The Steps to the Empty Throne

after his first rage, had behaved with a bewildering inconsistency towards the younger man, affectionate one moment, mocking and spiteful the next, but ever keeping him close as a son-closer indeed man he kept Edward of Carnarvon, Prince of Wales, a young man for whom his father appeared to have little regard. This inconsistency was, however, a surface thing. Bruce, like Scotland, was to be humbled, all men knew.

After a final inspection of shipping at Newcastle, the expeditionary force moving only a few miles a day, came to Morpeth on the 9th of May, there to split up. The Prince of Wales, with Lancaster and Surrey to aid and advise him, was given 100,000 men and sent to chastise Scotland’s West. He took, more or less as hostages, Nigel, Edward and Alexander Bruce—the latter two having been for most of the last year at Cambridge University with him, where King Edward, in his gracious period, had sent them at his own expense, ostensibly out of kindness but more practically to keep them out of Scotland. Edward Bruce and the Prince had become friendly at university—but few believed that the association would have scope to ripen.

The monarch, with the main body, held to the east side of the country, crossing the Border and reaching Roxburgh in early June.

As was to be expected, there was no fighting. In fact, they saw Scotland smoking long before they reached it. Wallace’s guerillas had had plenty of notice. Methodically they destroyed before the advancing English. There was little for Edward to do-although his outriders ranged far and wide, seeking any unburned territory, any un ravaged land or village, savaging, hanging, crucifying any refugees or wretched hiders that they came across. Only the abbeys, monasteries and churches had been left intact—a pointless scruple, since they were more worth harrying than almost any other property. The destruction of arable land was difficult—but river-banks could be broken down, for flooding;

dykes, ditches and mill-lades levelled; cornfields systematically trampled; orchards hacked down; wells poisoned. All that would burn was burned. Again there was no hurry; all could be done thoroughly.

At this rate it took the force a full fortnight to reach Edinburgh.

Here the fortress had never been relinquished by the English, and the townsfolk, under its shadow, had perforce remained quiet, never rising in revolt. But if they expected therefore to escape Edward’s heavy hand, they were much mistaken. With judicial impartiality he hanged one-tenth of the magis tracy and leading citizenry, slew one-tenth of the populace by speedier methods, and burned one-tenth of the town—although, owing to the uprising of a summer wind, rather more than the due proportion of the mainly timber buildings happened to catch fire. All this he forced Bruce to watch, even to seem to preside over, with himself, making jocular remarks about John Baliol, or any who thought to be his heirs, scarcely being likely to consider that there was any kingdom left to plot over.

The Plantagenet’s treatment of Scotland’s notoriously non rebellious city might give the others something to think about.

While this went on, the majority of the invasion forces were carefully laying waste Lothian and the plain of Forth, again despite its record of acquiescence, driving Wallace’s men ever westwards but never actually coming to grips with them. There were signs of Comyn’s chivalry being reported, now, but no battles developed. The Guardian was undoubtedly retiring on Stirling Bridge, there to contest the crossing of Forth in the classic fashion.

But Edward had thought of this. He had his shipwrights build three mighty pontoon bridges, at King’s Lynn, and these had been towed up by sea. Now he had them placed across the river at a narrowing, five miles downstream from Stirling, and had his light horse swarming across before the Scots knew what was happening. Comyn had hastily to abandon his prepared positions, before he was cut off from the rear, and retired at speed northwards.

Wallace and his people were trapped on the wrong side of Forth, and had to take refuge in the far recesses of the Tor Wood where it stretched into the lonely morasses of the Flanders Moss.

And now, as it were on virgin territory, Edward could demonstrate that he had meant what he had sworn in his throne-room at Westminster. Nobody had had time to scorch the good earth of life and Fothrif, nor had most of the folk opportunity to flee.

The King’s peace, therefore, fell to be established in fullest measure.

It was on a late June evening, at Clackmannan, a few miles north of

Forth, at the foot of the steep Ochil Hills, that Robert Bruce lay on

his couch in the glowing light of his handsome tented pavilion,

sprawled but not relaxed. Elizabeth was pressing wine on him, seeking

to soothe and ease the tension that now almost permanently had him in

its thrall, and that was etching hard lines deep in his rugged features. They were alone, as they so seldom were on this ghastly, endless, death-filled progress, no watchful lords, guards, esquires or servants actually in the tent with them. It had been a long and harrowing day.

“Come—wash the taste of it away with this, my dear,” Elizabeth urged. She was strong, understanding, patient, and because of her position and wealth, able to help much. What he would have done without her, these months, he did not know.

He pushed away the proffered goblet.

“No. It would make me sick, I swear. My stomach is turned, I tell you! It is too much. I cannot bear with more of this, Elizabeth.

That devil has me beaten, destroyed, damned-as much as he has this

wretched land I All day and every day he grinds me into the dust of his

hatred, even as he smiles and strokes, mocking me. My belly is galled

with his insults, poisoned by his spleen. I tell you, many a time I

have been near to drawing my dirk and plunging it into his black heart

…!”

“Hush you, hush you, Robert!” That girl was not easily scared, but she lowered her voice, glancing anxiously around at the golden-glowing silken hangings of the tent, refulgent with the evening sunlight.

“These walls are thin. Watch your words, of a mercy!”

“I watch my words the livelong day! While Edward slays me with his I My life is not worth the living. My head rings with words I dare not speak. My nostrils reek with the stench of fire, of burned flesh. My eyes see only savagery decked in smiles and laughter, dead men’s eyes reproaching me—aye, and live men’s fingers pointing! Pointing at Bruce, as traitor, as turncoat…!”

“Not so, my heart. Do not say it. You mistake. It is not at you that men point …”

“I say it is. Do you think I do not know? All this day I have been with him at Dollar. Doleur, they say the name once was-and God knows it is meet today! Receiving the submissions and homage of barons and landed men from all this Fothrif. Led in, some at horses’ tails, some bound or in chains, some lashed with whips-receiving them in a nunnery with all its orchards and pleasances hung with corpses. Forced to sit beside him, while men were brought to their knees before him. Think you I did not sec what their eyes said, whatever their lips muttered? They could not look in Edward’s eye—but they could look in mine]

Sitting there, his hand on my arm …”

“It is evil, yes. Grievous. A shameful thing. But you must bear it my love-you must harden your heart. He will break your pride, your spirit. You must not give him the victory.”

“There is half of Scotland before me, yet. To see stricken.

Crushed. Weeks, months of this venom …”

Bruce’s voice died away as there was a commotion at the tent door, the armed guard clanking weapons. The entrance-curtain was thrust aside unceremoniously, and two men strode inside unannounced, stooping because both were tall. Both were Plantagenets, though one did not bear the name.

“Ha, Robert! You rest, lad? Plied with refreshment by fair hands, heh? Would I were in your shoes! My lady prefers to eat sweetmeats and stitch fool threads!” Edward bowed gallantly to Elizabeth.