Nigel Tranter - The Price of the King's Peace

Prior Adam’s fears as to a dire confrontation with his monarch did not materialise. Bruce in fact would not see him. In his joyful reunion with Douglas, the King wholly ignored the cleric. It was their first meeting since Ireland, for Douglas had been away on one of his periodic deep punitive raids into England at the time of the royal return. Their delight in each other’s company only increased with the years and their long partings. An arm around his friend’s shoulder, Bruce led him away along a woodland path amongst the rustling fallen leaves-and only as an afterthought, signed to Sir Alexander Seton, now the Seneschal, to take the Prior in hand.

Douglas was somewhat concerned at the King’s appearance, although this was a great deal improved from what it had been a few months before.

The younger man himself was beginning to show the signs of continual

campaigning and command, the lines and bearing of authority,

confidence, decision, implicit in his slender person and darkly

handsome features. They had much to say to each other.

At length Bruce got round to questioning the other about the Prior.

“He brings fulminations and threats against you from these insolent cardinals, Sire,” Douglas informed.

“The man himself, is leal enough, I think. He is in much fear-as he should be, by God!

When I heard something of his mission, myself I near hung him up from the nearest tree! But he declares that he had no option but to obey these arrogant Princes of Holy Church, as he names them.

They are his superiors, his masters. They sent for him, to Durham, and he could not refuse their command. But at least he left their letters in Berwick meantime, wisely deeming his life of greater value than them! One, he told me, is addressed to Robert Bruce, calling himself Kings of Scots!”

“Ha-calling himself! They learn but slowly, these Romish

eminences!”

“I expected no better. So he comes with only verbal threats and pontifications?”

“Aye-but I believe they are strong enough! The man trembles at the thought of delivering them to Your Grace.”

“Then we shall spare him that ordeal, Jamie. It is best that I do not see this priest. Do not hear these threats and fulminations. We shall

get Seton to deal with him. Now-what of Berwick…?”With Seton acting as go-between, the Prior’s message was soon interpreted interpret rather than declaration being involved, the envoy being inhibited from speaking out, and Seton outraged that open threats should be made against his liege lord.

Simply, the message was this-that unless an immediate two-year truce was concluded, all raiding against England stopped, and all English hostages and prisoners freed, the whole people of Scotland, as well as The Bruce personally, would be declared excommunicate, and the wrath of God and the castigation of Holy Church would descend upon a contumacious and disobedient nation.

There did not seem to be any concessions required of the English.

“Sweet Christ-can they do this?” Douglas exclaimed, when they heard the terms.

“Excommunicate a whole people? What of Bishop Lamberton? What of all the Scots bishops and clergy?”

“I fear that they can do it-in name at least,” the King said.

“If the Pope is Christ’s Vicar on earth, he can withdraw Christ’s holy sacrament Whether he should, whether God accepts such harsh judgements, such sweeping condemnation of innocent folk, is not for me to say-I, who have lived under excommunication from Rome these many years.”

“Aye, Sire-and is that not sufficient answer to this folly? You

survive such censure passing well! Why not lesser men?”

The King bit his lip, and said nothing.

Seton nodded.

“Who cares for these monkish cursings?”

“I do, Sir Alexander-I do!” Bruce answered tightly.

“As must you. As must all. You and I may be prepared to defy the Holy

See, in this. But that cannot be expected of all the people. Their

faith in God is precious, and the Pope God’s mouthpiece. We may say

that his mis-speaks- but others will be less bold. Moreover, this

cannot but weaken the authority of Lamberton. It is a grievous

matter.”

“What then can we do?”

“God knows-save seek to make time. To delay decision. As I have been

doing. So far, this is but a threat. We must seek to keep it only

that. For so long as we may. Until we can make this Pope think

anew”

Both men looked at him blankly, at a loss.

“We can start by sending Prior Adam back to Berwick. For his papers, his letters. We will see that he is delayed. When he finds us again, with them, there will be more delay. We-or you-will find them to be wrongly addressed, so that we must debate and consider. Whether to receive them. Then send him, and them, back all the way to Durham. For amendment of superscription. Unopened.

Once he is safely out of Scotland, evil men could again waylay the Church’s representative-godless men caring nothing for the true religion! Rob him, shamefully destroying the letters, even this Pope’s Bull. How say you-without that Bull, can these cardinals act? Make final denunciation? When the Bull has not been read by or to me? Or made known to the people?”

“I’ faith-I would say not!”

“Here’s a ploy, by the Mass!”

“No ploy, Sir Alexander. It is no game, I promise you. It is deadly earnest. Much may depend on it…”

Prior de Newton was detained at Aldcambus two days, and then sent back for his documents-but not before Seton wormed out of him much about the state of Berwick, the people’s morale, the unpopularity of the harsh and overbearing governor of the town, Sir John de Witham, and what bad terms he was on with Sir Roger Horsley, governor of the castle. All of which Bruce heard with interest.

But that same evening there were tidings of even more immediate interest. A messenger came from Moray, who latterly had been aiding Douglas with the siege, to the effect that one Peter de Spalding, who claimed to be a kinsman of Sir Robert Keith, the Marischal, in view of the royal proclamation of mercy and in pursuit of a full pardon for past adherence to the English, was prepared to open a section of the town walling adjacent to the Cow Port, to King Robert’s forces one night-he apparently being one of the captains thereof.

Keith, summoned, admitted that he had a cousin of sorts a merchant in Berwick, by name Spalding, although he had not heard of him for many a year.

This was news indeed-although there were many who smelled a trap, and the treachery on the wrong foot. But Bruce, with the need to capture this fortress urgent, was prepared to take the chance that it was a genuine offer. He sent Douglas back to the town’s outskirts forthwith, with orders to contact this Spalding somehow. He himself would wind up this siege-engine building, and come on with the main force next day.

The following night, in sleet-laced rain driven by a salt wind of the

North Sea, the King rode down the south-facing slope of the Lamberton

ridge. The town of Berwickon-Tweed lay unseen below and before him

for lamp-oil would be scarce in the beleaguered town and no lights showed, although it was not yet midnight.

The land ahead, indeed, seemed darker than the sea; an indefinable belt of wan glimmer stretched all along their left flank somewhere, the phosphorescence of breaking combers on an ironbound coast.

It was not an army that Bruce led down the long slow hillside;

merely a motley company of lords, knights and men-at-arms, with the carpenters, wrights and smiths who had been constructing the siege-engines. These unwieldy, lumbering machines, dragged by oxen, their axle-trees screaming, their timbers creaking, had greatly delayed the royal progress that day; but they were much more important, in this context, than any thousands of men, and the high-born warriors had just had to summon their patience.