The Steps to the Empty Throne

“But no rest for the King. Despite his years!” At sixty-four, he was heavy, purple of face, but his basic vigour little diminished.

Bruce was slow to rise, striving to school his features. He bowed briefly, unspeaking. Elizabeth had curtsied more promptly.

“News, Robert—tidings,” the King went on.

“Good, and less good. From France. And from the West. John, here, brings it.

From the West. Of folly and knavery. My son’s folly. And your people’s knavery! Eh, John?”

The massively tall and sombre-eyed young man with him, so uncannily like the other in build and face, inclined his dark head.

Travel stained but richly armoured, he was Sir John de Botetourt Edward’s own bastard, and now Warden of the West March. A man of few words but strong hand, he let his sire do the talking.

“My son-my other son-Edward of Carnarvon, lacks much.

But wits, most of all! Nor has your friend Lancaster greatly aided him it seems! They have mired themselves in your Galloway and Carrick bogs, a plague on them! A mighty host wasted, in chasing scum! Your scum, Robert! Your wretched savages of the West are resisting everywhere. In their accursed hills. It is shameful—not to be borne. My commands, my splendid host, being thwarted by this beggarly rabble.

Who act in your name, by the Mass! Yours!”

Bruce moistened his lips, but said nothing.

“So you will leave me, Robert, meantime. I must bear to lose your

joyous presence! For a space. As must you, my dear. You will go back

with John, here, to the West, my friend. You will go and tell your

treacherous people to lay down their arms. You will take order with

them, hang the leaders, teach them what it means to defy the King of England. You will do more than that.

You will muster them to my arms I To fight against their rebellious countrymen, not their liege lord. I want a Bruce host in the field, Robert. Fighting by my side. By our side I You understand?”

Edward was eyeing his victim levelly.

“That I can by no means do, Sire,” the younger man declared flatly.

“I have no authority in the West, since I have yielded to your peace. My earldom is taken over by others. I have no power and jurisdiction now.”

“There you underestimate, Robert. Underestimate my love for you. For you have my power. More potent than any earldom of Carrick. To use, lad—to use. Moreover, you shall have authority over more than your former vassals. I want men from more than Carrick, Galloway and Annandale. So you shall be Sheriff of Ayr and Lanark. For the present. Here is sufficient authority to act even for Robert Bruce!”

The other blinked.

“I … I do not wish this appointment, Sire.”

“But I do, my friend! And it shall be. From this moment, you are Sheriff of Ayr and Lanark, with all the duties thereto belonging! Sir John here, your deputy and companion. Close companion! In token of which I require from your sheriff dom within the month, 1,000 picked footmen, duly armed. Also a further thousand, half horsed, from your own lands of Carrick and Galloway. These, the first token. Within the month. More to follow. It is clear?”

“But, Sire—you have hundreds of thousands of men! What want you with these? Unwilling…!”

“Each one will be worth many of my own, wisely used, lad.

You would not begrudge me them? In your loyalty?”

Bruce looked at his wife, helplessly. She nodded, almost imperceptibly.

“I

shall go with my lord, to aid him, Sire,” she said.

“You would not part husband and wife?”

“Alas, my dear—I fear it is necessary. The Queen requires your presence. She greatly leans on you. And this is men’s work-mustering forces and hanging rebels. Not such as you may aid in.

Moreover, lass—you will but bring Robert back the quieter, will you not? To win back to your side I swear I would do all in notable haste! It will be so with him, I vow.”

There was silence in that tent for a space.

Then Edward laughed.

“But, save us—I have almost forgot the good “dings! En, John? From France. As you know, my uncouth allies the Flemings surprised and defeated my good brother-in-law of France at Courtrai. Last July. His fortunes have scarce mended since. The foolish fellow has come to blows with His Holiness of Rome! So I have had to act to save him from himself-as kinsman should I Now, at last, he has signed a peace. No truce, but a final peace. After all these years, England and France are at peace. The Holy See also. Is this not excellent?”

Bruce drew a deep breath.

“And … the terms?”

“Terms? Why, scarce any, Robert. Merely some … adjustments.

To our mutual advantage. One which will rejoice your heart, I have little doubt. The man Baliol to be held secure in his own house at Bailleulen-Vimeu. Henceforth. He and his son.

Never to return to Scotland. Does this not please you?”

The other knowing Edward Plantagenet, did not commit himself.

“One or two other small matters. We have, as it were, exchanged our allies! Problems, as they were. I relinquish all interest in Flanders and the Flemings—a small loss! And Philip le Bel relinquishes all interest in Scotland and the Scots. As is only proper. So an ages-old stumbling block is removed. Is it not satisfactory?”

Hoarsely Bruce spoke.

“And the Pope?”

“Why, Pope Boniface also joins in this goodwill. He declares Scotland and Flanders, both, in wicked rebellion. And all who bear arms against me, or Philip, their lawful sovereigns, in danger of hellfire! Were you not wise, my good Robert, to submit to my peace when you did?”

Wordless, Elizabeth moved over, to put her arm in Bruce’s, a simple but eloquent gesture which drew a quick frown from the King.

“You seem less joyful than you should, my lord,” he grated, suddenly harsh, accusing.

“Should I rejoice, Sire, to see my country utterly betrayed and abandoned? By all. By its most ancient ally. Even by Holy Church?”

“Betrayed, sirrah! You to say that? Robert Bruce speaks of betrayal!”

When the younger man answered nothing but looked steadily, directly into the other’s choleric eyes, the King thrust out a jabbing, pointing hand.

”We shall see. None betrays Edward, and does not suffer. And Edward

is Scotland. Now. Forget it at your peril—you, or any.

You will leave at once. Tonight. Ride with Sir John. For Ayr.

See you to it.” Without any other leave-taking, he turned abruptly and strode from the tent, de Botetourt silent at his heels.

Husband and wife turned to gaze at each other. After a moment, Elizabeth flung herself into the man’s arms.

It was many months before Bruce saw his wife again, appalling months for Scotland and grievous for Robert Bruce; months in which Edward stormed his brutally determined way northwards, by Perth and Coupar and Arbroath and Brechin, over the mouth to Aberdeen, and onwards to Banff and Elgin and Kinloss, within sight of the blue mountains of Ross; further than he or any other invader had ever gone, leaving utter desolation behind him in a blackened swathe from the sea to the Highland hills. One by one the Comyn’s northern strongholds had fallen until the last remote strength of Lochindorb, on its island in deepest Strathspey, was brought low, and no major strength in all the land, save only Stirling Castle, remained opposed to the conqueror. That is, except for the eyries of Highland chiefs who were interested in neither the one side nor the other.

During those months Bruce in fact sent no thousands of West countrymen to increase the King’s mighty northern host. It had not been easy to avoid doing so—but after long battling with Edward personally, he found his bastard son de Botetourt rather less hard to get round. Not Sir John was a lenient guard or mild of temperament—quite the reverse; but he lacked his sire’s shrewdness and experience, and Bruce was able to deceive him where he could not have done the King. He managed time and again to put off the required transfer of men, mainly on the grounds that they were more urgently needed there in the West than by the so victorious monarch. He ensured that this was so by secretly fomenting strategically-sited and timed revolts and uprisings in various parts of his domains and sheriffdoms—not too difficult to do here in his own earldom. His newly-mustered vassals and levies were kept busy dashing hither and thither in Galloway and Carrick, ostensibly keeping King Edward’s peace.