It it good to see you. We have not met since that day in Stirling Castle when we heard of Sir William Wallaces death, I think? We are four years older-and wiser, perhaps?
To be sure. Sire-wiser, the other said, in a rush of what seemed like relief.
I thank you-wiser. He came up the steps.
I
crave Your Graces favour and indulgence. And that you win accept my
regrets for past mis judgements
Misjudgements you call them, Sir John? Well, it may be that you are right. That all is a matter of judgement. And you judge, now, that my cause is worthy of your support?
I do, Sire. The support of all true men.
The snorting from behind the King was in chorus, though Edward led it.
I am encouraged by that! Bruce answered gravely.
I am sure that we all are. From so practised a judge.
Menteith dropped on his knees, holding out his arms for the monarchs.
You will accept me into your peace and company?
And my ward, the Earl of Menteith? As you accepted the castle of Dumbarton from me?
A moment, sir. While I may judge such acceptance suitable, as King, there is another who is concerned, I think. My good and leal friend the Earl of Lennox. Bruce turned in his chair.
My lord Malcolm-how say you? Sir John Stewart has misjudged your interests, as well as mine! I seek your advice.
The kneeling man cast apprehensive glances around.
My lord King, Lennox answered quietly, I rest content that this man enters your peace. If you can stomach him. So be it he restores what is mine. I say receive him.
As I do not! Edward exploded.
The King ignored his brother.
I thank you, my lord. You are magnanimous. As a monarch must be also. He extended his hand, even though his lips curled a little in distaste.
Make your belated fealty, sir.
When the trumpeter blew another blast, Edward Bruce could contain his righteous indignation no longer.
Brother! Sire! he exclaimed, loud enough for all to hear.
Of a mercy, have done! No more, surely! No more forgiven traitors, received into your arms! Any more forsworn miscreants on this dais and there will be no room for honest men, I say!
Frowning, Bruce cut through the murmur of support that arose from many around him.
Enough, my lord of Carrick. In the field your services are excelled by none. Within doors, they can be less valuable! A realm is not governed as by a charge of cavalry! Proceed, my lord Steward.
Sir Robert de Keith, hereditary Knight Marischal of Scotland to do homage to the King.
There was less stir over this announcement than there should have been
for the adherence to Bruces cause of the stocky square-faced man of
early middle-age, who came striding in, was of major importance, though
not all perceived it. Keith had fought with Buchan and the Comyns in
the old days of the Joint Guardianship, had been captured by the
English in Galloway and imprisoned for four years. Released in 1304, he had been sent back to his own country, duly indoctrinated, as one of King Edwards four Deputy Wardens of Scotland. That he nevertheless was but little known by most of those present was perhaps an indication that he had served his new masters only modestly-indeed he had been relieved of his Wardenship before long. Now, voluntarily, he had taken this step. What was important to Bruce was not so much that he was by heredity the Knight Marischal of the Kingdom, but that he came from Lothian. Keith was a district in the northwestern foothills of the Lammermuirs. All Lothian and the Merse of Berwickshire had from the first been completely under the thumb of the invaders; and still was. That so prominent and cautiously level-headed a Lothian man should have decided that this was the time to take an active part again, was encouraging. Others might be moved to do likewise.
Others already were, it seemed-for the next two applicants for the royal mercy were Sir Alexander Stewart of Bonkyl, the Stewards nephew, and Sir William Vipont of Langton, both from the Merse, and the latter an Englishman. Undoubtedly these submissions had the effect of turning mens eyes southwards.
A number of less important men came to make their peace. And if it was becoming a weariness to the great gathering, as well as an offence to those who thought like Edward, the King accepted them all patiently. So he had planned it, and so it was.
At length he rose to his feet My friends all, he said.
You have been patient, forbearing. Some may deem, like my brother, that I have been too forbearing, in this days work. But if this realm is to regain its freedom, it is above all necessary that it should be united Only so can we drive out the English from our borders, a more numerous people than we, and who act in unity. We have differences amongst ourselves, yes-but they are as nothing to our differences with the invaders who devour us. And who would keep us divided. For such is their policy, always. Therefore, it is my task, my duty, whatever my own feelings would have me do, to unite my people. Having taken the field against them, because I must, and shown my rebels who reigns in Scotland, I now must show that I am King of all Scots, not only those who supported me. This I have sought to do today. Some may accuse me of weakness. But is it weakness to know your enemy? I know my real enemy-and it is not my fellow-countrymen, my own subjects, even when they .. misjudge!
There was some applause then, some laughter, some murmurs, So be it, my lords and friends, he went on.
We have had sufficient of discourse and confrontation. And tomorrow, in parliament, we will have more-our bellyful of it! There is more to living than war and clash and wordy debate. For too long this land has been starved of mirth and gaiety, good cheer of body and mind.
So now, to our due and overdue enjoyment! Thanks to my lord Prior of this great house, the refectory here is now set with meats and drink in abundance. For all are his guests, and mine. Let us regale and refresh ourselves, without stint. Let us make up for the many times when we have gone hungry and cold and in fear. And thereafter come back here, for masque and music, dancing and spectacle. Let us show all men that the Scots can laugh as well as fight, sing as well as suffer. And that, when this struggle is over past and my realm is free again, it will be a joyful, lightsome realm.
He raised his hand high.
Enough, then-this audience is over!
God save the King! Unexpectedly that cry came from the serious Sir Thomas Randolph.
God save our King, I say!
In thunderous acclaim the entire concourse took up the refrain and so continued, until the Guest Hall rafters shook and showered down dust and cobwebs. To this clamant din, the King led the way out and across the cloisters to the monasterys refectory. On the way through the bowing, curtsying, shouting throng, he paused, beckoned, and offered his arm to the Lady Christina of Garmoran, and so proceeded.
Later, much later that evening, panting a little from his exertions in the wild Highland reel just finished-wherein not a few had had to drop out before the end, by reason of too much prior good cheer or sheer lack of staying-power- Robert Bruce shook his head at Christina MacRuarie smiling at his side.
How you do it, I know not, he said, dabbing his moist brow.
You look cool as a … a water-lily, in one of your own Moidart loc hans Not even flushed. Yet you tripped that reel, as others before it, like any hal fling laddie! Myself, I am more like a foundered horse! And look at the others …!
Perhaps I have drunk less deeply than some! she suggested.
Than the King of Scots, even? Or it may be but that we women are differently made. Lighter of foot, as of head! With less weight to carry.
Having eyes, and other parts, we all can see that you are differently made! Bruce gave back, looking down with frankest admiration on the white bosom as frankly displayed. Christina was at her most handsome t
onight, in a silken gown of black and gold, considerably more low-cut as to front than was the Lowland custom.
As to weight, I swear that you have more there to carry than have II
And he brushed that swelling bosom lightly with his finger-tips as though only inadvertently in a gesture.
And, on my soul, it is only in your very difference that you display any sign of this crazed dancing, woman!
She glanced down in turn. Admittedly her firm and pointed breasts were heaving slightly, and each stirring with its own individual motion in a rhythm intriguing as it was apparent. The jigging violence of the reel had rather disarranged the already somewhat precarious balance of her gowns bodice, so that on the left side fully half of the large and dark red-brown aureola was revealed at each quiet surge of breath.
Does my … difference offend Your Grace? she asked, making shift to adjust her dress, though by no means drastically.
No, no. Let it be, Tina-let it be. He not exactly slurred his words, but spoke with a thickened intonation. He did not often use the diminutive of her name, either.
She looked at him sidelong, from beneath lowered lids, not coquettishly but thoughtfully. They had not slept together since that day in Aberdeen a year before, when Elizabeth de Burghs letter had reached him from Yorkshire.
All around them the gaily-dressed crowd eddied and circled and swayed, laughing, calling, chattering-though some sprawled or lay on benches, even on the floor, overcome by too much or too sudden unaccustomed good cheer-while from the moment gentler music came from the gallery, and a hairy Muscovite with a pair of dancing bears paraded ponderously round the huge hall, the great shaggy brutes holding each other close, rubbing snouts, and occasionally pawing each other in obscene parody of human caressing. The smells of bear, sweating humanity, womens perfume, wine, lamp-oil, wood-smoke and horses-for one of the earlier masques had included white jennets bearing damsels representing the Graces-was heady indeed.
What of a mercy have you as rod for our backs next? the King demanded.
Any more of your mad Hieland can trips and you will have all decent men on their backs! Like my lord of Crawford, there. He pointed to the recumbent Sir Alexander Lindsay near by, mouth open and snoring.
Even Angus Og and the MacGregor are far through with it! Worse than I am, I faith! James Douglas was in fact Master of Ceremonies tonight, but Christina had been largely responsible for compiling the programme.
You have not done too much, Robert? she asked, quickly concerned.
None intended that the King should dance all measures. You have been a sick man. You must not tax yourself…
Tush, woman-I am well enough. It is but your Highland notions of dancing. A battlefield is kinder on the human frame, I vow, than your antic flings!
We of the Hebrides are of a lusty humour, perhaps, she conceded.
Our blood not watered down with Sasanach degeneracy!
But, never fear-you shall have your wind back. There follows another masque, an allegory for the times. Demanding naught of you save open eyes…
Open eyes! he took her up.
So long as certain eyes do not open too wide! In especial churchmens eyes, in this house! Our Scots clerics are not inordinately nice, I think-but that last allegory of yours, whatever you named it, was scarce of monastic quality!
Save us, our Celtic churchmen would not have turned a hair at that! And your Master Bernard helped to devise it. Besides, most of the bishops and such-like are gone.
But some are not. Nicholas Balmyle yonder. And David of Moray … though Davie, I swear, will shock hard! Did you see him dancing? Like a blackcock at a lek!
He is of good Celtic stock, she pointed out.
But … see you another of good Celtic stock, there. Of my own sex. And the fairest in this room, I judge. Have you noted, my lord King?
He followed the direction of her glance, and nodded.
I have noted, he said shortly.
Edward was ever a ladys man. As you have reason to know, Tina.
To be sure. But I can handle my good lord of Carrick. Can she? Her brother, I think, mis doubts it.
Over in a window alcove of the hall, hidden frequently by the circling throng, Edward Bruce had the beauteous Lady Isabella Ross, and was laying siege to her with the direct tactics and urgency which he used in the field-and apparently with some success. Clearly the contempt in which he held her menfolk was neither here nor there.
Bruce shrugged.
He is a man, is Edward-all man. And a grown man. In such matters I cannot harry him, as though a child. God forgive me, I harry him enough! And in this … in this he is not the only one, by the Rude! That was true. In almost every corner and window-embrasure visible and no doubt elsewhere likewise-similar activities were afoot.
Can you blame them? We have had little enough of this, for long
years
Far be it from me to blame any, in such matters. Your brother or
other. You know that, Robert But I think I see two who do! Sir
John Ross, maybe. That one is sour, and will bear watching, I agree.
But not Sir Hugh, surely?
Not Sir Hugh, no. Hugh Ross has other concerns in mind! Has had, all evening! And she nodded.
Eh …? He looked where she did, to see the Earls eldest son, not huddling in any unseemly corner but nevertheless paying rapt attention to another personable young woman, and that the Kings own youngest sister, Matilda Bruce. A mere child throughout most of the prolonged period of war, she had been sent for safety to the house of an aunt in deepest Galloway. Edward, after his recent successful campaign in that province, had brought her here to the Court, no longer a coltish gawky girl but a roving-eyed and attractive seventeen-year-old-and evidently one more problem for the King of Scots.
Aye, he said heavily.
So that is the way of it, now! It must be the spring, fore God!
Perhaps. But it is not the Lady Matilda and Sir Hugh that concerns me-for he is an honourable man, I think. Despite his father! But another lady, less fortunate. No gallant knight fondles Isabel de Strathbogie this night, you will perceive!
Frowning, the King once more followed the percipient Christinas regard to where alone, neglected, the new Earl of Atholls sister stood. The Earl himself was not present-for he was married to the Red Comyns daughter and had taken the English side after Dumfries, remaining so even after his fathers shameful hanging by King Edward. But his two sisters continued loyal. That they had turned up at St. Andrews was gratifying, for the earldom could raise many men-but perhaps more than loyalty had brought at least this Isabel. For Edward Bruce had been paying court to her for some time, off and on, as campaigning permitted. Now, it seemed, he had found alternative attraction.
Would you have me play nurse to them? he demanded.
Not nurse. Midwife, perhaps!
What! You mean …?
Rumour has it that the Lady Isabel is with child. By your brother.
She looks to be so, would you say? And he looks elsewhere.
Damnation!
You think it true? I had not heard of this. I knew they saw each other. But Edward plays with any woman. Heres a coil, then! Atholls sister…!
A coil, yes. A woman is entitled to look heavy in more than body, earls daughter or no! But when her lover shows his preference, before all, for the daughter of the man who betrayed her father to death, as Ross did old Atholl -then there could be trouble.
Mmm. I will have a word with Edward on this. But not now. I cannot well reprimand him on such matter, in front of all. I will go speak with her. Though, God knows what I may say…!
The King strolled over to the young woman, unhurriedly, exchanging a word or two with others on the way. He would not have noticed that she was pregnant for she was no sylph anyway. a strapping creature, high-coloured
and comely enough but with no claims to beauty. She and her sister were notably good horsewomen, and many a hunt they had ridden with the Bruce brothers-for they were kin to the King in a sort of way, their mother having been elder sister to his own first wife, Isabel of Mar, after whom this girl was named.
Will you dance the next measure with me, Isa? he asked.
And save me having to trip another Highland reel with Christina MacRuarie! Or she will be the death of me!
I am not dancing, Sire, the other returned.
By your leave.
No? You are the wise one, then! I should have said the same. I saw your sister dancing with Sir Gilbert.
No doubt.
Aye. Iphimm. You are well enough, Isa?
Well, yes. Over well, perhaps!
Eh? Somewhat heavily he changed the subject.
Have you been at Kildrummy of late? We had good times there, did we not?
It seems long ago. I have not seen it since… since the English took it. And Nigel with it. Strathbogie Castle was not far away from Kildrummy, at the junction of Bogie and Deveron, in Aberdeenshire.
It is a sad ruin, she answered briefly.
Yes. I will have to rebuild it. So much to do. They took young Donald of Mar south. To England. My nephew and your cousin.
Have you heard aught of him?
If you mean, Sire, has my brother informed us of Donald, from Englandthen I say no. We have no truck nor communication with David. Do not reproach us with his treason!
The King sighed a little. He had never thought of Isa Strathbogie as a prickly female.
I do not, he assured.
My lord of Atholl has a wife-and I murdered her father. Frequently he made himself use the word murder, lest he forget, a sort of penance, Who am I to blame him? Blame is profitless, I have found, and mens passions not always subject to reason.
Your Grace is magnanimous-as all do say today! Too magnanimous, I say! I am not! Towards my brotheror yours! And she glared over towards Edward.
-Mmm. Well.,. Edward is Edward! You know him. I know him! more to
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