Nigel Tranter - The Price of the King's Peace

Certainly it was beautiful, its white sands a dream, and its little abbey a gem; but the King feared that his death-preoccupied daughter was perhaps morbidly concerned with the serried tombs of her royal ancestors-allegedly no less than forty-eight kings of Scotland, eight Norse, six Irish and even an Englishman, Ecgfrid, King of Northumbria, lay here. Nevertheless, at least she had found an interest in something. Walter and she were left to work it out.

Nearly four weeks of this pleasant lotus-eating existence had passed, when one sultry August day the peace of it was shattered. A small fast galley arrived at Islay from the south, an Irish one this time, one of O’Neil’s. It brought Thomas Randolph, Earl of Moray.

Moray was an able, clear-headed, un excitable man, the last to raise hares or scares. That he should have left his command to come all this way was indicative of some major development.

Bruce, about to set out on a deer-driving expedition on neighbouring Jura, drew his nephew aside when he had raised him from knee-bent hand-kissing.

“Well?” he demanded.

“Less than well, Sire.”

“Is it defeat? Disaster?”

“Not that. Not yet…”

“What, then? My brother-is he well?”

“Well, yes. Very well…”

“Then why are you here, man?”

“I was sent. The Lord Edward sent me. Commanded me to come.”

“You went to Ireland, Thomas, under my command. Not Edward’s.”

“Aye, Sire. But-in Ireland he commands. Commands all.

He is master there. Much the master. And Your Grace is far away.”

Keenly Bruce eyed his nephew.

“This is not like you, Thomas,” he said.

“I sent you, as the one man whom my brother might not over-awe and browbeat. To curb and restrain him, should need be.

And I put all but Edward’s own levies, from Galloway and Carrick, under your command. Yet you let him send you back?”

Calmly the other nodded.

“All true, Sire. But I come not only because my uncle sent me. I came because I believed it best. That you should know what transpires. With the Lord Edward.”

“M’mmm. Very well, Thomas. Say on.”

“It grieves me, Sire, to speak so. Of my uncle and your brother.

To seem the tale-bearer. But I believe the Lord Edward works against

your interests, not for them. Always he was headstrong, going his own

way. But this is different. Now he seeks power. In Ireland. Rather

than to defeat the English. And no longer talks of the threat to the

English South. Or of forcing a peace treaty. Now he talks of

uniting

Bruce, well aware of all the eyes that watched them closely, and the minds that would be wondering, putting their own construction on secret converse and grave faces, mustered a sudden laugh, and slipped an arm around his nephew’s shoulder.

“Come, Thomas-you ever were a sober fellow!” he exclaimed, loud enough for many to hear.

“Here’s little cause for gloom. So it ever was. Come-tell me of the campaigning. How far south you have won …” And he linked the arm now through the younger man’s, and led him away along Finlaggan’s loch shore.

“Your Grace is pleased to laugh,” Moray said stiffly.

“But there is little laughter in Ireland, I promise you … !”

“Tush, man-that was for these others.” The King’s voice was lowered

“It will serve our purposes nothing to have men construing trouble. And women turning it into catastrophe.

Now-apart from this of Edward, what of the campaign? What of our arms?”

Moray shrugged.

“As to soldiering, we have done well enough.

But at a price. We have won many battles and lost none. In Ulster at least the Irish have risen well in our cause. O’Neil, O’Connor, MacSweeney are never out of the Lord Edward’s presence. We overran the provinces of Antrim, Down, Armagh and Louth, even Kildare and Meath. We defeated many English captains and magnates, and many of the Anglo-Irish lords. But at Dundalk, in Louth, we turned back, instead of pressing on. Back to Ulster to Connor, in Antrim. From whence I came here, on my uncle’s command.”

“Back to Antrim? Giving up all that you had won in the south?

Why?”

“Well may you ask, Sire. As did I! But it was the Lord Edward’s decision. And he commands not only his own troops, but all the Irish also. Moreover, most of our Scots knights look to him, rather than to me. Even those supposedly under my command.”

The King looked thoughtful indeed.

“But this is not like Edward,” he objected.

“Edward was ever for pressing on, not for turning back. There must have been a reason. You were winning—yet he retreated?”

“There was a reason, yes-but not sufficient. Not sufficient for me, let alone my headstrong uncle! There is famine in Ireland, see you. Living off the country is hard indeed. Our men were hungry, our horses weak, many dying. There is disease also. We have lost more men from sickness than from battle. Even so, better to have pressed on-for the famine is less grievous the further south you go, the country ahead less devastated than that we had already fought over. We could have taken Dublin, where the English have much food stored. We were but thirty miles from it, and the English there in panic. Said to be fleeing southwards. But-we turned back.”

“And Edward’s reason? His proclaimed reason? He must have had one.”

“To consolidate Ulster, he said. To make the North a secure base for further drives southward. To gain reinforcements. More men. That is why I am sent here-that, and to get rid of me, I think! To seek more men from Your Grace.”

“God’s mercy! I told him. Three thousand only I would give him. Lend him. Said before parliament. No more. Less than three months past. And now he sends for more? Knowing my mind full well. Yet… you say the Irish have risen well? In Ulster, at least What needs be with more men, then?”

“He uses the Scots as his spearhead. Always. As would any

commander.

Our men, trained in the long wars against the English.

The Irish gallowglasses are brave, good fighters. But they lack

discipline, one clan at feud with another. They are less than

reliable. And they fight on loot. It is our light cavalry that ever

leads. And so suffers most.”

“Our losses have been heavy, then?”

“Not heavy, as war is reckoned. For what was gained. Half the men you sent are no longer effective. Either from battle, sickness or hunger. Horses worse.”

“I see. But, still-you have not given me reason for Edward, of all men, to retire. From Dundalk to Antrim. When he was winning.”

“That is why I consented to be sent home, Sire. I believe that the Lord Edward-and O’Neil and O’Connor with him-is winning Ulster for himself. Is more concerned in setting up a government for Ulster than for forcing the English to a treaty. He is summoning all chiefs and landholders, appointing officers and sheriffs, acting viceroy rather than commander.”

Bruce shook his head.

“You, Thomas, I could have conceived might act so. You-but not Edward. So-he now waits, for you to return with more men from me?”

“I do not know if that is why he waits, Sire.”

“What mean you?”

“Perhaps he does not expect you to send him more men, in truth.

Or me to return!”

“Ha! You think that?”

“I do not know. It may be so. Or I may be wrong. Certainly he wants more Scots light cavalry. But whether he truly expects it, knowing Your Grace’s mind, I know not. Any more than I know his true purpose in Ireland.”

For long moments the King was silent. At length, he spoke

thoughtfully.

“My brother is not a devious man. He ever prefers to act, rather than to plan. I conceive, Thomas, that you may be attributing to him something of your own mind and mettle. Seeing deeper into this than does he. You would not act so without careful intention and purpose. With Edward it could be otherwise. He could be merely gathering strength for a greater, stronger thrust to the south. And making sure of a secure base behind him, in truth.”