Nigel Tranter - The Price of the King's Peace

“Hear me, King of Arms and Grand Seannachie of the realm of Scotland.

In the name of His Grace, our liege lord Robert, I do now declare,

affirm and pronounce that he, the said Lord Robert, hereby resumes and

takes unto himself, this his Honour, Liberty and Lordship of Tynedale,

justly and duly by his inheritance, edict and law, to have and to hold

for all time coming as a royal patrimony and as an integral part of his

realm of Scotland, as did his ancestors before him, and as is duly

documented, signed and sealed in the Assize Roll of this the county of

Northumberland of the year 1279, and other where acknowledging the said

Lordship of Tynedale to be outside the Kingdom of England within the

Kingdom of Scotland. Moreover, all grants, charters, detachments and

privileges in the said Lordship, wrongously and unlawfully given by the

Kings of England, Archbishops of York, Bishops of Durham, or any other

whatsoever, of late years, are hereby cancelled, withdrawn, nullified;

and only those grants, charters and privileges granted by the laid

gracious Lord Robert, King of Scots, his heirs and successors shall

stand and hold good for all time coming. In token whereof it is required that all occupiers, holders and tenants of lands, office and privileges in the said Honour, Liberty and Lordship of Tynedale do herewith come forward, in due order, and do homage for the same, as is just, lawful and proper, to the said Robert, as liege lord, taking the oath of fealty on their bended knees, renouncing all other. This in the name of Robert, King of Scots. God save the King!”

The flourish of trumpets that followed this peroration was drowned in the great shout of acclaim from thousands of Scots throats-if from few English.

“To present himself first before the King’s Grace,” the speaker went on, when the noise had abated, “I call upon Sir John de Bellingham, Hereditary Forester of the Royal Forest of Tynedale, to make homage.”

After a little initial shuffling and delay, an elderly man came limping forward from the long file of Englishmen, to climb the mound, flanked by two Scots esquires. He bowed before the King, shook his head as though recognising that protest was pointless and sank down on stiff knees, holding out his hands. He did not once raise his head.

Bruce extended his own hands, palms together, for the other to take within his.

“Repeat the oath of fealty,” the King of Arms commanded.

“In these words. In the sight of God and all these present, I, John de Bellingham, knight, do acknowledge …”

“In the sight of God and all present,” the older man mumbled, “I, John de Bellingham acknowledge …”

“Speak up, man! Do acknowledge the noble and mighty Robert, King of Scots, to be my liege lord…”

“I cannot, Sire!” the Englishman burst out.

“I cannot take you as my liege lord. King Edward is my liege, and to him I have sworn my fealty.”

“Silence, sirrah!” the herald barked.

“Or do you wish to lose your lands and your liberty both?”

“One moment, my lord King of Arms,” Bruce intervened.

“Sir John-King Edward of England is indeed your liege lord in matters pertaining to the realm of England. This I do not gainsay.

But for the lands you hold in Tynedale, pertaining to the realm of

Scotland, I am your liege. You are at liberty to refuse fealty there

for also for the office of Royal Forester of Tynedale, with all its

rights and profits. But, if so, you lose the said lands and office

forthwith, I promise you. Choose you, my friend.”

The other moistened his lips and glanced up at last at the King,

swiftly, briefly. He nodded, unspeaking, submitting.

“Proceed, King of Arms,” Bruce murmured.

“Do acknowledge Robert King of Scots, to be my liege lord, for the lands of Bellingham and Henshaw, and for the office of Keeper of the said King’s Forest of Tynedale, with all its pertinents and profits.”

The knight muttered the required words.

“Speak plain, man. And say further-in pursuance of which oath, I do swear to uphold the said King Robert with all my strength against all and any who may hereafter hold contrary interests, so help me God!”

“… so help me God!” the other ended, unhappily.

“I accept your fair oath of fealty, Sir John, and rely upon your good support hereafter,” the monarch acknowledged gravely.

“Also I shall require account for your stewardship of my Forest of Tynedale over these years past, and payment of what is mine by right and law. See you to it. You may retire, and hereafter be my guest in the festivities that are to follow. Next, my lord?”

“I summon Sir Adam de Swinburne, Sheriff of Northumberland,” the

herald

A big, florid, bull-like man came striding forward, by no means hanging his head. Handsomely clad in velvets and fur, he gave no impression of submission. He drew himself up before the King, and bowed briefly.

“I am prepared to offer a limited form of homage for my Tynedale lands, Sir King,” he jerked.

“As to yourself, as lord of these manors.”

“On your knees, fellow!” the King of Arms rasped.

Bruce waited until the other was approximately and awkwardly down on one thick knee.

“It is not for you to offer anything, Sir Adam!” he said.

“I command. Command fullest fealty and allegiance. If you choose not to yield it-why, I understand you have still large lands outside Tynedale. You may repair to them! And leave Tynedale to others.”

“Sire-you would put a noose round my neck, in this! I am King

Edward’s sheriff of this county.”

“Not I, my friend. I do not put a noose round any man’s neck.

You do, of yourself. Yours is the choice.”

Swinburne cleared his throat.

“Then … I must accept. Under protest, Sire.”

”No. I do not accept. I accept nothing under protest. You make the

full oath freely, or none at all. Nor do I debate further with such as you, sir!”

Wordless, the other held out his open hands for the King’s.

“Proceed, my lord King of Arms.”

The next to be called up was one Sir William de Ros of Yolton, for the manor of Haltwhistle. A diffident and nervous youngish man, he made no fuss nor protest about the oath-taking, however much he stammered over the words. When he had hurried off, the herald asked whether he would now call the churchman.

“Not the Prior, no. Not yet. Master Whelpington, I think, will be

none the worse of a little more waiting!”

Undoubtedly the Prior of Hexham would have expected to be the first to be summoned to the royal presence, however reluctant he might be to make any vows of fealty. The Church’s holdings in the lordship were greater than any other, and its senior representative a power to be reckoned with.

A succession of smaller men were called out and made their obeisance and allegiance without demur, as a gabbled formality, only anxious to be back into a safe anonymity. Prior Whelpington fretted under his splendid awning.

At length the King of Arms pronounced his name and style.

Frowning, he came forward, still under the canopy, although the

acolytes were now, of course, on foot. The King raised a single

eyebrow towards the herald, who promptly flicked a dismissive hand, and two of his minions stepped out in the Prior’s path and peremptorily ordered the acolytes back. Less assuredly the cleric came on, alone.

“So, my lord Prior,” Bruce greeted him, “do you find the sun trying?”

“The sun …?”

“Your canopy. I hope that you may subsist without it, at least while you take your vows of fealty.”

“Your Majesty-I pray to be excused. Any taking of vows. It is not right and proper. That I should kneel before you. I am the representative of Holy Church, here in Tynedale. My allegiance is not to an earthly king…”