No. I have spoken of it to none. Save Elizabeth. And now you.
That at least is wise. Heed me, Robert-and say nothing to any. I am no physician. But I cannot believe that what you have told me truly signifies leprosy. A skin ailment, yes-but there are many. The true leper is much more wasted, stricken. His sores remain, they do not come and go. They grow worse. You have suffered this sickness, at times, for years. Ten years. That cannot be leprosy. When I took your royal hand between mine, Sire, it was not only in token of continuing fealty and love, whatever sickness you may have. It was that I do not, cannot conceive your person as unclean, not to be touched. I truly conceive your fears to be groundless.
You do? The sudden rise, the hope, in his voice, was not to be disguised.
I do, as God is my witness. And I urge that you put it from your mind. Say naught to any. Even those closest.
And physicians?
No, Robert, my friend. Not unless your sickness grows the worse. I do not believe that we may trust any man with so dire a secret.
Physicians have tongues like other men. Someone would whisper. Then there would be talk-and talk become clamour.
And once there was such clamour, the Church would be invoked.
Its laws on lepers. However firm I stood out against it, some would
demand that the Church acted as ordained. You still have our enemies
You know how this, of all ills, frightens men. Faced with leprosy, the worst in men comes out. You know what they would demand?
I know enough.
I pray that you know enough, then, to say nothing. To any. For Holy Church could be invoked to declare you lawfully dead. To conduct funeral obsequies over your empty coffin. To declare your throne vacant. Your marriage dissolved. Masses to be said throughout the realm for the benefit of your soul, as departed this life.
Your child declared orphan. You could be ejected by bell, book and candle from the haunts of men. Debarred from entering any city or town or village, save at certain seasons, and then only sounding a clapper before you, that folk might avoid you. You, Robert Bruce! Thus until your dying day. Which could be years later. Sweet Saviour-think of it, Robert! You, Scotlands deliverer, Scotlands hope. I would sooner that you cut out your tongue, and mine, than that you spoke of this to any!
For long moments the King stared out across the sparkling water.
As you will, he said, at last.
Chapter Fifteen
Elizabeth de Burgh and William Lamberton made a notable confederacy, and they had their way with Robert Bruce. And not only in the matter of keeping secret the Kings fear of leprosy. On the subject of making a new home for the royal family, the Queen added her voice to the Primates. She had never been particularly attached to Tumberry and since Marjorys death there she had frequently wished to be gone. The place spoke to her too much of alarms, fears and hurried journeys. Moreover she agreed with Lamberton that the monarch should dwell near the centre of his kingdom, not on the outskirts. And setting up a new home might well be a useful distraction for a man with a dark shadow on his mind.
Bruce, of course, was not really an enthusiast for castle or palace building. Throughout his life he had been more concerned with pulling down such places, either as enemy-held or as constituting threats to his security. He was not disposed to start erecting some new and ambitious edifice, therefore, especially in present circumstances.
But he acceded to the others advice that a move should be made to a more central spot-not the least of his considerations being that Turnberry was really Edwards house now, the seat of the earldom of Carrick which he had granted to his brother-and it went against the grain to be beholden to Edward for anything.
Of the other great Bruce castles, none were any more central than this. Moreover, Lochmaben was largely in ruins, since the last English withdrawal; Annan little better, and almost in England; and Buittle, in Galloway, was also Edwards, as Lord thereof. While Inverurie, up in Aberdeenshire, had been demolished early on by Edward Longshanks, and was as remote in the other direction as these SouthWest houses.
The obvious choice lay between Stirling and Dunfermline, royal palaces
both-for Linlithgow had been destroyed, on Braces own commands, as
too dangerous a place to permit near the strategic battleground of
Stirling. It was that vital strategic situation which told against
Stirling itself, in this issue. He would have gone to dwell there
readily enough; but Elizabeth was set against it. She coveted as home no fortress skied on a rock overlooking half a dozen past battlefield sand who knew how many more to come?
She wanted to wean her husbands mind away from war and strategy, in so far as this was practicable; and Stirling, with Bannockburn spread below, was scarcely the place to achieve it. With Lambertons help, she influenced the King strongly in the direction of Dunfermline, therefore. After all, it had been the great Malcolm Canmores capital, its abbey superseding Scone as the burial-place of the Scottish kings. Here were interred Malcolm and his beatified Queen Margaret, as well as their sons. Also the Kings Donald Bain, Eadgar, Alexander the First, David the First, Malcolm the Fourth and Alexander the Third. It was, next to Ionas remote isle, the most royal place in Scotland; moreover it was in life, the same county as Lambertons St. Andrews. Elizabeth pointed out that the child in her womb might well be a son, the heir to Scotland. If it was, surely it was right that he should be born in this hoary cradle of the Scots monarchy?
So, with still nearly two months to go until the birth-date, the move
was made, from Clyde to Forth, that midsummer of 1317, and the Court of
Scotland came to settle in the modest grey palace above Pittendreich
Glen, overlooking the widening Firth of Forth, with the ancient
climbing town of Dunfermline in a horseshoe behind, and the great abbey
towering close by. Edward the First had burned all on his departure
therefrom in 1304; but less thoroughly than was his wont, and the
churchmen had been busily repairing it, the abbey especially. Much
more remained to be done at the palace, but there was still more
habitable accommodation than there had been in Turnberrys fortified
towers. The King and Queen moved into the Abbots quarters while their own apartments were being made ready for them; and the Court settled itself to roost where it could. It was thirty-one years since last this had been the seat of government, when Alexander the Third had ridden away that stormy evening towards St. Andrews, to fall over the fatal cliff at Kinghom.
Despite her condition, Elizabeth was in her womans element.
She had been married, and Queen of Scotland, for fifteen years, and at last she had a home which she might call her own. She busied herself from mom till night in supervising, planning, furnishing.
She deliberately involved her husband in the business much more than
was absolutely necessary, or considered suitable by many, Lamberton
aiding and abetting. And Bruce, after a little initial resistance,
became interested, even moderately enthusiastic, finding small
challenges, problems, decisions on a domestic scale new to him. His physical betterment was evident, undeniable, his preoccupation with himself fading.
The sudden, slightly premature accouchement and, after only four hours of comparatively light labour, birth of a second princess, was only marginally a disappointment. There was heartfelt relief too, not only in that Elizabeth, at her age, had had no difficulties of delivery; but that the child was perfect, small but entirely healthy, lovely. It had been Bruces second, secret dread, from the moment of learning that his wife was pregnant again, that the child would be affected in some way by his feared disease, sickly, handicapped, even a monster. That she was not so engendered so great a joy and comfort that her sex seemed scarcely a major matter.
> They called her Margaret, after the sainted queen who had made Dunfermline her home two and a half centuries before.
Bruce was busy at more than domestic matters. There was so much to be done, in the rule and governance of his realm, so much that had been neglected, not only during the Irish campaign but during the long years of war. He was not a man for idling and inactivity, however much his wife might urge a period of recuperation, and he threw himself into the business of civil administration with a will, almost as though in an effort to wear himself out with work. Dunfermline buzzed like a bees bike disturbed, the old grey town on the ridge above the Forth fuller of folk, of clamour and colour, than it had ever been. Bernard de Linton, who perhaps had thought that the return of the monarch would lift some of the burden of administration from his shoulders, as Chancellor, instead had to find a deputy Abbot for Arbroath and come to take up residence at Dunfermline, there to labour harder than ever.
Bruce required his churchmens help and advice for more than mere civil administration and the day-to-day running of the kingdom.
After his military rebuffs in the Borders and at Donibristle, in life nearby, Edward of England, far from conceding the desired peace treaty, had turned to Rome for aid in his warfare against Bruce and Scotland.
And the present Pope had found it convenient to pay heed. He was
attempting to organise a crusade against the Turks, and desired the
adherence of England. Scotland he appeared to consider as not worth
including in the matter. He proceeded, therefore, at Edwards request,
to fulminate against Scotland in general and Robert Bruce in
particular. He ordained a compulsory two-year truce between the two
countries, and addressed a Bill to the King of England and to Robert
Bruce who carried himself as King of Scotland. He also commanded that
the Scots immediately stopped besieging the English in BerwickonTweed
* an unusual provision in a papal bull. And he sent two cardinals to present his commands-a subtle move.
Bruce had lived under the papal frown for years. But this new assault
was serious, in that it specifically denied him recognition as true
king before all the princes of Christendom, so implying that he was not
a person with whom any Christian ruler could properly conclude any
agreement or treaty. Not only would England, therefore, be sustained
in its reluctance to enter into a peace treaty, but other and more
friendly nations were also thus inhibited from establishing and
maintaining relations. Scotland was to be a pariah amongst the
peoples.
This was all a great blow, of course, not only to Bruce but to Lamberton the Primate, who had anointed him King and consistently supported him-as well as to all the other clerics of the realm. They were loath to rebel openly against the authority of the Holy See, from whom they drew their own spiritual authority. A policy of pressure and counter-intrigue at Rome, allied to a masterly inactivity at home, was their obvious recourse; but the former took time, and much money, to arrange intrigues at Rome as elsewhere being largely a matter of massive bribery. And this device of sending the two cardinals was a notably skilful move, since these Princes of the Church outranked Lamberton. They were heading for Scotland via London-where they collogued with King Edward-and Durham, where Lewis de Beaumont was about to be consecrated and installed Prince-Bishop of the Palatinate.
At a Privy Council at Dunfermline in September, Lamberton strongly
contended that they must do all in their power to keep the cardinals
out of Scotland for against their rank and authority, his own authority must yield and go down.
How can we keep them out? the King demanded.
They have announced to the world that they are coming. You would not have me to use force against the representatives of Holy Church? Such representatives!
Not force, no. But a little guile perhaps, the Bishop suggested.
Prevail upon them to send, in the first instance, envoys, nuncios, of lesser rank. To prepare their way. Men whom I, as Primate here, can outspeak. So that I may seek to teach them their lesson, to take back to their masters.
Aye, but how is that to be done, my lord? Bishop Sinclair of
Dunkeld, the hero of Donibristle, asked.
How to make these cardinals send nuncios? They are already at Durham for this Beaumont enthroning. What will halt them now?
We, the bishops of Scotland, could send them a message of welcome, my friend. Greetings to our illustrious brothers in Christ.
But at the same time urge that they delay a little. He glanced at
the
Say that we are uncertain as to how our liege lord Robert might
receive their eminences. In view of the unkind, and we are sure
incorrect, accounts that have reached Scotland. As to the Holy
Fathers pontifications. Until these are put right, these
misunderstandings cleared, we urge discretion. We are concerned that the Holy Fathers lofty emissaries be received with the respect and honour due to their high office. So we advise that they send nuncios to prepare the way.
Ha-guile indeed! Lennox said.
And these envoys? How would you serve them, my lord Bishop?
Indifferently. Confusedly. Send them back to Durham in greater doubt than heretofore. As to their masters reception in Scotland. But with an invitation for the cardinals to attend the celebrations at the consecration of my cathedral at St. Andrews next year. So that there is no hint of unwelcome. From Holy Church.
I do not fully see the wherefore of this, the King observed.
Time we need, Sire. Time for representations to Rome. Time for our friends there to serve our cause. Time to gather gold. Aye, time for Berwick to fall, if possible, so that this Bull is outdated. All this, and more. We must buy time. This device is to buy it.
Sinclair intervened.
If they agree to nuncios, then let us teach these a lesson. To pass on to their principals. If they travel north from Durham they must pass through Northumberland. You, Sire, have resumed the Lordship of Tynedale, and much of Northumberland now pays you fealty. Yet men still consider it to be in England. Some of Your Graces Northumbrian lieges could surely be prevailed upon to waylay these nuncios before they reach Scotland.
To somewhat mishandle them, rob them even-delay them, certainly. In England. So that the blame lies at Englands door, not ours! That might help the cardinals to love the English less!
Bruce actually slapped the table.
Theres my Bishop! he exclaimed.
Better, Sire, Abbot Bernard added.
They could be relieved of their letters to you. These opened privily, the seals unbroken.
Scanned and copied. Then handed back, but their contents sent to Your Grace hot-foot. So you would know before the nuncios arrived what their terms were. And be prepared to receive them aptly.
Grinning for the first time in months, Bruce looked at the Primate.
That man inclined his grizzled head-as much perhaps in satisfaction at his friends improved spirits as at the programme proposed.
It be hoves us, since the realms safety is at stake, to play with
such cards as we hold, he acceded.
Spoken like a churchman! the Earl of Dunbar and March declared, with sarcasm.
Even churchmen may have their small diversions, my lord. So long as they do not cheat thereat!
The Earl frowned.
Save me from ever having to differ from the Lords Spiritual!
Walter the High Steward said fervently-and none of the Lords Temporal present thought to say otherwise.
It was a full six weeks later, therefore, before two indignant and
unhappy clerics, in shabby, borrowed habits and high dud
geon, presented
themselves at Dunfermline and the Court of the King of Scots-the
Bishop of Corbeil and Monseigneur dAumery. They were civilly
received-but not by the King-and kept kicking their heels for some
considerable time before an audience could be arranged. Meantime,
however, they were lent rich clothing, and given much sympathy over
their dire experiences and shameful treatment at the hands of the North
Country English. It seemed that when, with a splendid retinue, the
nuncios were halfway through Northumberland, en route for Berwick, they
had been rudely and savagely set upon by lawless hordes, at Rushyford,
and despite their protestations and claims to sanctity, had been
seized, insulted, stripped of their fine raiment, and carried off
prisoner to the rude castle of one of these ruffians, by name Gilbert
de Middleton, at Mitford. Here they were thrown into dungeons, their baggage stolen, even the sealed letters they carried. They had been held in this horrid and distressing state for some considerable time, until eventually they were freed, but only the said letters given back to them. Since when, suffering grievous discomfort and privations, they had made their difficult way hence, to fulfill their charge and duty.
When Bruce found time formally to receive these illused and outraged
envoys of Holy Church, he was courteous and sympathetic, seeking sad
details and shaking his head. When at last they graduated from
complaints to the object of their visit, and read the open letter that
constituted their credentials, he still listened to them with
attention-even though the tenor of their delivery was hardly
flattering towards an independent monarch, and their references to the cardinals requirements less than tactful.
It was only when the Bishop moved forward actually to hand the sealed envelope to him that Bruces expression changed to the stern.
I rejoice in His Holinesss interest and care for my realm, he
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