Nigel Tranter - The Price of the King's Peace

Christendom-God help him! Highheaded then, the Scots marched round Belfast Lough, conquerers, and even found breath to blow fanfares of trumpets to announce their coming. But, previously and privily, the King had sent messengers ahead to the Lord of the Isles, to have his galleys ready, if possible, for. an immediate embarkation.

For this, and various other reasons, the final meeting of the royal brothers went off a deal better than it might have done. Edward did not wish to make explanations as to why he had hastened north and left his brother’s flank entirely unprotected. Nor what had happened to his great resounding Irish host of foot. And Robert was determined not to reveal that he was sick and weary and indeed, for that man, dejected, at odds with himself, and preoccupied with his failure in this wretched campaign. They fore bore mutual recrimination, for once.

On the 2nd of May, Festival of St. Begha, Bruce and about 4,000 men took to Angus Og’s galleys, and sailed away from Ireland. Of the rest, those that were not filling nameless and hastily-dug graves across the length and breadth of the land, had elected to stay behind, accepting Edward’s offers of large lands, titles, even knighthoods, for continuing and experienced armed support. Bruce put no hindrance in their way-but found it strange that any should so wish, after the experiences of these last months. Though such failure to understand, he told himself, was a sure sign of advancing years. Once, might he not have seen the thing differently?

For himself, all Robert Bruce looked for now was the sight of Scotland’s hill-girl shores. And then the soft arms of Elizabeth de Burgh.

He still shivered and vomited and itched, however hard he sought to hide all three.

Chapter Fourteen

As they had done three years before on the high ground above Lanercost and the Vale of Irthing, after much longer parting, the two of them spurred urgently ahead of their respective parties, alone, to meet together this time on the heather moorland above Ballantrae where Ayrshire merged with Galloway, the King of Scots and his Queen. Eager-eyed, calling, they rode-but as they drew close, Elizabeth’s face fell a little if the man’s did not. But only momentary was her hesitation. Then they were in each other’s arms, mounted as they were, the lean, haggard, sweat-smelling man, and the splendid, statuesque yet voluptuous woman, clutching, kissing, gasping broken, incoherent phrases.

“Robert! Robert, my love-God be praised that He gives you back to me!

Bless you! But… oh, Robert-you are thin! Wasted.

Drawn, You are sick, I swear! Mary-Mother- what have they done to you?”

“Tush, my dear, my sweeting-it is nothing! We are none of us fat, see you! Ireland is scarce a fattening land. But, you-you make up for us, by the Rude!” He held her away for a moment, the better to see her.

“I’ faith, you bloom, woman! You burgeon! You you fill my arms most adequately!” And he reverted to their embrace.

He squeezed a strangled laugh out of her.

“Lacking this riding cloak, you would see me burgeoning indeed!

Swelling. Fruiting, no less! I am quite gross …”

“You mean …? Fruiting? You mean …?”

“Aye, Robert-that is what I mean! Once more. I am six months gone.

Now I have started, my dear, I swear there will be no stopping me!”

“Dear God-here’s joy! Here’s wonder! Another child. And you did not send me word …”

“Time enough for that. As you did not tell me that you had been sick!

But you have. I can see it, trace it on you…”

“Smell it, be like!” he jerked.

“But that is by with, now. Nothing.

What of Matilda? The child? Is she well? Come, lass-here come the

others. Greet them. But briefly. And then let us ride on together, alone. There is so much to say …” He looked past her shoulder.

“Is that Walter?”

“Walter, yes. He has been acting the son to me. And I mother to both his child and my own. That is, between distinguishing himself, with Jamie Douglas. They, have been doing great things on the Border.”

“Aye. I will speak with him …”

When, presently, they were riding on northwards together, to Turnberry, and Bruce had treated his wife to a very foreshortened and carefully expurgated account of the Irish adventure, at length she interrupted him.

“Robert—what you are telling me scarce makes sense, unless there is a deal more to it than you say. You have starved and suffered grievously, have you not? The campaign little less than a disaster?”

He grimaced.

“You could say so.”

“That fault was not yours, I swear!”

“Whose, then? Who do I blame? Mine was the decision to go. I commanded. I it was who urged the move south from Carrickfergus, out of Ulster. I believe Edward would have been feasting there still, had I let him! It was I who changed, and refused to assail Dublin. I who elected to make for the West. If none of it was successful, who should I blame? I misjudged. And when a king misjudges, lesser men suffer.”

“But the famine ..”

“I knew of the famine. And thought that I had its measure! In that I misjudged also.”

“And Edward? You have scarce mentioned Edward. What of the King of

“Edward… is Edward!”

“He failed you, did he not? Is that not the truth of it? The gallant, dashing Edward failed you?”

“He would tell you, belike, that I failed him.”

She shook her fair head.

“Robert, my heart-I am a woman.

But not, I hope, a fool! And I know you, know that it is not in you to fail anyone. Know also that you blame yourself too much. A strange thing for so potent a man. But I shall learn the truth of all this.

From Thomas. From Sir Gilbert. They will not deceive me …”

Bruce changed the subject.

“What is this of James Douglas? And Walter? On the Border. He is still besieging Berwick?”

“Yes. After a fashion, The siege of Berwick continues. But Jamie is seldom there. King Edward, English Edward, hearing that you were gone, called a great muster of his armies, at Newcastle, to come and raise the siege and to punish Scotland. Save us-we were all prepared to send for you to come home, Robert. William Lamberton had the letter written. Then we heard that Edward himself had failed to come. To Newcastle and his host. All awaited him there, but he stayed in London. This second Edward is a strange man.”

“He blows hot and cold. Unlike his sire, who blew only hot!”

“Perhaps. At any rate, when still he came not, the Earl of Lancaster, whom he had made lieutenant of the venture, would have no more of it. He dispersed the great army, saying that those who wished to relieve Berwick and punish the Scots could do so, and merrily. For himself, he was going home to his lady! And so we breathed again.”

“This is none so different from Ireland!” Bruce observed.

“I would not have thought it. But, in the English array were some hardier spirits. Notably the young Earl of Arundel. And some Gascon knights the Plantagenet had brought over to fight for him.

These were not be put off from winning booty. So fragments of the great host came north-though most, they say, followed Lancaster’s lead. It was not a great invasion, but savage and scattered raiding across the Border.”

“And Jamie dealt with it to his satisfaction?”

“Ask Walter. Walter was there with him, much of the time. Let him tell you himself.”

Bruce turned in his saddle to call his son-in-law forward.

That young man, modestly disclaiming any major prowess, attributed all to the lord of Douglas-whom he obviously hero worshipped. He described how the Earl of Arundel had come first, with Sir Thomas de Richemont and many thousands, crossing the Cheviots at the Carter Bar.

And how Douglas and he had ambushed them, by Jed Water, at Lintalee,