The Path of the Hero King bt-2

by Nigel Tranter

  At the dais the King halted, turned, and raised his hand-to some slight alarm on the part of the heralds, the masters of ceremonies, for this was unscheduled. When somebody had hushed the choirs to silence behind, the Bruce spoke.

  “My lords spiritual and temporal, and all others here assembled-“I require that the episcopal throne of this the prime diocese of my realm, be brought down from the sanctuary at the high altar, and placed near to my royal chair on this dais. For my well-beloved William, Lord Bishop of St. Andrews, Primate and Chancellor of this kingdom. Meanwhile, my lords-pray take your seats.”

  The gasp of surprise quickly grew into a chorus, a roar of cheering, as Lamberton stood, affected obviously, both nodding and shaking his grey head, and spreading helpless hands. In less orderly fashion than had been planned, the rest of the royal company moved to their places, guided by flurried heralds, while the gorgeously apparelled King of Arms sent scurrying servitors up into the chancel to carry down the Bishop’s throne.

  The King waited calmly throughout the commotion. Nobody else could sit down, of course.

  At length, all were in their places, and with a certain amount of dislocation of decoration about the rude-screen, the massive chair with the high mitred back was manhandled down and on to the dais, men straining and panting with the weight of it. Bruce pointed exactly where it was to be placed, to the right and a little behind his own. Then taking the Primate’s hand, he conducted him to it, with quite elaborate ceremonial. No one present had ever seen Lamberton look embarrassed, as now. As a tribute from sovereign to subject it was unique. It was also a highly significant gesture, creating a dramatic atmosphere, underlining the constitutional importance of the situation, and setting the scene and tone for the entire proceedings.

  The King moved back to his own throne, stood for a few moments, and then sat. With a great sigh and much rustling and shuffling, the concourse took their seats and settled down.

  The Scots regalia had been confiscated and taken south by King Edward in 1296, and never replaced. But after another flourish of trumpets, a gesture was made at representing these. Heralds brought up in succession Bruce’s own long two-handed blade, as sword of state; a wand of office of the Silversmiths’ Guild to serve as Sceptre; the golden spurs used at the coronation, and preserved jealously by the little Abbot of Scone; and the great and distinctly battle-worn Lion Rampant Standard. There was no Crown, other than the gold circlet the King already wore, and no Orb. These symbols should have been presented by the appropriate officers-of state; but since only the Steward and the King of Arms were available, heralds brought them up, knelt before the monarch, holding the objects out for Bruce to touch, and then placing them on the Chancellor’s table to the left.

  This done, the King of Arms signed for another fanfare, and then called out, “I, High Seannachie of Scotland, declare this parliament and council of the kingdom and community of the Scottish realm, in the presence of the high and mighty Prince Robert, by God’s grace King, with the three estates of that realm here assembled, to be duly constituted and in session. God save the King!”

  After the bellowed response to this, which went on and on, Bruce raised hand again, remaining seated.

  “My lords and lieges here in session assembled-hear me, Robert. This day is a great day for this ancient kingdom, the most ancient of continuing subsistence in all of Christendom. It is the first parliament of my reign, the first for many bloody years. But more important still, it represents the resumption of ride and governance in this land, out of the blood stained hands of the invader. Today, thanks to the courage and resolution, to the sacrifice and death of so many, and despite the error and folly of some, this Scotland stands a realm again. We are still invaded, our land defiled by the usurpers, still threatened by the might of England, Lothian and the SouthEast wholly occupied.

  But we are free men again, able to make our name and fame heard once

  more in the courts of Christendom. And especially in the court of the

  Plantagenet. To that end we must plan our strategies, muster our

  resources expend our energies, to the best of our abilities. Hence

  this parliament. Let us give thanks to God and Hissaints who have

  made it possible-especially the blessed Saint Andrew our patron, in this his city; nor forgetting the hallowed Saint Fillan, in whose especial care I have walked these many months. I, who sit upon a Celtic throne, the throne of one hundred monarchs, of Kenneth and Malcolm, Duncan and MacBeth, Can more and David, and their predecessors and successors-I call upon two men to pray for God’s blessing upon this assembly. The Dewar of the Coigreach, representative of the Abbots of Glendochart, in the Old Church, who gave me blessing when most I needed blessing. And Abbot Henry of Scone, who has served Scotland, and me, notably. I, the King, call these.”

  While from the benches of the clergy commissioners the small gnome like person of Abbot Henry came forward briskly, a herald went to a vestry door opening from the south transept, to emerge again with the extraordinary hermit-like figure of the old Dewar, brought with some considerable difficulty from far Glen Dochart It had been found impossible to part him from his rags, and he had blankly refused to don any of the Romish copes, chasubles or albs offered as a cover-up, plain or magnificent. However, the King had presented him with a fine black travelling-cloak, as a personal gift, and he had been persuaded to wear this, as showing suitable appreciation;

  and though the rags bulged out and showed very obviously beneath, at least the quite splendid and heavy gold-serpent belt of Celtic workmanship had been put on outside to hold the whole lot approximately together, looking strangely authoritative.

  Saint Fillan’s famous crozier in hand, and venerable white locks and beard in tangled profusion, this eye-catching spectacle stumped over to the dais behind his superior-looking guide, scowling on all around while the astonished murmur of much of the assembly grew and was shot through with widespread tittering.

  Bruce stopped that promptly and effectively by rising from his throne and holding out his hand to the old man-an unprecedented mark of respect, which necessarily brought everyone else to their feet likewise, the noise and the scraping of chairs and forms drowning any remaining sniggers.

  Abbot Henry, who was fortunately an unconventional cleric himself, and no forma list as well as having a well-developed sense of fun, bowed to the Dewar, got no response, patted his shoulder nevertheless, and smiled genially.

  The other raised his staff high, almost threateningly, and without waiting for any sign or cue, launched into a most vehement flood of Gaelic. Normally this is a liquid-sounding, misleading gentle-seeming language-but the Dewar of the Coigreach made it sound quite otherwise. Presumably what he was pronouncing was a prayer of blessing directed towards his Maker; but it sounded in fact more like a wholesale denunciation directed at the company present, delivered with quivering intensity. Fortunately it did not last long. Abruptly it ended, and as abruptly, without waiting to hear his Romish colleague’s contribution, or making any acknowledgement to the monarch, the Dewar turned and stalked off as he had come.

  Bruce kept a straight face throughout, and now inclined his head almost imperceptibly to the Abbot of Scone. His notion of bringing the Dewar here had been a gamble from the first. But despite this peculiar behaviour-which he had in fact anticipated-he was well enough satisfied. The gesture had been made.

  However comic or even unseemly might be the impact on the majority of Lowlanders present, on the Highlanders it would be otherwise In two centuries the Romish Church had made only superficial headway in the West Highlands and Islands, and the ancient Celtic religious tradition still meant much, however inactive, latent. Bruce, above all, was concerned to rule a united kingdom, an idea almost totally abandoned since the Norman-French had come to Scotland. The Celtic Church was a dead letter, of course, and could not be revived; but gestures such as this could greatly affect Highland sentiment.

  Abbot Henry, a shrewd and practical man, saw wha
t was required and, as the apparition disappeared into the vestry, staff thumping vigorously, made an equally brief but more conventional application for the Creator’s blessing on their deliberations, and enduring mercies on the King, on the one Church, Holy, Catholic and Apostolic, and on all present, before bowing and returning to his place.

  The monarchy, and all others, sat down with some relief.

  “I now call upon the Chancellor to proceed with the business of this assembly,” Bruce declared, in practical tones.

  “As is his duty and office.”

  Lamberton stood up.

  “Your Grace, my lords and commissioners,” he said.

  “It is my great joy that I am able to be here for this great and memorable occasion. How I have achieved this, from ward in England, is not for me to explain to this parliament.

  Suffice it to say that I deemed it my prime duty to achieve this presence, at whatever cost-for two reasons. In order to support and acclaim our admired and heroic liege lord, King Robert, in his first parliament-without whom not only would there be no parliament but no Scotland today …” He waited until the storm of applause had spent itself.

  “And second, that I might decently and duly open this session, as

  Chancellor, and then resign the office to another more useful-as is

  right and proper. For I have to return to my ward in England tomorrow, and can therefore by no means serve in this important office further. His Grace needs an active Chancellor, not a paroled prisoner on foreign soil…”

  There was an outbreak of groans and protest.

  The Primate shook his head.

  “In this matter my mind is made up. The seals of office have been kept secure for me by my lord Bishop of Dunblane, during my captivity. For his good stewardship I thank him. Those seals and this office I now lay down before you all, for my successor.” He paused.

  “Before I sit, I have one announcement to make, not as Chancellor but as Bishop. I hereby declare that I, for good and sufficient reason, have demoted and excluded the Abbot John of Arbroath, not here present, from the rule and supervision of that my great house; and have appointed Master Bernard de Linton, Vicar of Mordington, Official of this diocese and secretary to His Grace, to be Lord Abbot of Arbroath in his stead.”

  Lamberton sat down, to a stir of excitement.

  Bruce spoke into it.

  “We receive my lord Bishop’s resignation with regret but understanding. It is necessary that this realm, as this parliament, should have a Chancellor forthwith. I therefore here and now appoint Master Bernard, mitred Abbot of Arbroath, as Chancellor of the Kingdom, and require him to take up the seals of office, and to conduct the business of this assembly.”

  In absolute silence de Linton rose from his humble clerk’s desk, walked to the Chancellor’s table, bowed deeply to the King, less deeply to the Primate, touched the seals, and sat down.

  There was no doubt about the sensation produced. For a young and unknown cleric to be appointed first minister of government was without precedent, however notable his suddenly enhanced rank. It was normal, though not automatic, that a cleric should be Chancellor, since few of the nobility were sufficiently learned in letters and Latin, the language of international correspondence, to cope with the duties. But there were many present who would have coveted the office, with all its influence-bishops, abbots, priors, of great seniority. Even Lennox himself, a scholar, Bruce suspected. But the King knew what he wanted from his Chancellor-and all recognised that this must be the monarch’s personal choice. There were no formal protests, therefore, however much muttering.

  “My lord Abbot proceed.”

  Linton rose.

  “May it please Your Grace-first there are matters arising out of the recent wars, campaigns and truces. Certain matters fall within the authority of Your Grace’s Privy Council.

  But others require the decision of parliament. First, sentences of forefeiture. Such sentences have been passed against certain your subjects, and it is now desired that they be rescinded. Where these subjects hold the rank of earl or the office of sheriff, it is necessary for parliament to make the decision. To this rank and standing belong William, Earl of Ross, and Sheriff thereof; Alexander, Lord of Argyll and Lorn, and Sheriff thereof; and Sir Alexander Comyn, knight, Sheriff of Inverness. All now under sentence of forfeiture for rising in arms again the King’s Grace. The Privy Council now requests that these forefeitures of lands and office be annulled.

  With the exception of certain lands within the Lordship of Lorn which shall continue in forfeiture. Is it agreed?”

  Promptly, and on his cue, the Earl of Lennox rose.

  “My lord Chancellor-I so move, in the case of the Earl of Ross.”

  “And I in the case of the Lord of Argyll and Lorn,” the Lord of Douglas added.

  “And I in the case of Sir Alexander Comyn, knight,” Sir Robert Boyd, knight, confirmed.

  “All duly moved, each by one of his own degree,” Abbot Bernard acknowledged swiftly.

  “Is there any contrary motion?”

  With it all so obviously cut and dried, and by the King’s closest associates, it required a bold man to question it. But such bold man was present.

  “I know the warmth of His Grace’s heart-none better!”

  Edward Bruce said, rising.

  “But I for one doubt the wisdom of these remissions. Traitors seldom cease to be traitors because they are softly used! Mercy is good, but may be overdone. At least some part of these forfeitures should be retained, to ensure future loyalty!” He sat down.

  AH held breath, as the brothers eyed each other.

  The King did not speak.

  The new Chancellor cleared his throat, his voice less certain now.

  “My lord of Carrick-I am not clear. Do you oppose the motion?

  Or make amendment? Or but… advise? In general…”

  Edward shrugged.

  “I leave that to you, sir. I am no clerk, no dabbler in words. I but speak my mind.”

  There was a ripple of undoubted approval and agreement over a sizeable proportion of the cathedral.

  Bernard de Linton looked unhappily at the King.

  Bruce, whose desire it was to intervene as little as might be, to have

  the day’s proceedings appear as much as possible to be the true voice

  of Scotland, sighed-although not audibly. Indeed, his voice sounded

  easy, relaxed, as he came to the rescue of his embarrassed secretary.“My lord of Carrick has made no counter-motion, nor yet an amendment, as I see it,” he observed.

  “He but speaks his mind as he says. He also says, wisely, that he leaves the interpretation of his words to you, my Lord Chancellor. I advise, therefore, that you proceed.”

  “H’mmm. Yes, Sire. Is… is there any contrary motion, then?”

  Edward frowned.

  “If so you must have it. Yes-I oppose the motion.”

  Almost with relief, since his own way at least was now clear before him, the new Abbot nodded.

  “The motion for remission of forfeiture stands proposed and opposed.

  Does any wish to speak further? Before vote is taken?”

  There was a considerable pause, as all saw crisis, decision, yawning before them thus early in the day. Many indubitably felt as did Edward about the King’s policy of forgiveness, of working with his recent enemies-for the Scots are not notably a compromising or forgiving people. Indeed, despite all the previous day’s stagecraft and drama in the Prior’s Guest Hall, and despite the comprehensive nature of the next two days’ parliamentary programme, this issue was the basic one behind all. Could Robert Bruce do what none other had achieved, succeed where even Wallace had failed, and lead a united Scotland? Or must he merely be the dominant head of the strongest faction, keeping the others down?

  A vote how would count heads with a vengeance. For and against the King’s policy. The King could not fail to note, and would certainly remember.

  It was Lamberton who, unexpectedly, broke the tense silence.
/>   “My lord Chancellor,” he said, “may I, who have attended many parliaments, make bold to advise you in this? That all be done in order. You say that this was a motion of the Privy Council, which now asks for the homologation of parliament? Very well. May I enquire was my lord of Carrick present at that Privy Council?”

  “He was, my lord Bishop.”

  “And did he move, by vote, against the decision to put this proposal before parliament?”

  Linton blinked.

  “No … no, I think not. He argued against the policy of remissions, yes. But not … no, there was no vote taken.”

  “Then, my lord Chancellor, I see your duty as clear. This being a Privy Council motion, no member of that Privy Council may move against it, unless he has first given prior notice. By the rules of procedure you should rule that my lord of Carrick’s contrary motion is out of order, and so falls.

  “Into the hubbub of exclamation the younger man banged his Chancellor’s gavel, with waxing confidence.

  “I thank your lordship.

  I do so rule. Is there any further contrary motion? Which in this case can be put forward only by other than a Privy Councillor?

  No? Then, I declare the motion carried. Without necessity of vote.

  And the said forfeitures remitted. And move to the next business.”

  Few present, probably, were any less relieved than the Chancellor sounded.

  “Item. Notice of forfeiture passed upon the following, unless they return forthwith to the King’s peace. Or if they be out with the country, they send written testimony, duly witnessed, of intention so to do. The Earl of Atholl -in England. The Earl of Angus-in English-held Dundee. The Earl of Dunbar -in Lothian. The Earl of life-in England. The Earl of Stratheam -whereabouts unknown.

  Sir Ingram de Umfraville, former Guardian of this realm, brother to the said Earl of Angus, Sheriff of Angus-fugitive in Galloway. Sir Alexander, Lord of Abernethy, English-appointed Warden between Forth and the Mounth-fugitive in Galloway.

  Others in like case but of lesser rank, not the concern of this parliament.