Nigel Tranter - The Price of the King's Peace

“My lord of Carrick. This … this king!”

“Aye,” Bruce said.

Men stared at each other doubtfully.

The King drew rein.

“Let us await His Grace,” he said carefully.

To a vigorous fanfare of Irish trumpets they met there on the open side of one of their own Annandale hills. Edward drew up a yard or two away, the others falling back from the two principals.

He raised a steel-gauntleted hand.

“Hail, brother!” he said.

Robert smiled a little “Well met, Edward,” he nodded.

“Here is surprise.”

“Yes. I greet you. Greet you in the name of all Ireland.”

“Indeed? William de Soulis did that also, if I mind aright. What does it mean, Edward?”

Somewhat taken aback, the other cleared his throat.

“It means it means that it is not only as a brother that I greet you now, Robert. But as a monarch. Another king. One realm greeting another. That much, does it not?”

“I do not know. Tell me how much it means. From one to whom words, professions, compacts, mean but little, it seems!”

Edward flushed under his magnificent crested helm.

“I was never one for splitting hairs, no,” he agreed.

“Bartering words. I prefer to act, brother. I find it more

profitable.”

“Profitable,” Bruce nodded.

“There we have it, yes. You have an aptitude for profit, Edward!”

His brother frowned.

“I do not know what you are at, man. Do not talk in riddles. I could never abide you in such mood. But… I had expected warmer welcome than this. After so long a parting. See you-here is no way for kin to meet, after so many months.”

“Aye-perhaps I am too sober. You must bear with me. But… I cannot forget that at our last leave-taking you promised leal service as my lieutenant and representative, Edward. And then abused my trust. Used my forces for your own ends.”

“Not so. What I did was for the benefit of your realm as well as of Ireland. To further the fight against the English. But, I’ faith-I have not come all this way to listen to your strictures, Robert! To be hectored by you. I have had enough of that in the past, by God! I would remind you that matters have changed since our last meeting. That although I am still your brother, I am no longer your subject! We are equals, now-equals, do you hear?

Monarchs, both. I beg you not to forget it!” That was hot.

As Edward grew the hotter, so Robert became the cooler.

“That is exactly the issue, the point I make,” he said.

“You left here my subject, my sworn servant, owing me and my realm allegiance. And you return quite otherwise. Disclaiming all allegiance, claiming equality. And to win this equality, and throw off your allegiance, you used my power, my name, my trust. Without my knowledge or consent. Knowing that I would not have given it…”

“There you have it! Knowing that you would not have given it!

Here is the heart of the matter. This thing had to be done lacking your consent, or it would not have been done at all. You must ever be master. You command. You would never have agreed to have me a king, so that you could no longer command me. I know you, man! You are a notable captain, but you cannot abide that others should rival you. I know you-therefore I acted as I did.”

Bruce shook his head.

“By each and every word you speak, you prove that you do not know me, brother though you are! Neither know nor understand. Nor ever have, I think. I was against the Irish adventure from the start, because it would be like to draw away my strength, Scots power seeping away into the Irish bogs.

How much worse that you should become King of that sorry country. With a kingdom to make and unite and hold together and defend. As well as forcing the English to a needless challenge. You must see it?”

“It was to challenge the English that I went to Ireland, was it not?

With your agreement.”

“To harass, to worry, to hinder. Not to force major war upon them.

Think you the King of England can stomach a King of Ireland?”

“I know not, nor care. What is more to the point-it seems that the

King of Scots cannot stomach it either. “And Edward Bruce reined

round his splendid mount and rode back to his own party in most evident and high dudgeon. All around, men looked askance.

His brother sighed, and beckoned forward the Earl of Moray, to his side.

“So, Thomas, you are returned. With good reason, I have no doubt. I am glad to see you-I am indeed. Yours has been a thankless task, I think?”

“Thankless, Sire. And fruitless, I fear. I have done what I could but that is little. My uncle now is gone quite beyond me.

Only you can affect him now.”

“I! Sweet Mary-that seems less than likely! I, of all men, he resents most.”

“Yet you, of all men, he requires, Sire. He thinks to need no others. But your goodwill and aid he must have. Else, I swear, he would not be here today!”

“So he come a-begging, Thomas? Despite all?”

“Yes. Or, he would rather say, a-bargaining, I think.”

“And chooses a strange tone to bargain in!”

“Aye. But he will change his tone. If he must. Give him time. He has not travelled these hundreds of miles just to bicker with you.”

“M’mmm. Perhaps you are right. And you would have me … bargain?”

“I believe so, yes. That is why I have come with him. There are reasons.”

Moray was proved right about Edward changing his tone, there and then, for now the other was calling back.

“Brother-whither? Where do you make for, Annan? Lochmaben?”

He sounded himself again.

“Lochmaben tonight,” Bruce answered.

“Then I shall press on. We have been long on the road. I will await you at Lochmaben. And hope for better talking!” And in fine style he swept off, under his forest of banners, whence he had come-although minus Moray.

“His Grace is recovered,” that man said dryly.

“As he needs must, if he is to gain what he requires from you. He has brought two sub-kings with him, and dare not fail.”

“You say so? And what does he want, Thomas?”

“He wants 10,000 men, 100 heavy chivalry and 500 bowmen. He wants Angus of the Isles’ galleys. He wants silver enough to pay his Irish host. Also knights and trained captains, veterans, as many as he can win.”

Bruce eyed the other for long moments, thoughtfully.

“Jesu Son of God and Mary!” he said.

“Would he have my crown also?” He gestured to Moray to remount, and turning in the saddle, almost absently waved on the vast column that had ground to a halt behind him.

“Of my brother,” he went on.

“I am now prepared to believe anything. Anything under heaven! But you, nephew-did I misunderstand?

Or did it seem that you would have me listen to these these rantings?

Could that be Thomas Randolph?”

“Aye, Sire. It is my belief that you should heed and consider well. You cannot grant him all that he asks, to be sure. But some consent may be to your advantage. Indeed, I see you left with scant choice. The English must now, I think, attempt the reconquest of Ireland. Nothing less will serve. So, either you hinder them, or you do not. If you do not, the country will fall to them like a ripe plum.

I know it. I have made it my business to know it. Your brother is king in name only. Less king than were you at the start-for you at least were of the blood, had been Guardian, and had fought long for the realm. My uncle has none of that. The Irish people know him not, nor care. He is a magnificent captain of light cavalry, but no general. With no notion of statecraft. He has won many small victories, but consolidated nothing. These Irish kinglets and chiefs hate each other. They fight together all the time, like our Highland clans. They made him High King only to spite others-who therefore love him the less. And to gain your aid, against the English.