Moray grimaced.
A pike-thrust meant for another! Nothing more honourable. What of King Edward, Sire?
Bruce shrugged.
Walter went seeking him. In haste. But, I fear that he would be warned, in time to flee. He did not come to aid his cousin, at least! And he looked at Richmond at last where that thin and tall individual, dressed all in black armour, stood in sullen and depressed silence, with sundry other notables.
I cannot congratulate you on your liege, my lord!
The other inclined his long, grey head stiffly, and said nothing.
He looked an old man, although in fact only a couple of years senior to Bruce.
It is many years since we met, the King went on.
That day you gave us the tidings, at Stirling, of what your then King did to his prisoners! Sir William Wallace in especial. You considered it well done, then, I mind.
A rebel, he died a rebels death, John of Brittany said, almost
primly.
And do you, sir, expect better treatment?
I am no rebel, my lord of Carrick.
So! You still hold to that folly, man! Bruce shook his head.
Are you wise, think you? If I am but Earl of Carrick, and a rebel to your English King-then may not you, and these, expect the treatment a rebel would mete out? To hang you all from the nearest trees! Whereas, were you prisoner of the King of Scots, you might look to receive more courtly treatment! How say you?
Richmond, in fact, did not say anything to that.
The King turned from him.
And these others, Jamie?
This is the Sieur Henri de Sully, Grand Butler of France, Your Grace.
And these behind him are French knights also.
Indeed. And what do Frenchmen fighting for a monarch who will not fight for himself? In a strange land?
De Sully, a florid, powerfully-built man in splendid armour gold
inlaid, bowed low.
We but visit, on our liege lords command his sister, the Queen Isabella, Sire. The King of England being our host, we must needs fight for him when he is beset.
Bruce nodded.
True, sir. That is our knightly code. Your master, the King of France, is I hope my good friend. I accept therefore, that you are present in this battle not from enmity to myself. I think that I can serve him, and you, better than does His Grace of England! Remain you with my Court awhile, my friends.
Come back with me to Scotland. Not as prisoners but as honoured guests. And I will send you home to France, in due course, wiser men! How say you?
To a man the Frenchmen expressed entire satisfaction with this sudden turn in their fortunes.
James Douglas presented the other prominent captives.
This is Sir Ralph Cobham, Sire-called by some the best knight in England. He led the English van down upon us. And fought bravely.
Then we welcome him to our company. I have known of Sir Ralph. Make his stay with us comfortable, Sir James. And this?
Sir Thomas de Uhtred, Keeper of the Castle of Pickering. He cost us dear, but fought nobly.
Such knights are an honour to encounter. My lord of Moray-see well to Sir Thomass relief, I pray you. Like yourself, he has taken some hurt. But-hold my lord of Richmond close I charge you-since he esteems himself in rebel hands! The rest I will speak with anon. Nowto see to our own hurts …
The Scots set up camp down where the corrie joined the woodland, where was shelter, fuel and water. And there, hours later, Walter the High Steward came to the King, riding out of the darkness into the firelight. Save for his Steward esquires, he was alone.
Too late, Walter? the King said.
I feared it. Edward of Carnarvon has as long legs as his father, but uses them a deal differently!
He was not long gone, Sire. From Rievaulx. Departed in much haste. His meal left on the Abbots table! All his guard not yet gone. These we cut down-but got out of one that the King had fled for Bridlington. To take a ship to London. Fifty miles.
We took that road after him, by Helmsley and Nunnington, ten miles and
more. Near to Malton. But he had fresh horses and we had not. And in the darkness, not knowing the land, we took the wrong road at Slingsby. So, in obedience to your royal command I turned back. I am sorry, Sire. I know that your heart was set on this. That all was planned to this end …
With any other King but Edward, you would have been successful,
Walter, I swear! Never heed-none would have done better against this
fleet-foot monarch, who yet calls himself Lord Paramount of
At least I have brought Your Grace something, the younger man said. He drew from within his steel breastplate a golden casket, shaped like a double saucer, richly jewelled and engraved.
A
token, Sire. The Privy Seal of England, no less! Left behind, in its keepers, Sir Hugh Despensers haste!
Dear God! Their Privy Seal of the realm! Abandoned in craven haste? What shame is here! Humiliation. Save us-this day Edward Longshanks must. be birling in his grave at Westminster!
More than that, Sire. We captured great treasure in gold, silver and jewels. Rich raiment, the Kings own clothing. His tabard, with the Leopards of England. Horse-trappings and harness. We have a hundred horse-loads of rich spoil.
Aye. That, strangely, was almost a sigh, as Bruce looked round in the firelight at all his lords and knights and captains, the Frenchmen also, and other knightly prisoners-although not Richmond himself, who was being kept rigorously apart, out of the Kings circle.
You hear, my friends? This day a great and proud realm eats dust! This day is sorer in proud Englands story than was Bannockburn. The day of Byland Ridge-as they tell me is the name of this hill-will go down in a peoples annals as the very depth of shame. Because of the unreasoning hate, the stubborn pride and the craven hearts of those who led her. Bannockburn was grievous defeat followed by shameful flight, but all honour was not lost. Today, beaten deep in the heart of his own country, by lesser numbers of those he elects to call rebels, yet without himself raising a hand to strike back, or aid his fighting subjects, the King of England flees in abject fear, leaving even his Privy Seal behind.
From this, his name and repute can never recover, I say. But I grieve not for this craven fool, Edward. I grieve for England, the greatest realm in Christendom, laid low for its lords dastard fault.
Mind it, my friends-mind it. The Battle of Byland, that was indeed no true battle, is not Englands shame, but Edwards. Mind it, lest you come to craw overloud! And mind, too, how ill served may be even the greatest realm by its leaders-lest Scotland be ever likewise! Mind this day, I say.
There was silence around the great fire, as men heeded those words, and the stern tones in which they were spoken.
Then Fraser spoke up.
So? Do we drive on to London then, Sire? There will be little to halt us, I vow!
No, Sandy, we do not! Have you not learned yet? The conquest of anothers realm is a hateful thing, a shame on the conqueror as on the vanquished. I am not here for conquest. I am here for one purpose only-to force a peace treaty, lasting peace, between the realms of Scotland and England. That only. What we have achieved today may serve. Pray God it will. But setting all the English South afire and in arms, in largest war, as it would be, would breed only hate, bitterness, needless bloodshed. And probably defeat-for be it never forgotten that they are ten times more numerous than are we. No, friends-I turn face for Scotland tomorrow. Although some of you may remain here in Yorkshire a little longer. To recoup the cost of burned Edinburgh, Lothian and the Merse! From these rich, undamaged towns. As is but fair. Tax gatherers, my friends-that is your role, now, not conquerors!
And, who knows-you may teach the proud English a sharper lesson thereby …!
Chapter Twenty-One
It was long since Bruce h
ad visited his castle of Lochmaben, in
Annandale. Nor would he have chosen to visit it now, in early January
1323for this was no time to be travelling across Scotland, with snow on
the hills and the passes choked. Moreover, the Yuletide celebrations
were not yet over. Again, Lochmaben was still largely in ruins, and
inadequate shelter for a winter visit-for the King, holding to his
policy of having as few castles as possible for invaders and traitors
to occupy against him, had never repaired it after its last battering
by the English. However, Sir Andrew Harcla, Earl of Carlisle, had sent
most urgent word, via Bishop Lamberton whom he had known, requesting a
secret meeting with the King of Scots, and so soon as might be, at some
spot which the Englishman could reach from Carlisle in a days riding;
and Bruce, intrigued, preferred to have the meeting sooner rather than
later, for Elizabeth was, beyond all expectation, pregnant again, with
delivery expected in only six or seven weeks. He was not going to
risk being absent from his wifes side in the event of any premature birth. So he had settled for this early date of the new year, and at Lochmaben, remote and ruinous, as a suitably secure venue. There were not many men the King would have travelled so far to meet-but Andrew Harcla of Carlisle, in present circumstances, was one.
The new Earl was already waiting, in the castles former brewhouse, the only building still intact, when Bruce, with Moray and Douglas and a small escort, clattered into the grass-grown courtyard on the green peninsula of the loch. Beating their arms against their sides, to warm their frozen fingers, they stamped into the brewhouse, where Lochmabens keeper, Bruces own illegitimate son by his second cousin, Christian of Carrick, entertained the Englishman with meats and wine before a roaring fire of logs.
The King embraced this other Robert Bruce briefly, a young man of whom he was not particularly fond, and who seemed to take after his late Uncle Edward rather than his father, fruit of the enthusiastic and comprehensive hospitality shown to the fugitive monarch at Newton-of-Ayr eighteen years before, but whom he dutifully cherished, as it were from a distance.
Ha, Rob-so you are growing a beard already! On my soul, they start younger each year! To make me feel the older, I faith!
he greeted.
How is your lady-mother, lad?
Well, Sire-and sends greetings. And hopes that Your Grace will honour her house at Newton hereafter. But, Sire-yourself?
You look but poorly. Thin. Is the sickness back again?
Douglas coughed hurriedly.
Moray looked away.
This will be my lord of Carlisle, I think, Your Grace, he said.
Ah, yes. The King turned, smoothing the quick frown from his brow.
My lord-your forgiveness that we are late. The snow blocked the pass by Beattock, and we must needs make circuit by Moffat. You would have little difficulty, coming up Annandale?
None, Sire. And I crave your royal pardon and patience in bringing you so far. But the matter is vital, and my position … difficult.
Andrew Harcla was a short, stocky, powerfully-built man of early middle-age, plain, heavy-featured, jerky of manner and without obvious graces, not unlike one of his own Cumberland bulb.
But his small darting eyes were notably lively, and shrewd.
Bruce inclined his head.
That I understand, my lord. I came, since it was the best soldier in England today who besought me.
I thank Your Majesty. Mores the pity, I think, that I need not to be very able, and yet that! For these are sorry days for England.
I
do not deny it. And what would you with the King of Scots?
The Englishman looked at Bruces companions.
Your Majesty will understand how delicate is my situation, how secret is my visit.
And how for your royal ear alone are my words.
The King shook his head.
My son, here, will leave us. But these-no. My nephew of Moray is now as my right hand in the governance of this my realm, since my lord Bishop of St. Andrews, to whom you sent your letter, is sore stricken, bed bound Anything that you have to say to me, he should hear. And my good friend Sir James of Douglas is Warden of the Marches. Any matter which concerns the Border-and surely this must-is within his bailie wick. These remain, sir.
The other shrugged.
As you will. But he waited until the young man had left the
brewhouse before continuing.
My head could fall, for what I say now, Sire. I beg you, and these, to mind it well.
It could be called treason. My very presence here. Yet I am no
traitor.
That we will judge when we hear you, my lord. Yet, it comes to my mind that you once betrayed the Earl of Lancaster!
Harcla set a heavy jaw.
I prefer that you use another word, Your Highness! he said
thickly.
Perhaps. Let it be. What is your urgent matter, then?
The Englishman took a deep breath.
This, Sire. Because of the follies, failures and this governance of King Edward and his friends the Despensers, England is in sore straits, and in a state of revolt.
Not yet open revolt, but near it. The country has never been so mismanaged and disgraced. Your own defeat of the King at Byland, and his shameful flight, has lost him all support. Especially in the North. The North, I say, has had enough of Edward of Carnarvon!
So! And you are King Edwards commander in the North!
The better to know the temper there. The better to take steps to improve the position.
You take steps?
Yes, Sire. I, and those who think as I do. Which is the greater part
of the lords and barons of the North. We know well that Your Majesty
has long sought a peace treaty and recognition of your sovereignty and
independence. We would undertake to urge this course upon King Edward
by every means in our power-and such means are not little. And if he
will not listen, then to ally ourselves with Your Majesty against
him!
Bruce stared at the man.
Ally …! You?
Aye, Sire. I, and others. Many others.
You would turn your coats? Turn traitors. Against your own realm?
Not traitors. Not against our own realm. Only against Edward, who cannot and will not preserve us, our land, people and goods.
He is incapable of defending the North of England-nor does he care to do so. For years, Sire, you and yours-these same lords of Douglas and Moray, indeed-have raided and devastated and held to ransom our entire North. As far south as York. Has the King of England ever sought to aid us? Never! He has invaded Scotland-but that was for his own pride and glory, not our help.
We have pleaded with him for what should be our right, the right of any part of the kingdom-protection, aid, governance. And received none. So, we say, it were better that the North of England came under the King of Scots protection than his enmity! We are too far from London, Sire. And once, Scotland reached as far as Lancaster …
You are proposing that I annexe the North of England-with your help, man?
I am. If King Edward will not heed our last demand foray peace treaty.
Bruce looked at Douglas and Moray, at something of a loss.
They appeared only astonished, and offered him no guidance.
How much of substance is there here? he demanded.
I do not doubt your serious intent, my lord-or you would not have come here at the risk of your head. But-how much of backing have you? Few can know of your move-or King Edwards spies would know of it also, by this!
I know the temper of the North, Sire. I a
m Governor. And I am no fancy fool sent up from the South. I am a Cumbrian. See you, the North has been in a ferment for years. The Earl of Lancaster knew it. But he acted foolishly, and too soon. Nevertheless, his execution grievously offended the North, where so many were his vassals. I heard cheers for Edwards defeat at Byland in Carlisles streets!
Northumberland is ready to revolt-for they have been harder hit by the Scots raiding than have Cumberland and Westmorland. Indeed, many there believe that Your Highness intends to annexe Northumberland to Scotland anyway. After your claim to Tynedale. That it is in your realm.
There could be a grain of truth in that, the King admitted.
I have considered it. And I will so do-if it will bring King Edward to his senses and the peace-tables.
It is my belief that it would fail to do so. Even this. Never was a king so set in his folly. I say, Sire, that you will have to reckon without Edward of Carnarvon! He will not negotiate with you, because to do so he must recognise you as King of Scots, equal with himself, and independent. This he will never do. All the defeats and raids since Bannockburn have not brought him to it. Annexation of Northumberland to your realm in itself will not do so either. Other steps Your Majesty must take. You will only gain your peace treaty with another king on Englands throne!
Mmmm. Bruce took a pace or two over the flagged floor of the
brewhouse, in a quandary. In his heart, he knew that this man was
probably right. Yet it went against the grain, against all his
instincts, for himself, a king, to plot with a traitorous subject to
bring down another king. Not that such qualms had ever affected Edward or his father. He swung on Moray.
How think you, Thomas? he demanded, to gain time for decision.
Is there to be no peace while King Edward reigns?
It is now nine years since Bannockburn, Sire. And you have done all that man can do to gain a treaty. In this I fear my lord of Carlisle is right. King Edward will not change now. Yet both realms need peace above all things. It seems that other means must be used to bring it about. Has my lord firm suggestions? Recognising his uncles difficult position, Moray asked the question himself.
The Price of the King's Peace bt-3 Page 41
