The Steps to the Empty Throne bt-1

by Nigel Tranter

  “Then … then you believe this vain? Of no avail? Yet you joined us.

  Left Edward’s side for ours.”

  “Aye. But not to play outlaw. Not to war with dagger and torch and rope! This may serve its turn, give the common folk cause for hope.

  Rally doubters. But, if Scotland is to gain her freedom, it is not the

  Wallaces who will win it, I say. It is ourselves, man. Those who can

  command and lead thousands, not fifties. Mark it—it is not those we

  have left behind in Ayr who can save Scotland, in the end. But those

  we ride to Irvine, to tell And their like.”

  “And these—these bicker and dispute. And hold their hands!”

  “Aye. There you have it. These cannot agree. There is no leader. I know Edward and the English. Divided counsels, pinpricks, gestures, will not defeat them. Only armed might. And a firm and ruthless hand directing it.”

  “Wallace has such a hand, at least…!”

  “Wallace! Think you the lords of Scotland will follow such as Wallace, man?”

  The other was silent.

  Chapter Six

  The sun was warm, the scent of the yellow gorse flowers was strong, the larks trilled in the blue above, and men relaxed, sat, sprawled, strolled or slept all along the Irvine waterside. For hours they had waited there, at first drawn up in serried ranks, foot in front, cavalry behind, bowmen in knots—pitifully few, these last. But now, in the early afternoon, the ranks were broken, the groups scattered, and men relaxed, all the urgency gone out of the host and the day. Which was no state for any army to be in.

  Its leaders might have maintained some more suitable spirit—but by and large the leaders were not there, nor had been most of the long day.

  The Scots insurgent force had moved out of Irvine, south by east, early in the morning, on word of the English approach. Wallace had sent that word, that Clifford was now no further off than Kilmarnock, a mere six miles away, with Percy coming up from Lochmaben. Even then, the Steward, the Bishop and others, had been for a prompt withdrawal northwards, while there was yet time, making for Glasgow; and only Douglas, this time reinforced by Bruce, Moray and Lindsay, had managed to carry the day in favour of resistance. They had marched out to take up strong defensive positions along the line of the River Irvine and its tributary the Annick Water, facing south and east across what was largely swampland, water-meadows and even a small loch, to slow down any English attack. It was an excellent position—although rather strung-out for their numbers, which still reached only about four thousand. The position was almost too strong in fact, since it. produced too great a feeling of security, too defensive an atmosphere altogether.

  Bruce and Moray paced a grassy bank above their own lines, ill at ease and short of temper. Since the affair at Ayr, they had drawn together. Andrew Moray’s quiet and thoughtful nature making an excellent counter-balance to Bruce’s impetuosity. But today even Moray was disgruntled and impatient. They had marshalled their men together, the Annandale and Maybole contingents—the latter now much reinforced—and the Both well company from Lanarkshire, totalling in all almost a thousand. They had selected a good position at the right of the long line, not more than a mile from the sea, and holding the Warrix ford. But as the day wore on, and Wallace’s scouts were sent back with word that the English were still at Kilmarnock, obviously awaiting the arrival of Percy’s force from Lochmaben—where Wallace had in fact boldly attacked them two nights before with indecisive results—Bruce had urged action, a sally. It was crazy, he declared, to let the two English hosts join up, when they might prevent it.

  A flanking movement with their cavalry could cut off Kilmarnock, north and south. The foot could march the six miles in two hours. Kilmarnock was no strong-point, no citadel or walled town-and the townsfolk would turn against the invaders’ rear when they saw the opportunity. Wallace and his men could go in, to rally them.

  But there was no convincing the majority of the other lords. It would be folly to desert the strong position here, most said.

  Others, the most senior, were still advising a retiral northwards.

  Even Douglas was not for attack meantime.

  So it had gone on all day. Wallace himself had sent Sir John the Graham—who was now frequently in his company—to urge the lords to move over to the attack, more or less as Bruce advised.

  But without avail.

  It was in a thwarted and discouraged frame of mind, therefore, the two young noblemen heard some shouting and commotion from further up the riverside, and, for want of better employment, walked in that direction to see what went on. They discovered Lindsays and Montgomeries, their neighbours in the line, in some consternation and excitement.

  “Lundin has ridden off. Deserted to the English!” one of them told the newcomers.

  ”Sir Richard Lundin. He rode off, through our left, there. Over that

  bit ford. Towards Kilmarnock. With his esquire and three men …”

  “They say he has had enough. Of folk who dinna ken their am minds!” another supplemented.

  “The English aye ken that, at least!”

  “This is nonsense!” Bruce declared.

  “You talk like fools.”

  “It’s true. We saw him, my lord …”

  “Perhaps he rides as messenger? Courier?” Moray suggested.

  “To the English?”

  “Who else? They would not send him to Wallace. Such as he!”

  “Courier for what, then? What have they to say to the English?”

  Bruce frowned. “

  “Fore God—we shall look into this!” He turned, to hurry back for his horse. They rode hastily back to the Mill of Fullarton, where the insurgent leaders were gathered.

  They heard upraised voices even before they entered the musty smelling place.

  It took some time for them to gather what was in debate—that it was not now whether to attack or not, but in fact whether to stand fast, retire, or make terms. Shocked, the young men demanded what this meant.

  Many of the others seemed actually to welcome their arrival, as opportunity to expound their views and seek support. Out of the declamation and persuasion, they learned that a new situation had arisen.

  Clifford had sent an envoy from Kilmarnock, a Scot, one Sir Archibald Livingstone. He had brought two messages. One, the main body of the English foot, allegedly now fifty thousand strong, was less than thirty miles away, having already won through the Mennock Pass. And secondly, that he, Clifford, well understood mat what had prompted this revolt of the Scots lords was the command, issued from London, mat all Scots nobles, like their English counterparts, should forthwith muster men and, under heads of families or their heirs, bring them to join and assist King Edward in his war against the French. This, the Earl of Surrey, Viceroy for Scotland, recognised to be not only unpopular, but mistaken policy, and bound to provoke serious misgivings in Scotland, the French war being scarcely more popular in England. He, Clifford, therefore, and Sir Henry Percy, Sheriff of Ayr, had the Viceroy’s authority to declare those Scots lords and knights who had assembled in arms in protest against this policy, if they yielded now, dispersed their forces, and gave certain assurances for their future good and loyal behaviour, would be received back into the King’s peace without further penalty. Moreover, the Earl of Surrey undertook to try to persuade King Edward such commands for Scots levies for the French war should be withdrawn.

  All this took some time to be enunciated, by many mouths, with much interpolation, question and refutation.

  Douglas’s strong voice prevailed over all, eventually.

  “It is a trick, I tell you!” he cried.

  “A ruse, to have us yield. Without fighting. This, of going to war in France. Have you heard of it?

  Have any? He would cozen us.”

  “Why should he? With his force. With fifty thousand and more, need he trick us?”

  “The English, it may be, want no revolt in Scotland, while Edward and his main might is in France,” Lindsay declared, “
Clifford and Percy have men enough to beat us, to destroy us here. But they would rather have peace. Not have to fight.”

  “Aye—we cannot win. Not against fifty thousand. I say they are right,” Sir John Stewart of Bonkill said.

  “It is madness to fight!”

  “Better to make for Glasgow, while there is yet time.”

  “If they would treat with us, we are fools to reject it…”

  Douglas managed to shout them all down.

  “Fools, aye! If we yield! We have a strong position. They are not over-eager to attack.

  The people of the land are for us. Would you surrender without a blow?

  Could you raise your heads after, if you did?”

  “Not only our heads, yes—but our arms, my lord,” the Steward intervened thickly.

  “Do you not see it? At this present we cannot prevail. We may hold off Clifford and Percy, with their horse. But when the fifty thousand foot come up, we are lost. I had been of the opinion we should hasten northwards, with our force intact. But now, I think we might be better to accept these terms. And fight another day. They are easy terms, are they not?”

  “So say I,” Lindsay concurred.

  “These are easy terms, yes.

  Why they should make them so easy, I know not…”

  “A trick, I say!” Douglas insisted.

  “It may be so. But what are we disadvantaged? They make this excuse for us—this of us rebelling because we do not wish to take our men to France. Which none of us had so much as heard of, by the Mass I This must mean they do not want a clash. I say we should take advantage of this. Rise again, as the Steward says, when they and their great host are gone south again…”

  ”No!” That was young Andrew Moray, in a burst of hot anger, “This is

  betrayal! Did we raise the banner of freedom for this?

  To yield without a blow struck? I, for one, will not do so. My lord of Carrick—will you?”

  Bruce cleared his throat.

  “My Lord Steward,” he said, not looking at Moray.

  “This of hostages? Assurances. What is meant by that? What hostages do they want?”

  “That is not certain. So Sir Richard Lundin has gone to Clifford.

  To discover their mind on this. When we hear…”

  “What matters it?” Moray interrupted, his normal quietness gone.

  “Our position, our duty, is clear. We have taken up arms against the invader of our land. We have not been beaten. We stand in our own land, amongst our own folk. I say we cannot yield thus, whatever their terms. I was for attacking, before Percy joined up with Clifford. I was against making any move to the north. Now, I say, better that than this shameful submission” “Aye! Aye!”

  “No! The Steward is right.”

  “We still would have to face the fifty thousand. At Glasgow.

  The weaker for moving.”

  “Fools…!”

  There was uproar in that mill. In it, Moray turned on his companion, urgently.

  “Bruce! Why did you not speak out? You who wanted to attack? Why ask about hostages? You came here to have them fight. Not surrender. Why have you kept silent, man?”

  “Because I am using my head, Andrew,” the other said.

  “As others would be wise to do. This needs thinking on. Why do the English act so? It is not like them. I know them better man do you. This is a strange thing—in especial when they have a great army nearby. This finding excuse for us. But… Edward himself is far away. And Surrey is a very different man …”

  “Dear God you would not submit, man? Surrender?”

  “Submit! Surrender? These are but words, I tell you. There are times to fight. And times to talk. If the English wish to talk, I say, let us talk. And fight another day, when we are in better case.

  It may be the Steward and Lindsay are right. Today, I fear, we cannot win. So let us talk.”

  “This is strange talk,” Moray insisted.

  “From you. Less than honest, I think! There is something in all this, more than you say. You see more in this than these others?”

  Bruce took his time to answer.

  “It could mean so much. Some too

  thing new. Something that could transform all Scotland’s state.

  Clifford, Percy, Surrey, would not dare to send such message about this of the French war being unpopular unless it was indeed so. Unless they knew that Edward had indeed made a great mistake.

  Unless, I think, there was near to revolt in England itself.

  Edward has been long at war. All his reign he has been making war. Against Ireland, Wales, Scotland. Now France. It may be that his own people at last have had enough of their blood shed, their treasure spent. If they are turning, at last—then all could be changed, for Scotland. Do you not see it? We should not fight the English, then—but rather aid them.”

  Moray shook his head, bewildered.

  “This is beyond my understanding .”

  There was more talk, continuing argument, and no decision.

  Then there was an interruption. Wallace and Graham arrived-and immediately the scene was changed. Decisions crystallised, hardened. Wallace was like that. No half-measures or uncertainties survived his presence.

  “My lords, my lords!” he cried, stilling all other voices.

  “What is this I hear? I spoke with Lundin. On his way to Clifford. Not only will you not attack, he says. But you talk of submission. I cannot believe this is true. Tell me that he has taken leave of his wits, my good lords!”

  There was a profound silence—the first Fullarton Mill had known that day. Men glanced at each other, rather than at the clenched-fist giant. Douglas, who normally filled any vacuum with his strong voice and views, would not demean himself to submit answers to such as William Wallace. Others either felt similarly, or dared not meet their inquisitor’s hot eye.

  Save Bruce, that is. After a few moments, he spoke.

  “Sir—a new situation has arisen. Did Sir Richard not tell you? Of this matter of a muster for France. And the English offer. This may change all.”

  “How may it change our struggle for freedom, my lord?”

  “It may foreshadow revolt in England. Or, if revolt is too great a word, discontent, resistance. I do not believe they would make such offer to us, this excuse for us, otherwise. If it is so, Surrey may wish to have his fifty thousand back in England!”

  “Is that not the more reason to fight? If they are of two minds.

  Looking back over their shoulders?”

  ”I say probably not. I say that if the English would indeed bring

  their arrogant king to heel, we should aid them in it. Not fight them.”

  “What the English do with their king is their concern, not ours. Or, not mine. Though, to be sure, it may be yours, my lord I I have feared as much.”

  “What do you mean, sir?”

  “I mean that your conversion to our cause was something sudden, my lord of Carrick! You have large lands in England. All knew you one of Edward’s men. It may be that you are still more concerned with Edward’s case than Scotland’s!”

  There was a shocked murmur, as Bruce raised a pointing hand.

  “You doubt my honesty? You!”

  “I doubt your interests. Your judgement. Where your heart lies. I doubt the judgement of any man who even for a moment considers submission to the English, my lords!” And Wallace stared deliberately round at them all, head high, in reproach and accusation both.

  “Curse you …!”

  “This is not to be borne!”

  “How dare the man speak so? To us…!”

  “My lords-friends,” Bishop Wishart cried.

  “This talk will serve us nothing. Wallace is a man of fierce action. He has wrought mighty deeds. But we must needs take the long view, here. Consider well our course. For the best …” The old man’s words quavered away.

  Wallace obviously took a major grip of himself.

  “I regret, my lord Bishop, if I spoke ill. But—what does the Earl of Carrick propose? Surrender all our force? Accept this English offer?
/>
  Make our peace with Edward? If this is so, I say—not Wallace!

  Never Wallace!”

  “Nor Graham either!” the younger man at his side declared.

  Bruce was also mastering his hot temper.

  “I say, since we cannot fight fifty thousand, let us talk with them.

  Talk at length.

  Learn what we can. Gain time. And while we talk, send messengers privily to raise the country further. It may be that we will find the English glad to wait. If trouble is brewing in England. I say, let us talk, dissemble, prevaricate, make time.”

  “We shall make time better, my lord, by remaining free men,” Wallace declared, almost contemptuously.

  “The realm will be freed by war, not talk. Better the sword than the tongue, I say!”

  “For your sort of war, may be. The surprising of a garrison, here and there. The burning of this castle, or that. The raid by night. This is all we may do with our present support and numbers.

  It is good-but not good enough, my lords.” Bruce was speaking now, earnestly, to them all.

  “We will not free Scotland of the English so. They are notable fighters, with many times our numbers. They have their bowmen, their chivalry, their hundreds of thousands. Think you we can counter these by night raids, fires and hangings?”

  “Is this why you left Edward’s camp to join us, my lord of Carrick?” demanded the Graham bitterly.

  “To tell us that we could not win? To sap our wills and courage?”

  “I did not! I came because I must. Because I saw that I must needs choose between Scotland and England. Not John Baliol’s Scotland-my Scotland! I’d mind you all, my father should be King of Scots today I Let none forget it.”

  There was silence in that mill, again. Not even Wallace spoke.

  “I chose Scotland then. But not to beat with my bare fists against castle walls! More than that is required. Wits, my friends-in this, we must use our wits. We need them, by the saints! Wallace, here, can do the beating at the walls. He does it well. Moreover, I would mind you, he cannot talk with the English. They would hang him out of hand! As outlaw and brigand! He knows it.”