The Steps to the Empty Throne

“So he would use me to bring down the other? And so preserve for him the stolen throne of Scotland!”

“I say that you judge harshly. And foolishly. Since you have not heard what the King proposes.”

“Then tell me.”

“The King offers you a return to his peace. With all of fences

absolved and forgotten. He promises to consider well your advice on

all Scottish problems. Indeed to set you over much of his realm here,

if so you would have it. He offers compensation for your lands

destroyed in war. Maintenance from his privy purse while your fortunes

recover. Freedom from disinheritance of any lands which my lord your

father may leave you in England. Permission to visit your father

…”

“Hal Now why should Edward, in his goodness, offer me that?”

“Your father is ailing. An old and sick man. You would wish to see him. Possibly to bring him back to Scotland. To be under your closer regard.”

“Aye. No doubt. His Majesty is… thoughtful.”

“He offers that if any rights of yours, or your father’s be brought in dispute by the Lord of Badenoch, or others, you shall have justice in His Majesty’s own courts.”

Bruce looked up sharply.

“Rights? Which rights, Sir John?”

“The King did not specify which. His words were ‘any rights’.”

“I would remind you that my father claims rights—indeed sole rights—in the Scots crown!”

“Claims, yes. That fact is known to the King. After all, he judged against your grandsire’s claims, nine years past.”

“I see. So that is the sort of justice we would get in His Majesty’s courts!”

“Justice is justice. A hearing you would receive. Any rights, His Majesty said. And you have others that maybe threatened, have you not? Your very earldom of Carrick? The lordship of Annandale? John Comyn would deprive you of these, if he could.”

“Perhaps. But might find it difficult!” The younger man shrugged.

“But why does King Edward send you to offer all this.

So long a list of graciousness I He must greatly desire me in his peace. Why?”

“I am his servant, my lord—not his confessor. He does not open all of his mind to me. But this is his will. And he thinks kindly of you still.”

“I take leave to doubt it…”

“Before you do so, here is token of it. He would have you to wed the daughter of his closest friend. The Lady Elizabeth de Burgh.”

“God in His heaven! Again?”

“Yes, my lord. And the fair lady herself sends you warm greetings.

And hopes that she may see you. Soon.”

“See… ? She is here? In Scotland?”

“The Queen is come to join the King, at Linlithgow. And the Lady Elizabeth with her.”

Bruce turned away, too disturbed to risk speech.

St. John tactfully went to warm his hands at the fire. Over his shoulder, he went on.

“One last token of the King’s goodwill. He would grant you the

wardship and marriage of the young Earl of

“Eh? Wardship? What do you mean?” Surprised out of his emotion, Bruce looked round.

“You have mistaken, sir. Mar is my sister’s husband. And is older than I am.”

It was the Englishman’s turn to show surprise.

“Is, my lord?

Do not tell me that you did not know? Gartnait, Earl of Mar, is dead.

Slain in a tussle with Comyns. In his own country.”

“By the Mass I Gartnait dead? Slain? And by the Comyns…!”

“We believed that you would know of it.” St. John coughed.

“It is… regrettable. But—by granting you the wardship of your nephew, the Earl Donald, my lord, the King gives you in effect another earldom. Mar as well as Carrick. Until the lad is of age.

And an earldom in the North. Adjoining Comyn’s country! You have a lordship up there, do you not? The Garioch. Mar could serve you notably well.”

Bruce required no such reminders. Mar was a great and ancient earldom which Gartnait, gentle man, had never exploited. The wardship of its heir, so long as Edward dominated Scotland, was a potentially powerful weapon.

“Edward must require my services greatly!” he said slowly.

“A mistaken view, my lord. His Majesty can achieve all, master Comyn,

and Scotland, without Bruce. But can Bruce now achieve anything

without King Edward? I urge that you consider it. Consider it well. I return to Peebles. And shall come again tomorrow. For your decision. I hope, my lord, that it will be to conduct you to Linlithgow.” St. John paused, clearing his throat.

“The Lady Elizabeth said to give you this last word. A wise rebel, she said, knows what to rebel against. That is all. She believed that you would understand. And she would see you at Linlithgow.”

Two days later Robert Bruce, with Sir John de St. John, rode down into the West Lothian plain of the Forth, to the vast armed camp surrounding the red-brown castle on its green hill above the wide loch. He scarcely recognised the place. A whole new wooden city had been erected in regimented lanes and streets to house an army and its followers and horses, through a Scots winter.

Great lumber-trains were in constant passage to and from the same Tor Wood, above Falkirk, where Bruce had rescued William Wallace three years before.

St. John had sent word ahead, of their coming, and King Edward had evidently decided to make the most of the occasion. He sent the Scots Earl of March and Dunbar, who all along had sided with the English, along with the Earl of Ulster and Bishop Anthony Beck of Durham, to meet the newcomers and conduct them through the drawn-up lines of much of the army, from which a succession of fanfares of trumpets greeted them. A resplendent corridor of over 200 mounted knights in full armour and heraldic surcoats flanked their climb up the castle-hill; and before the arched courtyard entrance Edward Longshanks himself, despite the inclement weather and threatening rain, stood awaiting them, a massive and magnificent figure, backed by much of his Court. It was a welcome fit for a king.

Edward did not actually open his arms to Bruce, but his greeting was otherwise as for the prodigal son. He hailed him genially, gripped his hand and patted his shoulder.

“Robert, my young friend!” he cried.

“Here is a happy day, which has been too long in dawning. I rejoice to see you. To welcome you back into my peace.”

The other did not trust himself to speak. He bowed stiffly, and less low than he might have done. The King did not let him withdraw his hand.

“These years I have missed you, boy,” Edward declared jovially.

“Hard years, and you have suffered. But you have grown a man, I think. Learned your lesson in a hard school. But mat is all done with, now.”

“I am glad to hear you say it, Sire. Since you were the teacher I “Ha!

And you will thank me for mat teaching. You will see.

Sir John—I thank you for your good offices. The Earl of Carrick will

have cause to thank you also. Come, now—the Queen would

Linking arms with the younger man, Edward led him slowly through the bowing ranks of the gaily-dressed crowd, pausing here and there to exchange an affable word with earl, bishop or lord. Bruce went uncomfortably—and not only for the difficulty of matching his pace to that of the extraordinarily long legs of the monarch; his suspicion and wariness was like an armour about him. This was not the Edward Plantagenet he knew.

Linlithgow Castle was a palace rather than a fortress, and now it was thronged as never before. In a lesser hall where two great log fires blazed, Queen Margaret sat with her ladies, at needlework, while a minstrel sang softly to the languid pluckings of a lute, from a deep window-embrasure. Fine tapestries and hangings covered stone walls which undoubtedly had been bare until recently, and the floor was thickly strewn with skins.