The Path to the Throne

by H A CULLEY

  ‘At least you know how to bow, which is more than Menteith does.’ The earl smiled grimly. ‘I am arranging to take you to Edinburgh under escort today, before word of your arrest gets out, and from there I expect the king will want you taken to London for trial and execution.’

  William smiled wryly. ‘There seems little point in a trial, my lord. Why not kill me now and save all that trouble and expense?’

  ‘You don’t seem to know your enemy very well, Sir William. His highness won’t be able to resist putting you on show whilst your crimes are recounted for everyone to hear. I don’t suppose your death will be quick and painless either.’

  ‘Then more fool Edward. He should want me six foot under and quickly forgotten, not an inspiration to my fellow Scots.’

  ‘Good God man, you have a high opinion of yourself.’ There was no trace of a smile on the Earl of Richmond’s face now.

  ‘No, I just know my fellow countrymen.’

  ~#~

  Robert Bruce heard of Wallace’s arrest with some dismay. He had hoped that he might support his bid for the throne. Of course, there was also the danger that he would have thrown his weight behind John Comyn instead, so perhaps it as just as well he was out of the picture.

  ‘I gather that King Edward plans to put William Wallace on trial in London. What do you suppose that he hopes to gain from that?’ Edward Bruce asked Robert, Neil and Thomas as they sat at the high table in Turnberry Castle having supper with Elizabeth de Burgh and Helen Erskine, who Thomas had recently married.

  ‘I suppose that he thinks that it will dissuade other Scots from rebelling against Longshanks’ rule.’ Neil replied.

  ‘And will it?’ asked Elizabeth, a lot more content now, at the age of nearly sixteen, because Robert had finally bedded her on her fifteenth birthday. If they weren’t exactly in love, at least they were happy together. The query was addressed to her husband.

  ‘I imagine it will have the opposite effect. Wallace is still venerated as a hero by some common people even if many others blame him for the defeat at Falkirk, but everyone knows that he has devoted his life to the cause of Scottish independence from England. If Edward is stupid enough to make Wallace a martyr he will enable Wallace to do the one thing in death that he couldn’t do in life: unite the country against the English.’

  ‘You really think that his probable execution will do that?’ Neil asked.

  ‘Yes I do; and we need to be ready to exploit it to our advantage.’

  ‘How do we do that?’ Thomas was sceptical.

  ‘Well either Comyn or I need to lead the country. I intend to start negotiations with him. If he is prepared to give over to me the lordship of Badenoch, then I will support his claim or, better, if he will support me as king, I will give him Carrick, Annandale and the Garioch. I believe that the latter will prove too tempting for him to resist.’

  All three of his brothers and the two women were appalled at the proposal.

  ‘But if you gamble everything for the crown and lose we will be left with nothing!’ Edward protested.

  ‘Would you rather sit here whilst the insufferable English tell us what we can and cannot do all the time?’ Robert asked.

  ‘I think Robert is right,’ Thomas said after giving the matter some thought. ‘It’s a prize worth the risk. My concern would be the trustworthiness of the Red Comyn and the rest of that vile family.’

  ‘Yes, that’s my worry too,’ Robert confessed. ‘So we will have to sound him out carefully. Neil, I want you and Thomas to conduct the initial negotiations this autumn.’

  ‘We are playing a dangerous game, brother. I suggest we ask Alexander to say daily prayers for our success.’ Neil grinned, referring to their youngest brother, the Dean of Glasgow.

  ~#~

  Sir William Wallace had been tied to a horse for his journey to London. It had been uncomfortable and humiliating so he was almost glad when he was eventually thrown into a dungeon in the Tower of London. Although they hadn’t completely mended, his ribs weren’t as sore as they had been and his fingers, splinted together, didn’t hurt anymore. He was treated reasonably, being given a bowl of gruel every day, and, to his surprise, he wasn’t tortured. His slop bucket was even emptied daily, though he couldn’t wash the accumulated filth off himself.

  After he had been there for three weeks his bones had knitted together again. Then, at the end of July, two warders came in and threw buckets of water over him and left him some clean clothes.

  ‘Your trial is tomorrow; it shouldn’t take too long before they sentence you and then we can enjoy watching you die,’ one of the warders told him cheerfully. ‘Make yourself look nice for the judges.’ The two men laughed as they left. William sat down on the bare floor and leant back against the damp, moss covered walls and wept. So it had come to this. He dried his eyes and pulled himself together. For the sake of Scotland I must put on a good show and die bravely, he told himself. It was the only thing he had to hold onto.

  When he was escorted into the hall of Westminster Palace he was amazed to see that it was packed. Most of the people there were shouting insults at him but he recognised a few Scots nobles, including the Earl of Carrick and Sir Neil Bruce. He nodded at them and Robert smiled faintly back. William had been given a cheap homespun brown tunic and hose to wear with a worn pair of shoes and a belt. Both his legs and his hands were restrained in manacles which chafed his ankles and wrists. Never mind, he thought to himself, none of this will matter in a short while.

  ‘Master William Wallace, you are charged with …’ the chief judge began.

  ‘It’s Sir William Wallace. If you are determined to hold this farce of a trial at least have the courtesy to give me my proper title,’ William interrupted loudly. ‘I was knighted by none other than the Earl of Carrick, who can vouch for the fact as he is sitting in this hall.’

  The judges looked uncertainly at one another, then the chief judge spoke again.

  ‘You may have been knighted in Scotland but only English titles are recognised here,’ the judge replied, looking pleased with himself.

  ‘Then is the Earl of Carrick plain Robert Bruce, and the Earl of Buchan just John Comyn and Sir John Mentieth only Master Menteith?’ He gave a slight bow to the man who had captured him and who had come to see him condemned. Menteith looked embarrassed and studied his filthy finger nails intently.

  ‘No, of course not; but they haven’t been declared outlaw.’

  ‘Sir William Fraser was but he retains his titles, and his lands come to that, though it’s true that he is in exile. Perhaps that is the fate you have in store for me too?’

  ‘Enough sirrah! Enough I say.’ The chief judge had finally lost his temper. He breathed deeply, trying to recover his composure. The crowd had stopped hurling insults at Wallace. Whilst they would never be on his side, they were beginning to see that he was a lot cleverer than the scurrilous doggerel spouted about him throughout England would have them believe.

  ‘Sir William Wallace you are charged with…’ William smiled sardonically. Round one to him.

  After the charge of high treason had been read out, together with a catalogue of his offences starting with the murder of the Sheriff of Lanarkshire, William was asked how he pleaded.

  ‘Not guilty of high treason, my lords. I cannot be guilty of treason against a monarch I have never sworn fealty to and who is not King of Scots, and not, therefore, my liege lord.’

  ‘Silence! You condemn yourself out of your own mouth. Our good King Edward Plantagenet is Lord Paramount of Scotland, as you well know.’

  ‘I know nothing of the sort. John Balliol is King of Scots and he is the only man I will answer to.’

  ‘Bind his mouth so he can’t spout any more treason.’ When his guards had done so the chief judge briefly conferred with the other four sitting on the bench with him.

  ‘Sir William Wallace, we find you guilty as charged. You will be taken from here and on the morrow you will be dragged to Smithfield Market
where you will be hanged, eviscerated, drawn, beheaded and quartered. Take him away. Well, they certainly want to make certain I’m dead, thought William.

  Back in the dungeon he thought back over his life, wondering if he would have done anything differently. Eventually he came to the conclusion that he wouldn’t have. It seemed that he had only just drifted off into a troubled sleep when he was woken up. The priest came to hear his confession and to give him communion and absolution. Then he was wrapped in a cowhide before being dragged behind a cantering horse to Smithfield. The hide stopped his skin from being flayed from his body by the hard baked mud surface of the streets but the bumping and buffeting he received broke his arm and several ribs again.

  With great difficulty he managed to climb up the steps to the gallows, once he had been helped to his feet and the cowhide removed. As he stood on the gallows calmly surveying the crowd that was baying for his blood, he was given the last rites before the noose was placed around his neck and he was hauled into the air. Had he been dropped through the trapdoor, as was normally the case, his neck would have broken and he would have been dead. It wasn’t going to be as easy as that. As the rope choked the life out of him he kicked and struggled until he felt himself losing consciousness. When he came to, his throat felt as if it was on fire. He realised that they had cut him down just in time. Then a bucketful of water was thrown in his face.

  He looked round him and saw a man with a hooded face learning over him with a knife in his hand. A moment later he suffered excruciating pain as the executioner cut his stomach open. He dimly saw him plunge his hands into his body and pull some grey tubes out of his stomach. He realised with a shock that they were his intestines before he passed out again.

  He came to again, his body traumatised by the most excruciating agony. He was kneeling down with his neck resting on something. That was his last conscious thought as the axe came down and his head leapt away from his neck and rolled away across the rough planking of the scaffold.

  He wasn’t therefore aware that his body was then tied to four destriers who were kicked into a charge forward which pulled his arms and his legs from his body with a sickening tearing sound. Even the most hardened of the spectators were now feeling queasy.

  Robert Bruce thought of the time when he and William Wallace had first met when they were both twelve. Wallace had devoted his life to the cause of Scottish independence whereas he had always put his own interests before all else. Watching the courageous way in which he had died, Robert felt ashamed. He resolved that he wouldn’t bend the knee to Longshanks any more. William Wallace would not have died in vain.

  Chapter Twelve – Murder in the Abbey – February 1306

  The first thing Robert did when he reached Lochmaben at the end of August 1305 was to send for his four brothers, James Stewart, the High Steward and young James Douglas. He would need to take a lot more of his supporters into his confidence in due course but he wanted to get his strategy clear in his own mind first.

  He had already talked to Elizabeth to see whether she thought that her father might be prepared to support him; after all, it would mean that his daughter became a queen. Elizabeth was extremely dubious. Richard de Burgh was a close friend of King Edward and he was most unlikely to do anything overtly opposed to Edward’s interests. He had a low opinion of the Prince of Wales though, and so it might be different when Edward died. Even then, Earl Richard was unlikely to do anything which would jeopardise his position as the premier noble in Ireland.

  Quite apart from the English and the anglophile Scots nobles, his major problem was the Comyns. His rival for the throne, John Comyn of Badenoch was supported by his namesake, John Comyn, Earl of Buchan as well as by the Earl of Ross and the Lord of Argyll, Alexander MacDougall. It was an impressive alliance but it wasn’t as clear cut as it seemed. For example, the Earl of Athol supported Robert but his son, David, was in the Comyn camp.

  The Church was not quite so divided. The Bishops of St. Andrews and Glasgow both had secret agreements with Robert Bruce and he knew he could also rely on the Bishops of Moray and Dunkeld. The remainder supported neither side but could be expected to follow the lead of their primate. Certainly none of them had accepted the decision of the Pope to make them subservient to the Archbishop of York.

  ‘When I watched Wallace’s execution I realised that I could no longer accept Edward Plantagenet as Lord Paramount of Scotland. We need to re-establish Scotland as a separate realm and to do that we need a king who the people can unite behind.’

  ‘And that king is you, Robert?’ James Stewart asked.

  ‘Either me or the Red Comyn, whoever can best win our freedom.’

  A long silence greeted this statement. Eventually Neil Bruce spoke. ‘Would you like to explain where we are in our negotiations with John Comyn, Robert?’

  His brother thought for a moment, then shrugged. ‘Please carry on.’

  ‘Thomas and I met John Comyn at Dumfries in Galloway. At first he was very suspicious but then he begun to warm to the idea. We essentially offered him a choice: he gave up all his lands to Robert and we would support his claim to the crown, or Robert would resign his earldom of Carrick and his lordships of the Garioch and Annandale to him in return for his support for Robert’s claim as king.’

  ‘Which did he opt for?’ James Douglas spoke for the first time.

  ‘To support Robert’s claim and become Earl of Carrick. But he wants the agreement put in writing.’

  ‘Can we trust him?’ Alexander, the youngest Bruce brother asked.

  ‘You’ve been in the Church too long, Alexander,’ Edward laughed. ‘Of course not; there is a real danger that he is luring Robert into a trap and then he will betray him to Longshanks.’ Edward Bruce replied.

  ‘So why are we bothering, I don’t understand.’

  ‘Because, if he is in earnest, it resolves the conflict between us.’

  ‘And if he isn’t?’

  ‘Then we accuse him of treachery and destroy his reputation.’

  ‘That won’t be enough,’ Edward snorted. ‘If he betrays us, the only solution is his death.’

  ~#~

  Neil showed Robert the two documents drawn up by Robert Wishart, the Bishop of Glasgow. In essence it was an agreement by John Comyn of Badenoch to withdraw his claim to the crown and to support that of Robert in return for a deed granting him all of the Bruce estates in Scotland. Robert carefully signed his name to both and Neil dried the ink with sand before putting them into leather canisters.

  After Neil had left with the agreements, Edward went to see Robert in the solar and found him sitting staring glumly at a bare wall with Elizabeth standing with a worried expression on her face, her arm on his shoulder, trying ineffectually to comfort him.

  ‘Ah, I assume that you’re wondering if you’ve made the right decision?’

  ‘In a way.’ Robert pulled himself together. He didn’t mind letting Elizabeth see him showing doubts but he had always tried to be a tower of strength to his brothers. ‘I have rather put myself at the mercy of the Red Comyn and the rest of his brood. If he breaks faith and betrays me to Edward Longshanks I fear he will have no mercy on us this time.’

  ‘Then we must make sure that he doesn’t get a chance to do that. Where is he now?’

  ‘In Badenoch, the last I heard. But he may be in Galloway. I’ll find out and let you know. What’s your plan?’

  ‘We need to get an agent into his household so that he, or she, can let us know if and when Comyn sends a messenger south to Edward. We will need to intercept him and I’ll then confront Comyn with his perfidy. Of course, our fears may be unjustified.’

  ‘Let’s hope so. Who do you have in mind as the agent?’

  ‘That’ll need careful consideration.’

  ‘I have an idea,’ Elizabeth put in. Robert started. He had forgotten that his wife was with them, so absorbed had he been in his conversation with Edward. ‘’Coira is a comely girl and, as I rescued her as an orphan, she
is devoted to me so can be trusted.’

  ‘Fine, that sounds promising, but how do we insert her into Comyn’s household?’

  Elizabeth thought for a moment, then her face cleared. ‘My younger sister, Matilda, is married to the Earl of Hertford who is close friends with the Earl of Pembroke.’

  ‘And Pembroke’s sister, Joan, is married to John Comyn of Badenoch!’ Robert broke in, suddenly catching on.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Edward said, puzzled.

  ‘I’ll send Coira to Matilda with a letter asking her to send the girl to Joan with a recommendation that she take her into her service as she is a Scot!’ Elizabeth explained with a touch of smugness.

  ~#~

  Coira was a feisty girl of sixteen, and an extremely pretty one. Once her role as an agent was explained to her she was eager to help and brushed aside the warning that she would be killed if found out. The Bruces weren’t just gambling on her being taken into service by Joan, they also hoped that she would catch the Red Comyn’s roving eye so that she would become his mistress. Then she would be taken wherever he was and so be in a position to know if he sent a messenger to Edward Longshanks in York. It wasn’t a fool proof plan by any means, but it was the best that Robert, Elizabeth and Edward Bruce could come up with.

  Coira had been twelve when her father died. She had been the apple of his eye and took his death very hard. In contrast, her mother had mourned him for a week and then she started to look around for another man to take care of her and her six children, of which Coira was the eldest. The lucky man had been a widower who was at least twenty years older than her mother. He was a mason working on some alterations to Turnberry Castle who was looking for many things from his new wife: cooking, laundry, a housekeeper and, it turned out, access to her pretty young daughter.