Nigel Tranter - The Price of the King's Peace

EDWARD REX”

There was no cheering, no exclamation, no spoken comment at all, in that great chamber, as those words tailed away into a long and pregnant silence. All men considered them, on both sides, and the price paid for their pronouncement, and held weir peace.

Robert Bruce took up the quill in a hand that trembled very slightly.

On an impulse, Edinburgh emptying of the distinguished company, the King did not return direct on the uncomfortable horseback journey all the way to Cardross, but instead accompanied William Lamberton by sea from Leith to St.

Andrews-this on the Primate’s quite casual mention that he would not survive the transport by road in a horse-litter; and when the King remonstrated that this was no way to talk, the Bishop as factually announced that he would be dead within the month anyway. In the circumstances, the King remained with his friend.

Lamberton was too exhausted during the journey to talk at any length. But, in his own room of St. Andrew’s Castle the day following, he was strong enough to speak with Bruce-and eager to do so. They had much to discuss. The Primate was particularly concerned about the future governance of the Church in Scotland, a matter that was now urgent. He advised that, much as he valued most of them, none of the present Bishops should be elevated to the Primacy. Not even the good Bernard, Abbot of Arbroath—who might well be given the bishopric of Man and the Sudreys, just become vacant. But the national leadership of the Church demanded a strong, sure and experienced hand. His own was about to be removed, and he urged the appointment of his Archdeacon of St. Andrews, the vigorous James Bene, who had so distinguished himself as diplomat and negotiator in Moray’s French and papal embassages, and who had in fact been administering the metropolitan see for long. The canons of St. Andrews had faith in him, and would elect him. With the King’s support he would serve Church and realm well … “Yes, yes, my friend,” Bruce agreed, concerned that the other should not tire himself thus.

“He it shall be, never fear. But there is no such haste. Leave it

now”

“There is so much to say, Sire. Haste indeed. For my time is

short.”

“You mean … ? You in truth meant what you said at Edinburgh,

William? That you do not expect to live out the month?”

“To be sure,” the other said, his voice weak, but only his voice.

“My fear has been that I should not last thus long, to speak with

you.”

“That is grievous hearing, my old friend.”

“Why grievous, Robert? I grieve not, I promise you. I am more than ready to go. I am much blest. My work is done-all I have lived for. To few is so much granted. Scotland free. Your royal state recognised by all Christendom. Your succession assured.

The Church here sound, in fair order, sure of its place, united. And this great cathedral completed.” Gaspingly he enunciated these satisfactions.

Bruce nodded, understandingly.

“Life should mean achievement, in great things and small,” the other went on, picking his slow words.

“Without achievement, life is merest existence, of neither virtue nor relish. You know it well, Robert. I shall achieve nothing more here. Beyond-I believe that I shall. If the good God will find work for me in His greater purpose.

I pray that He will. I long to be at it-not a bed-bound hulk here. Do you understand?”

The King nodded again.

”That I do, my friend. Indeed, you could be speaking from my own

heart, from my own mind, For… such is my wish also.”

For long these two colleagues and comrades considered each other.

“I thought that it might be so,” Lamberton acknowledged quietly.

“I am the happier in going. Happy for you, that such is your spirit.

For here is joy, Robert. Although you have longer to wait for it

than

I.”

“Not so much longer, I think.”

“No? Have you more reason to say that, Robert? You believe your days here short? This is not the matter of the leprosy again?”

“No. It is strange. The leprosy-all these years I have lived with it. And kept it close. That none should know. At your behest And Elizabeth’s. I believed that it would kill me. But, no. It was not to be. That was the finger of God, only-not the sword of God! Now I have the dropsy. Have had it near two years. It strikes surer, deeper. At my heart. I have had many warnings. One day, soon I think, I shall receive my last. Perhaps before you do, old friend.

But-I pray not before I am ready-or have made ready. My work is not

fully done, I fear-but most of it is. Like you, I have no desire to

linger, as less than myself. And like you, I hope to do better,

hence.”

They considered the future, in silence.

“You do not fear death, William,” the King went on presently, not a question but a statement.

“That I see-and rejoice in it” “No, I do not fear it. Nor should any true man. Only those who have striven for nothing, buried their Lord’s talent. The dying itself may be unpleasant-but let us hope, short Being dead-that foolish word we use-that must be otherwise. An excellence.

Fulfilment” “You rate it so high as that? Excellence?”

“I do. For it is part of God’s ordained progress and purpose with men. God’s, not men’s. And all such is excellent” The other raised an open hand, frail but eloquent.

“What has God been doing with us this while, Robert, think you? In all our joys and sorrows, our achievements and defeats? What, but building-making us build.

As I built that cathedral. Stone by stone, building our character.

Heart, mind, will, understanding-aye, and compassion, above all. These things we have been attaining unto. Their fullest flowering in us. The body is as nothing, compared with these. All our years, these have been building up, for better or for worse. Now, they are at their height Think you the All Highest ordained it thus for nothing? The patient moulding, ours and His, the secret strivings of the heart, this edifice that is our life’s essence. Just to cast it away, discarded, unused, spurned, like a child’s bauble? In all His creation, this is the height of His achievement-not the tides of the oceans, the lands, the sun, moon and stars. Man, at the summit of his earthly character which is when he dies. Here is God’s achievement-and man’s, in His image. Purpose and order are in all His works-that is plain to all. Should, then, the greatest work of all be purposeless?”

This urgent profession, declaration, whispered but intense, had taken much out of the Primate, so that he lay back, panting, eyes closed.

Much moved, Bruce waited.

“This is fulfilment, therefore,” Lamberton resumed, after a long

interval.

“God has given us reason. To use. If we cannot see this, we are fools. Failures. We move on, to use what has here been built up-of this I have no doubt. And, Robert-I would be about it!

About it, man!”

The King gripped the other’s thin hand.

“Then, I rejoice,” he said, deep-voiced.

“With you. No mourning, William. I have never heard greater sense spoken. For you, then, all is well. You go on, joyfully. Prepared. But-you have not murder on your conscience, my friend! What of me? I murdered Comyn, at God’s own altar.

What of me?” There was intensity there also.

“What of you, then, Robert? Are you different from other men-save in that you have had greater testing? That was sin, yes-although the man deserved to die if ever man did. But it is repented sin. And paid for a thousand times in the years since. I say, without that sin, and the need to expiate it, who knows-would Robert Bruce ever have achieved what he has done? For a whole nation? Would this character you have built up be so sure, so sharp and tempered a sword for God’s use in His purpose hereafter? I think not.”