The English have many stout ships, friend.
Stout, it may be-but slow. They have no galleys. My galleys are faster than any other ships that sail the seas.
So be it. You will go teach the proud Southrons what war means! Raiding their coasts. My lord of Ross has galleys also-as I know to my cost! He can serve their east coast, while you the west and south.
The two chiefs glared at each other.
At the same time, there should be raiding all along the North of England. That is easy. But one fast-moving strong column to drive south. Its flanks and retreat covered by others. To strike fear nothing more. Deep into the soft Midlands. As far as may be, and return safely. How far, think you, it might win?
London! James Douglas exclaimed, amidst laughter.
I will frighten London for you, Sire!
Scarce that, Jamie! But, moving fast enough, you could win far, I believe. Well below Yorkshire.
Far further than that…
There was much spirited agreement now.
But Lennox was doubtful.
This is war, Sire. Will it not but provoke retaliation? It is peace
we need, I say, not such prolonging of the war.
To be sure, my friend. It is for peace I plan this. For permanent peace. Not merely a pause in the fighting. Somehow we are still licking their wounds. Not full invasion. That would cost us too dear. Especially at harvest time. We need this years harvest indeed. But sufficient to alarm them, down there in their south.
How say you, my lord Primate?
Lamberton, his most trusted friend and councillor, former Chancellor of the realm, raised his brows.
It is worth the trial, Sire.
You say no more than that?
I do not know, Sire. It would have to be done at once. Before representatives could be sent to the French. If there was something else that we might do …
Ireland, Edward Bruce said shortly.
Threaten them from Ireland, instead of France.
You mean …?
I mean use Ireland. The Irish hate their English oppressors near as much as do we. They have risen against the English many times, always they are doing so. Invade, and they will rise again.
Together we shall drive the English into the sea! Then, from the South of Ireland, we shall offer a threat that will make the English tremble in their beds!
There was much acclaim and support for this bold programme and for the dashing Earl of Carrick. It was not a new idea, of course. Bruce and his associates had often discussed it in the past, as a means of reducing the pressure on Scotland. This was but a fresh aspect of its possibilities.
That would entail a major campaign, brother, the King objected.
Much time. Many men. Too great an undertaking …
Not so. Give me but 5,000 men and I will win Ireland for you.
and quickly. Our own Galloway, Carrick and Annandale men, and some chivalry. Have the MacDonald put us over the water in his galleys, before he goes raiding.
I say this is folly, my lord, his nephew Thomas Randolph, Earl of Moray, contended, the most level-headed as well as the most handsome young man in the kingdom.
A new war. Across sea.
This would be a mighty adventure. But is it what we would have today?
To win Ireland could take years. A sink for men and ships.
When we require swift results …
I tell you-give me but 5,000. Less. And I will have an Irish host facing the South of England in but weeks.
There is sense in this, Angus Og asserted. It was not often that the Lord of the Isles and the Earl of Carrick agreed.
At such invasion, Ulster would rise, you may be sure.
Bruce smoothed hand over mouth. Angus and Edward made a formidable
coalition: and the Islesman knew Ireland better than any there, since
it was in Ulster that he was apt to earn his living, with his broadswords and galley-fleets hired for the interminable clan wars.
Ulster is not Ireland, he mentioned.
The south is very different. And it is the south which would count, in this. Besides, brother-you it is who I would look to lead this dash deep down into England. This, in fact, had by no means been the Kings intention, for Edward was far too rash a commander to entrust happily with so disciplined a thrust as this must be; but the command would undoubtedly appeal to him-that went without saying-and would probably wean him away from his Irish ambitions.
The other looked thoughtful.
This we can do, then, the monarch went on.
At no great upset to our realm. The Irish adventure can wait. My brother of Carrick, and Sir James, Lord of Douglas, to make the dash for the south, my Lord of Moray at their backs to guard their flanks and retreat. Sir Gilbert, the High Constable, and Sir Neil Campbell of Lochawe, with Sir Robert Keith, the Marischal, to command more general and shallow raiding into the English North. While the Lord of the Isles, Lord High Admiral, and the Earl of Ross, harry the coasts southwards. Is it agreed?
At least it could be noised abroad, in the North of England, that the French are like to invade across the Channel, Lamberton suggested.
No harm in that-and it would add to alarm. Soon reach Londons ears.
When do we ride, Sire? Douglas asked.
So soon as we can muster the men.
Numbers? Edward jerked.
For your company? How many do you want? To make a swift, tight, manageable force? Strong, but not too large.
Six hundred. Well mounted.
Very well. And you, Thomas?
More, Sire. Since I will require to divide, flanks and rear. And
hold a corridor secure. Two thousand.
Yes. As I would have said, myself. So be it.
There was excitement in the great chamber now, men stirring in their seats. Bruce had to call for silence.
My lord Chancellor, he said, the next business?
At a parliament the Chancellor acted as chairman, with the monarch merely present in a presidential capacity; but a Privy Council was the Kings own meeting, and the Chancellor only acted as secretary. Bernard de Linton, Abbot of Arbroath, was young for such an appointment, young even to be an abbot; but he had one of the shrewdest brains in the kingdom, and Bruce had never regretted his choice of him, even though it had offended more senior clerics who coveted the position of first minister. A long-headed, lantern-jawed man, with hair receding and smouldering dark eyes, he sat at the Kings left hand.
My lord of Carricks claim to be appointed heir to the throne, Your Grace, he said, tonelessly.
The stir round the table now was different, with new elements in it, discomfort, some resentment, as well as tension. All eyes were on the two brothers.
Ah, yes, the King nodded.
This matter has been raised before. But without decision. You would speak to it, my lord?
Edward cleared his throat.
You all know the position, he said abruptly.
This rejection of our peace treaty makes it the more urgent The King is no longer young. He has these bouts of sickness.
And war is still our lot. The succession must be assured-and he has only a daughter. The Lady Marjory has now returned to us.
We all esteem her well. But she would make no monarch for Scotlandany can see that. This realm requires a king, and a strong king-not a weakly lassie as queen. In peace as in war. None can gainsay that. As next male heir, I say that, for the good of the realm, the succession should be settled on myself. Herewith. He ended as abruptly as he had begun.
You have heard, my lords. The situation is known to you all. I shall value your advice.
Your Grace, it is not for us to decide this matter, David, Bishop of Moray objected.
Only a parliament may change the succession. With your royal approval.�
�
True. But a parliament will need guidance. I believe the next
parliament would approve the decision of this Council.
If, as God forbid, our liege lord was to be taken from us, Lamberton observed, would not a strong regent serve the Queen and the realm almost as well as a strong king?
No! Edward barked.
There is a world of difference.
Admittedly, my lord. But that difference need not be to the hurt of the realm. Or to the hurt of an already much-wronged young woman!
Aye! Aye! That evoked considerable agreement.
She may marry. What then? How would the Queens husband esteem a
regent over them? There would be factions, divisions, parties. This
kingdom is sufficiently divided. I say only a kings strong hand can
unite it. With all respect to the Earl of Carrick, James Douglas
said, I hold that it is wrong, shameful, even to consider this change. The throne is the Lady Marjorys birthright-unless a son be born to His Grace. What right has any, save God, to take it from her?
Well spoken, Sir James! Hay supported.
Nevertheless, it could be the kindest course, Sir Alexander Comyn, Sheriff of Inverness, pointed out reasonably, an elderly grave-faced man.
The princess might well be the happier. Would the position of a young and inexperienced queen be so enviable?
This kingdom will not be a sure and settled one for many a year.
Let us hope King Robert is spared to see it so. But, if not, how would it be for the Lady Marjory? Even with a strong regent. She might thank you to be spared the crown, I think.
Men considered that, thoughtfully.
Surely, above all, the desires of two persons require to be considered in this, the Earl of Moray put in.
Those of the lady herself, and of His Grace. Lacking that knowledge, how may we decide? He looked at his other uncle.
Thus appealed to, the King sighed.
It is a hard matter. My personal desires, my love and affection for my daughter, my duty to the realm-all are here at odds. My daughter has suffered terribly.
I would now deny her nothing. And yet-could her hand steer this realm? As to her wishes, it is too soon to have put it to her. For my own desire, then I would say-if she marries and bears a son, I would wish that one day he wore my crown.
A murmur of understanding and sympathy greeted that.
It could be so, Edward took him up.
The Act of Succession passed at a parliament could be so written. Myself as king. The Lady Marjorys son, if such should be, thereafter king.
And if you had a son, brother? The King did not add the adjective lawful, there, as he was tempted to do-for Edward had indeed recently had a son by the Lady Isabella Ross, whom he had omitted to many. The wronged ladys fathers snarling noises from down the table made the point for him, however.
My son would, by decree, take second place to hers.
Many looked at him doubtfully, wondering how likely any of them were to see such a thing happening.
Let us leave it so, then, the King suggested.
I will ask my daughter her wishes. Consider this matter well, my lords, before the next parliament. Remembering that all must be decided for the best weal of this realm which we have fought so long to free and save. He drew a long breath.
Is there other business, my lord Abbot?
Only this of the awards, appointments and grants of lands, following upon the recent victory, Sire. The forfeited lands and positions available for distribution, the Chancellor said.
A long list Ah, yes. Long, indeed. As is only fit and proper, since so many fall to be rewarded. But, happily, it is all set down, is it not? But requires reading over. My will in this matter. Do so, my lord, for this Councils approval-and let us be out of here, this warm summer day …
That evening, in his private quarters of the castle, Bruce broached the matter with his daughter.
As my only child, lass, you have all along been heir to Scotlands throne, he told her.
Now that you are a woman grown, and home again-how do you esteem it?
How do you feel?
Feel? I feel no different than ever I have felt, Sire. I pray that I
may never have to be queen.
Mmmm. Why, my dear?
You would be… dead.
Aye. But death comes to us all, one day. It may be a long while yet.
But, in that day, you should be queen.
Unless I die before you!
Marjory! Elizabeth protested.
Such a thing to say, at your age! Not yet twenty years. At the
beginning of your life.
Many a time I wished myself dead. In London Tower, the girl said.
Hollow-cheeked, pale, she looked a sad creature.
But that is all past now, my dear. You must try to forget it.
Yes. I am sorry. But it is not easy. To forget. So long …
To be sure, lass, her father said.
We know. We will do all in our power to help. But meantime you are heir to Scotland.
Must I be so? Could it not be … another, Sire?
Is that your wish? Your considered wish? And … must you Sire me, girl? Can you not name me Father?
Yes. Yes-I am sorry.
No, no. But-I would take it more kindly, lass. Now, this of the
throne. All it means. Have you thought well on it?
I do not know. All that it means. Save that I have no wish to rule a nation.
What do you wish for, Marjory?
Only… I think… to be left… in peace.
He sighed, and looked at Elizabeth, who spoke.
How can she know, Robert? Think you for her. She has been home only
two days If you can name this home. She has had no home, ever. No
father, no mother. A captive for eight of her nineteen years. Long years held solitary, confined in London Tower. None permitted to speak with her. Then in a nunnery, alone again. Shut away from the world. If I near lost my reason, I, a grown woman, how would she, a child, fare? How can she tell you what she will wish, as heir to the throne?
To be sure, yes…
I had time and enough to think of it, Madam, the girl said.
This I do know-that I have no wish to rule. Is there no other?
Must it be I?
Aye. Your uncle. Edward would have it, if he could. But yours is the right.
Let him have it. I want nothing of it.
It is less simple than that, girl. Edward, I think, would make but a poor king for Scotland. He acts first and thinks after.
My dear-must we talk of this? Now? As though you were as good as dead! Elizabeth protested.
You are but forty. Twenty years hence, perhaps, such might be needful. Not now.
With a realm at war, see you, the succession is important. And we are still at war, mores the pity. Edward demands a decision.
The matter will come before the next parliament. It is necessary that I know my mind, in this. And Marjorys.
The great-eyed girl looked from one to the other.
You … you could yet have a son, could you not?
Her father drew a long breath.
That is in Gods hands, lass.
Elizabeth spoke quietly.
It is our prayer, Marjory. But it seems less than likely. At my age. When no children came before. I fear that I am … barren! What it cost Ulsters magnificent daughter to make that declaration, Bruce could only guess at.
Say it not, my dear! he exclaimed.
One so strong, so fine, so lusty as you! Here is nonsense. We have been parted long. But there is time yet.
Perhaps. But I think we should not cozen ourselves. The chance of a p
rince is small. From me.
Her stepdaughter bit her lip.
Then … do you mean … would you have me … to marry? To beget a prince?
Bruce cleared his throat.
That would be best. Advisable. A blessing for all. But-we would not push you. Into marriage.
There is time.
I do not wish to marry.
Perhaps not. Yet. But, in time. It is expected. In your position.
You know that I am sorry …
And for all saints sake, do not keep saying that you are sorry for everything! You are a Bruce …!
Robert, Elizabeth intervened, the hour is late. We are all tired. Another time. This great matter of the succession need not be settled tonight?
No. That is true. Time enough …
Later that night, Bruce and Elizabeth lay in each others arms in the sweet exhaustion of love.
By the Rude, the man murmured, running a caressing hand over the rich satisfactions of her person, what ails us that we cannot make a child, sweeting? Between us. Our flesh is as one, if ever mans and womans was. Is it so much to ask? That we achieve a son? A thing any scullion and kitchen-wench can do, with all the ease in the world! What ails us? When a son would banish so many of our troubles.
Nothing ails you, my dear. That is proven! Other women have not failed you in this respect! That was true. More than one of the ladies with whom he had consoled his manhood during those long years had produced sons which they proudly claimed were the Kings.
He shrugged.
Is it that we are not suited, then? Each to each?
Fore God-I feel suited to you, woman! As to none other.
It is a strange thing. I could not feel more truly a woman, and giving. Giving yes. None give as you do. Nor take! Bless you.
Giving. Taking. But not making!
At least, the giving and taking is no burden, no hard task, lass!
Ah, no. No! The trying is joy! Joy!
Joy, aye. Then, shall we try once more, my love? Try …?
With all my heart!
Chapter Four
It was surely as strange a sight as those quiet, green, south-facing Cheviot valleys had ever witnessed. As far back as eye could see, along the narrow winding floor of Upper Redesdale, was a dazzling mass of colour and stir in the mellow autumn sunlight of an October early afternoon. The place was in fact packed full of men and horses, richly caparisoned, armour gleaming, painted shields, heraldic surcoats and trappings, banners by the hundred. Women too added to the colour-for although the men greatly predominated, and mostly wore breastplates of steel or shirts of chain mail they were none of them in full heavy armour. At the head of this so strangely located and holiday-minded host, facing into the wider reaches where the Rede suddenly opened out of its hill bound constrictions just north of Otterburn, and Lower Redesdale expanded into more populous territory, was still more colour and brilliance; for here the King and Queen and almost their entire Court waited and watched, while an impromptu archery contest proceeded. Bruce was anxious to encourage archery and bow between her fingers. Marjory was never alone; yet somehow she gave the impression of being alone. Men eddied around her, young and not so young, the most gallant in the land. She was quietly civil towards them all and equally-but that was all.
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