the Tweedsmuir hills, struck westwards, to reach the sea at Ayr and Irvine, where his fleet was standing off, with supplies. He had successfully isolated the three Scots forces, Bruce to the east, Comyn to the south and de Soulis to the north. Moreover, this time he had food and forage, arms and siege-equipment readily available from shipping.

He turned north, to besiege Bothwell Castle, the strongest hold in Clydesdale, de Soulis falling back before him. This was a new kind of campaigning for Edward. But as to its effectiveness there could be no question.

That there was something else new about it began to dawn on the Scots

as the summer passed into autumn. Despite all the Plantagenet’s fierce

vows or vengeance earlier, there was little of mass savagery, burnings

and sackings. It seemed as though he was seeking, this year, to

separate the Scots leadership from the people, trying to antagonise

the countryside as little as possible. Moreover, his snips were still unloading supplies in late September, when Bothwell fell, with no signs or a retiral to England. It looked very much as though Edward intended to winter in Scotland.

A new variety of apprehension settled on the land.

Bruce, in his Border hills fretted like a caged eagle. He was not idle, picking away at the English flanks, sallying here and there.

But he was held and confined, almost insultingly, and kept out of touch with what went on elsewhere.

When specific news did reach the remote Blackhouse Tower, a Douglas hunting-place deep in Yarrow, which Bruce had made his headquarters, it could hardly have come with more authority-since it came, unexpectedly, by the mouth of the Primate himself.

William Lamberton arrived, with only two companions, at dusk of an evening of early October, tired and raggedly-clad as a wandering friar, yet nevertheless looking a good deal less worn and haggard than when last Bruce had seen him. Apparently he found war less of a strain than dealing with John Comyn.

Though his information was none the less dire, for that.

“Edward has gone to winter at Linlithgow,” he told the younger man.

“Aye—he bides in Scotland, to our sorrow. But he is cunning. There have been no burnings, pillagings. He is indeed Paying for the meat, the grain and the hay he requires I So the land has not risen against him, as before. The folk are weary, helpless, hopeless, to De sure. So, with his armies holding all in check—you here, de Soulis in lower Clydesdale, Umfraville in Galloway, and Lothian and the Merse his own, he sits secure enough in Linlithgow, his ships serving him in the Forth. And in this state he now offers us truce I Of nine months, no less! Edward, magnanimous, offers Scotland truce!”

“By all the saints—truce I He invades, occupies the land, sits down, his feet on our necks—and offers truce?”

“Aye—the Plantagenet tries new tactics. It may be, with more hope of success. The truce is aimed at the Pope, and our doubtful ally the King of France, I swear. It is a gesture. But he loses nothing by it. He is well placed indeed—and this will allow him to remain so, without trouble, through the winter and spring.”

“But will de Soulis accept it?”

“What else can he do? He does not know of it yet. It is noteworthy that Edward sent the proposal to me. At St. Andrews. As Primate. It is beneath his dignity to treat with a mere knight. He would drive wedges between us, with more than his armies! This year of our Lord, 1301, the Englishman is being clever I I brought the word straight to you, my friend. To talk of it. Before I tell de Soulis.”

“What can I do?” Penned here…”

“You can advise me. For, God knows, I do greatly need advice.”

The Bishop sighed.

“De Soulis, I think, will do as I say.”

“Perhaps. But Comyn? What will Comyn do? What does Comyn? You have not so much as named him.”

“Aye—Comyn. There is the rub. Comyn, as ever, plays his own game.”

Lamberton glanced sidelong at his companion.

“Have you heard? What he does?”

“I hear nothing here. Or little that I may trust. He is in Galloway, is he not? Fencing with Edward’s son.”

“He was. But is no longer. He has left Umfraville to command in Galloway, and with Buchan has slipped north, by unfrequented ways and little-known passes. He is now safe in Stirling Castle, and massing new forces north of Forth.”

“Then he is doing more good than I am!”

The other stroked his chin.

“That is as may be. But, on his way north, he made pause. To attack Lochmaben. He took much risk, for the Prince of Wales was not far away…”

“Attack Lochmaben? Comyn? Besiege the castle… ?”

“No siege. He burned the town.”

“He burned … my town!” That was a whisper.

“Dear God!”

The other laid a hand on Bruce’s arm.

“He is a man consumed with hatred.”

“So… am… I!”

“No. Do not say it. Hate, of all man’s failings, is the least profitable. Leave hate to Comyn. It will serve him but ill.”

“I shall be avenged. For Lochmaben. Nevertheless…”

“I think that you have more potent matters to consider than vengeance, my friend. Dealing with Comyn, as we have learned, demands not only patience but a clear head. Burning Lochmaben may have been the spleen of the man. But he threatens your interests more deeply than that.”

“What do you mean? He threatens my interests with every breath he draws!”

“Aye. But now in a way we had not thought on. You know how de Soulis

has been doing all in the name of King John. Acting as though Baliol

still reigned and was only absent. De Soulis has done so as giving

him, and the realm, the greater authority against Edward. A king

against a king. This I could not con test. But now I have learned

that Comyn is behind it. More than that, I have learned why. He seeks to have Baliol established as king again, before all. And then for him to abdicate, nominating and securing John Comyn as his successor.”

This time the hissing intake of breath was all Bruce produced for reaction, although it was eloquent enough.

“Baliol is now at his family’s ancient home, at BailleulenVimeu, in Picardy. In the care of Philip of France. Comyn has sent to Philip, urging that King John be sent back to Scotland.

And with a French army. Forthwith.”

“Philip will never do it. Edward is now his brother-in-law.”

“Philip may. Wallace has been to him and much affected him. Moreover the Pope is in favour of this. And offers inducements.

Wallace has convinced them both that King John should return.

Wallace is honest in this. He knows naught of Comyn’s plot.”

Bruce was striding the small, draughty room now.

“This—this then, could be the end of the Bruce claim! To the throne. The end of the Bruces themselves! For Comyn, as king, would not rest while there was one of us left alive to challenge him. This would be utter disaster.”

“Disaster for more than Bruce,” the Primate agreed sombrely.

“Disaster for Scotland. John Comyn on the throne would be the end of more man Bruce.”

“What can I do? I would seek him out and slay him with my own hands.

But he will be well guarded. He is no fool…”

“That is not the way, no.” Lamberton leaned forward.