Nigel Tranter - The Price of the King's Peace

all in most gorgeous robes. On the left were lords and officers of

state of every degree and highly colourful variety of costume, from

wolf-skins and embossed leather to silks, da masks and brocades. And

in the centre, forming a horseshoe, were ten thrones, two of them

empty. The arrangement of these chairs was almost symmetrical-but not

quite. All were gilded and handsome, with crowns surmounting their

high backs, four curving on one side and four on the other of two at

the head of the horseshoe. These two, although placed side by side,

were not qui tea pair; one was of the same size and type as the other

flanking eight, while its neighbour was not only larger, taller and more splendid, but was raised on a little platform of its own. On it Edward Bruce lounged, magnificently clad in cloth-of-gold and blue velvet, with a great cloak of royal purple fringed with fur and sparkling with jewels, flung negligently over one shoulder. The chair beside him was empty.

As the new arrivals came up, trumpeters set the rafters ringing with an elaborate fanfare which drowned and stopped all the competing music, and the dancers with it. In the silence that followed, O’Neil of Tyrone turned and bowed, wordless to Bruce, more deeply to Edward, and then stalked over to one of the empty thrones, on the right, and sat down.

Another trumpet-blast, and a resplendent herald stepped forward, to intone:

“The mighty O’Rourke, King of Meath, offers greeting to Robert, King of Scots.”

A thick-set, grizzled man rose from one of the chairs and held a hand high, unspeaking.

Bruce inclined his head.

Another trumpet.

“The illustrious MacMurrough, King of Leinster, offers greeting to Robert, King of Scots.”

A giant of a man, but strangely bent to one side from some ancient wound, went through the same procedure.

“The high-born O’Brien, King of Minister, offers greeting to Robert, King of Scots.”

A white-haired and bearded ancient, fine featured, serene, but frail, stood with difficulty and raised a quivering arm. Bruce knew him by repute as a sacker of monasteries and ruthless slayer of women and children, but bowed nevertheless.

The next, a kinsman, O’Brien, King of Thomond, was little more than a child, a pimply, fair-haired youth who scowled-perhaps with reason, for his father was alleged to have been boiled to death in a cauldron by the previous saintly-looking welcomer barely a year before.

“The puissant O’Carroll, King of Uriel.” A slender dark elegant, who would have been supremely handsome but for a cast in one eye, made flourish of his salute, while Bruce decided that he would not trust him one yard.

The sixth to rise was the valiant MacCarthy, King of Desmond, a man almost as broad as he was high, with long arms which hung to his knees, said to have the strength of an ox. He, certainly, would be an excellent man to have at one’s side.

The amiable, red-headed O’Neil, King of Tyrone, was next, and hurried through his performance with some embarrassment, barely rising from his seat.

Last rose O’Connor, King of Connaught, first among equals, who should have been High King—had the others been prepared to accept him. A studious, delicate-seeming man, he looked more of a scholar than a warrior. He alone did not raise his hand, but bowed towards Bruce, stiffly formal.

Then the trumpets sounded once more, louder and longer, and the herald took a deep breath.

“The serene, right royal and victorious Lord Edward, king of kings, by God’s grace Ard Righ, High King of All Ireland, greets the Lord Robert, King of Scots, and welcomes him to this his realm and kingdom.”

Edward broke the pattern. He did not stand up, or raise his hand, or even bow.

“Come, brother,” he said, conversationally.

“You are late. I looked for you hours ago. Have you not some captain, some horse or baggage master, capable of settling your people into quarters?”

Bruce eyed this good-looking, awkward brother of his, biting back the hot words-as seemed to be ever necessary.

“I came here to play the captain rather than the monarch, Edward,” he said evenly.

“I shall continue to do so.”

“M’mm.” The other considered that. He shrugged.

“Come, anyway, Robert. It is good to see you, however … delayed. All Ireland welcomes you. Come-sit here.”

Bruce nodded, and moved unhurriedly up between the seated kings. He stood, looking down at his brother for a few moments before he sat down in the lesser throne.

“You are content, now?” he said, smiling a little.

“Content?” Edward frowned.

“How mean you-content?”

“Why-High King! So very high!”

“It is the style. The Celtic style.”

“Aye. I seem to have been climbing, ever since I set foot on Irish soil! And now my neck suffers stretching!” The elder brother exaggerated the necessary upward-looking posture somewhat, from his lower chair.

The other ignored that. He clapped his hands.

“The music. The dancing. Resume,” he called.

“You like my dancers, Robert?”

“They are very fair. And doubtless they do more than dance?

But I might have esteemed them better as cooks! Or even scullions,

brother! We have travelled far, and our bellies in more need of

distraction than our eyes and ears! “ “You will be feasting in

plenty, anon, never fear. Be patient. As I had to be, awaiting you! Much of my provision was spoiled. By the delay. My cooks are working to repair that delay. We would have eaten well, two hours ago, brother. Roasted peacocks. Breast of swan. Sucking boar seethed in malvoisie. Spiced salmon. Peppered lobster. Woodcock …”

“We would have eaten well, to be sure. But the men I brought-what of them? I found no provision made for them, cold, tired, hungry. This is the first day of December, Edward-winter is on us. Even in Ireland! To have them lie under the open sky …!”

“It is an army you have brought, is it not? Not a parcel of clerks or women! I’ faith-in the past, our armies found their own meat and shelter well enough! Did they not?”

Curiously Bruce considered his brother.

“You say that? You would have me turn my people loose on your land? To do their will? An army foraging! Is that the King of Ireland speaking?”

“From the man who burned half of Scotland, and more than once, you are becoming exceeding nice, I think!” the other gave back.

Robert drew a long breath.

“Remember that, Edward, when your Abbot of White Abbey comes making complaint that I have misused his property!” he said grimly.

“Now-what of the enemy?

The English? Do they press heavily? How far south are your

outposts?

And where is my god-father, Ulster… ?”

Edward was not, in fact, eager to discuss the strategic position;

but thereafter, and especially when presently they moved into the banqueting-hall, next to the kitchens across the courtyard, where he found the soldierly MacCarthy, King of Desmond, sitting at his right hand, Bruce did learn sufficient to give him a fair overall picture.

Hostilities were at the moment more or less suspended, without there

being any accepted truce, while both sides regrouped and drew on their

strength-or so Edward described it. He had had to give up Dundalk

* where the coronation had taken place-and their farthest south

outposts were at Downpatrick and the line of the Quoile River, not thirty miles south of Belfast Lough. North of that was in their hands, although there were one or two Anglo-Irish lords holding out. The entire west side of the country was an unknown quantity, although some of the chiefs there believed to be in revolt. In fact, only Ulster was secure-and not all of that, it seemed. Edward might be King of All Ireland, but three-quarters of the country had yet to be convinced of it.