The Steps to the Empty Throne bt-1

by Nigel Tranter

  Sending back his impromptu standard-bearer, Robert Bruce commenced to pace up and down the bank of the moat.

  He scarcely heard, presently, the clanking of the portcullis chains or the creaking of the timbering as the massive drawbridge began to come down. His mind, his judgement, his emotions, his whole character and personality, were involved in a turmoil of debate, of contradiction, of conjecture, as never before And yet, somehow, behind it all, the decision was already made.

  With the bridge lowered to within some ten feet of its base, so that it formed only a moderate incline, armed men appeared from the gatehouse arch. And out from among them walked two persons—a woman and a boy.

  The Lady of Douglas was younger than Bruce had expected;

  in her early thirties probably, slightly built but most evidently pregnant, not handsome but not ill favoured, with a proud and confident look. The boy was no more than twelve years old, well built, sturdy, dark, almost swarthy indeed. He held the woman’s hand, and held his head high as they paced out on the echoing timbers.

  They came to the lip of the bridge, and so stood, looking down at Bruce.

  “Well, my lord-what have you to say?” Lady Douglas asked. And, as an afterthought, “This is James Douglas, my husband’s heir.”

  “My sorrow, lady, that we should meet in such case.” Bruce was frowning blackly, not at her or the boy but in concentration—however it might seem to them.

  “Do you know where Sir William Douglas is?”

  “If I did, think you I would tell you, sir?”

  “I think he may be none so far away. If I agreed to take you to him, would you come with me, madam?”

  “Take me …? To him?” She stared down at him.

  “Do you think to mock me now, young man …?”

  “Not so. Why should I mock you? I do not know for sure, but I think that Sir William may be with the other rebels. Who were in Galloway. His former good-brother, James the Steward, and the Bishop of Galloway.”

  “Rebels, sir? These are no rebels. How may they be rebels, who rise, in their own land and in the name or their own king, against a foreign tyrant?”

  “Aye—it may be so. At any rate, these, I have just learned, are now near to Ayr. Thirty miles, no more. Will you come with me to Ayr, lady?”

  “With you? You? To Ayr? But… but…”

  “My lord,” the boy said tensely but strongly, “if you jest with us now, you are no true knight! This, this lady is in no state for that. For any true knight to make fool of. Did King Edward of England send you to her for that?”

  It was bravely said. This boy could not be the Lady Eleanor’s son. He must be the child of the first marriage. He was, therefore, nephew of James the Steward-named after him, no doubt.

  Bruce inclined his head.

  “King Edward sent me here to take this lady, and you, to his officers,” he told the boy carefully.

  “But now, I find, I am his chief est officer in these parts I And I have come to think that it might be best to take you to Ayr.”

  “Why?” the woman demanded.

  “Or do you seek to trick us?

  Use us as hostages? Before my husband …!”

  “No. Give you into your husband’s keeping, rather.”

  “I do not understand. You are Edward’s man. My husband is Edward’s enemy. What mean you …?”

  I am my own man, lady-not Edward’s. Bruce supported Edward against the usurper Baliol, yes. But Baliol is no longer here. Nor indeed is Edward! Both across the sea. And Bruce is no Puppet to be jerked this way and that…”

  ”You mean, my lord, that you change sides?”

  He frowned.

  “Say that I must choose, in this pass, to do what is best. Wisest. For all. The SouthWest is aflame, it seems. And Ross and Argyll too, they say. How much else, God knows.

  Hazelrig is dead, at Lanark. All is changed. From when I was sent to take you …”

  “Then why not go away, sir? Leave us in peace?” the young James Douglas broke in.

  “You would not long thank me for that! Segrave and more English will be back, you may be sure. Douglas Castle would have but a brief respite. And then you would be in more unhappy state. You saw the style of Segrave!”

  “So you would go to my husband, and these others, at Ayr?

  Taking us as, as … as sureties? Not hostages but tokens?

  Tokens, my lord. That they may accept you as honest!” Eleanor Douglas was considering him shrewdly.

  “I think that I perceive it. They are more like to trust you, if you do not come empty handed I Bruce, who was Edward’s man!”

  “You are less than gracious, madam.” That was stiff.

  “Perhaps.” There was a few seconds’ pause. She shook her head, in a welter of indecision.

  “Can I trust you, then?”

  “Would you rather that I handed you to the English? Or left you to withstand their fury here?”

  She sighed.

  “No. Since I cannot long hold this house against a host. I will come with you. Your reasons for taking me to my husband may be ignoble, sir—but it may best serve my need meantime. I will come with you.”

  Bruce had flushed a little and knew it, but hoped that it might not be apparent in the half-light.

  “I do not acclaim your niceness of feeling, madam,” he said shortly.

  “But at least your choice is wise. Will you go, then, and make ready?

  To ride. Send your folk away, to their own places. Disperse them. That there be no bloodshed when the English come. They may ill-use your house somewhat—but that is small price to pay for lives and freedom.

  Do not delay, for we ride as soon as we may.”

  “Ride? Tonight? It is near dark …!”

  “Yes, tonight. I wish to have you away from here, out of Douglasdale and into my own country of Carrick, by daylight.

  To delay here now would be folly. And in your state we may not ride over fast He glanced at her swollen belly.

  “So, haste you, lady.”

  She shrugged.

  “Very well. If so it must be. Come, Jamie …”

  Bruce turned, blank-faced, and strode back in the gloaming light to his waiting men. Curtly, there, he issued orders that all his host was to be brought back forthwith, abandoning the positions around the castle. All were to assemble.

  When his six hundred were gathered before him in the gloom, Bruce had a horn blown for silence, and addressed them.

  “My friends,” he said, “hear me. This realm is in sore straits, as you all know well. Men know not which way to turn. There has been revolt against the English who lord it here. Lanark is fallen. The High Steward, and a host, is at Ayr. I … I have decided to join them.”

  In the pause there was an absolute silence save for the wary calling of curlews bewailing the night.

  “It is that, or marching against Lanark, to seek to recapture it.

  For the English. Which do you prefer?”

  There was a muttering, quickly stilled.

  “I think King Edward’s cause may no longer be Bruce’s cause!

  And I would not do battle against those who revolt. So I go to Ayr.

  Who comes with me?”

  Again the murmuring arose, this time to continue, to grow loud and prolonged, as men discussed and argued.

  After a while, Bruce had the horn blown again.

  “I could command that you come with me,” he said.

  “But you are my father’s vassals. Not my own. He is Lord of Annandale, not I. And my father is King Edward’s Governor of Carlisle. If you join me in this, who knows, you may suffer for it. Your homes, your wives and hairns. So I give you choice. It is my decision. You make yours.”

  There was more talk, some of it heated. One voice rose above others, presently.

  “Lord-do we fight for this Edward? Or against him? We do not know rightly. You had us to swear an oath. To Edward. Did you no’?”

  Bruce drew a deep breath.

  “An oath, yes. But a commanded oath. An oath given under duress. It is not binding, as is a true oat
h. So teaches Holy Church. It may be annulled. I, similarly, swore allegiance to Edward. Under duress.

  But I did not swear to make war against my own people. Not to slay my

  own’ folk. No man, I say, holds his own flesh and blood in hatred. I

  am Earl of Carrick. My own folk of Carrick live yonder.” He pointed

  to the west.

  “The English would have me lead you, to fight. For them.

  Against Scots, I cannot, with not, do it. I must join my own people of Carrick. And the nation into which I was born.”

  He had stopped, at his own last words. He had not known that he was going to say these things. They had come out of him of their own volition, to his surprise. He stood, biting his lip.

  Some of his ranked listeners cheered. Some murmured. More stood silent.

  Bruce shook his head.

  “A man must choose his own course, he said slowly, as though to himself.

  “Aye, a man must choose.

  Choose you, then. You are free to do so. My father’s men, not mine.

  Those who would may turn now. Ride back to Annandale.

  To their homes. Those who would come with me to Carrick, I welcome. Let each man choose freely.” He turned abruptly, and walked away from them.

  It was almost an hour later, and quite dark, before the castle drawbridge clanked down again, and, lit by pitch-pine torches, a small party came riding out. Bruce rode to meet them, Lady Douglas, wrapped in a voluminous travelling-cloak, had another child with her now,” riding pillion behind young James, a little boy of four or five—Hugh Douglas, her own son. There were also a couple of tiring-women and a few armed servitors.

  The Annandale host was now drawn up in two companies-and one was many times larger than the other. Of something under six hundred, only about seventy had elected to go with Bruce into this doubtful adventure-and these were mainly young men, unattached, lacking responsibilities. The rest were for home, discretion and the daily round. Their lord’s son was the last to blame them.

  There was no further discussion or farewells. Without ceremony, the two groups parted company, the smaller trotting off south by west up the Douglas Water, the larger turning away eastwards towards the Castleton and the unseen welter of hills beyond.

  Behind them, other folk were slipping out of Douglas Castle also now, quietly, singly and in little groups, and disappearing into the night.

  Picking their careful way by bridle-paths and cattle-tracks, Brute’s party followed the Douglas Water hour after hour through the spring night, slowly making height as the river shrank and lifted towards its genesis on the lofty flank of mighty Cairntable, where ran the Ayrshire border amongst the long heather hills.

  Long before Douglas Water could lead them to its remote birthplace, they had struck off almost due westwards by a drove road over the high, bleak watershed moorlands where the head streams of the River Ayr were mothered, and the wastes of Airds Moss stretched in peat-hag and scrub. By dawn they were slanting down out of the wild uplands between Sorn and Ochiltree, almost twenty weary miles behind them and only a dozen to go to the town of Ayr, and the sea.

  Not that it was Ayr, in fact, for which Bruce was making. He was on the edge, now, of his own ancient earldom of Carrick, comprising the nine parishes of South Ayrshire, with Turnberry Castle, sixteen miles south of Ayr town, its principal seat-and his own birthplace. Turnberry was not for him meantime, however, for its castle had been garrisoned by the English, like Lochmaben, since Comyn had been driven out of it. But Maybole, the largest burgh of Carrick, lay somewhat nearer, and might well supply him with sufficient men to serve his purpose.

  The English force from Lanark were unlikely to have gone as far south as Maybole.

  Tired and travel-worn, they came to the little town in its enclosed green valley, in the early forenoon—to find it in a bustle and stir of excitement. The High Steward’s host had passed through it, going north, two days before, and had demanded the adherence of a contingent of the town’s menfolk, for the revolt.

  These had been assembling, with varying degrees of enthusiasm, and were now almost ready to march. The Steward and the Bishop were not at Ayr, but a few miles further north of it, at Irvine. They had passed Ayr by, for there the English contingent from Lanark, said to number about five hundred, had installed themselves; with the place’s own garrison, they were considered too strong to assault meantime.

  Bruce was well enough pleased with this situation. He had intended to

  raise a token force, since these were his own vassals, to accompany him

  to the rebel base. Now they were already assembled for him. As Earl

  of Carrick, he ordered more to be mustered and to come on later. After

  rest and refreshment, with an augmented company of about three hundred,

  he and the Douglases set out once more, northwards, towards Irvine.The Lady Eleanor was bearing up notably well, even if she remained less than friendly.

  They made a wide half-circuit round Ayr, fording Doon and Ayr’s own river about three miles inland from the sea. Thereafter, with only occasional glimpses of the town, on their left, they rode through the rolling and populous territory of Kyle until, in late afternoon, they saw the huddle of roofs that was Irvine’s royal burgh, dominated by its monastery and Seagate Castle, at the blue sea’s edge, with the smoke of an army’s cooking-fires rising like a screen around it. Bruce sent forward three emissaries, one of them a magistrate of Maybole brought along for this purpose, to make known his approach and identity.

  Presently, while still perhaps half a mile from the town, a fairly large mounted party could be seen coming out towards them.

  Well out of bowshot-range this company halted, and sent forward two horsemen, one of knightly appearance.

  These came cantering up, and Bruce saw that the knight was the same Sir Richard Lundin who had stood before him in the sorry queue to sign the Ragman’s Roll at Berwick those months ago. He raised hand in salutation.

  “My lord—here is a strange meeting,” Lundin called.

  “I greet you. But my Lord James, the Steward, commands that you leave your company here and come on alone to speak with him.”

  “As Earl of Carrick, I obey no commands, here in Ayrshire, from the Steward or other, Sir Richard,” Bruce returned, but not harshly.

  “I will, however, come with you of my own goodwill.

  And gladly. Go you and tell the Lord James so.”

  Nodding, the knight turned and cantered back whence he had come.

  Bruce told his people to wait where they were. But the Lady of Douglas declared that she would come with him.

  “Not so, madam,” he returned.

  “You remain here with the others, if you please. Until we see what my reception is.”

  “So! It is as I thought I You use me as a hostage, sir. You bargain with me. To your shame!”

  “Say that I look well to your safety, lady. Until I learn what is to befall. But I will take the lad James. To greet his uncle.”

  So the young man and the dark boy rode on alone towards the waiting party.

  They were within a hundred yards or so when, with a cry, a big burly man, in rusted but once handsome armour, burst out from the Irvine group and came spurring towards them.

  “Jamie!”

  be shouted, a; he came, “Jamie!”

  “Father!” The boy went plunging to meet him.

  Bruce watched their reunion, a touching scene, the more unexpected in that Sir William, Lord of Douglas, was known to be a fierce, temperamental and wayward character, as unpredictable as he was ungovernable. Bruce had not met the man but his reputation was known to all. Now he was embracing his son like any more gentle father.

  Others rode forward now, foremost amongst them a tall, elderly, cadaverous man, armoured all in black without the usual colourful heraldic surcoat. Tightlipped, rattrap-jawed, thoughtful of when, his sour and gloomy features were redeemed by great soulful brown eyes, wildly improbable in such a face-James Stewart, fifth Hi
gh Steward of Scotland. Bruce knew him, of course; he had been one of the Bruce supporters in his grandfather’s claim to the throne.

  “My lord of Carrick,” this apparition announced in a lisping voice-for his tongue was loose and on the large side for his tight mouth, and he dribbled somewhat, “I had not looked to see you here. Do we greet you as friend, or foe? What is your purpose here?”

  “The same as is yours, my lord Steward, I would say,” Bruce replied.

  “To help raise the banner of freedom.”

  “You say that? Edward’s man!”

  “My own man, sir.”

  “And your father’s son!”

  “My father will choose for himself. 7 have chosen to come here.

  Would you have had me choose otherwise?”

  “No-0-0.” The older man rode closer.

  “You change sides, then?”

  “Sides, my lord? Say that I do not take arms against my own flesh and blood. While that was not required of me, I preferred Edward’s train to the man Baliol’s. As, I think, did you! Today, all is changed. The sides, not I.”

  Doubtfully the other was considering when Douglas came thrusting from his son’s side, voice raised.

  “My wife, Bruce?” he cried.

  “You hold her? You dare to lay hands on Douglas’s wife!” Meddle with me and mine …!”

  “I brought the Lady of Douglas to you, my lord. For her wellbeing and safety. She awaits you, there. Unharmed. As is your son …”

  Father,” the boy called eagerly.

  “He is good. The Lord Robert has treated us kindly. Saved us from the English …”

  Without a word, Sir William wheeled his horse around and set off into a gallop towards the Maybole contingent. After a moment’s uncertainty, the boy went hot-foot after him.

  The Steward looked from them back to Bruce.

  “You surprise me, my lord. But the support of Bruce is welcome—so be it is true, sure, honest. Those are men you have brought to our cause?”

  “Some seventy from Annandale, two hundred from Maybole.

  More are to come.”

  “And we can do with all such. At Ayr—did you have sight of the English?”

  “I kept my distance. Saw nothing stirring.”