Nigel Tranter - The Price of the King's Peace

There was a pause. Then Gilbert Hay spoke.

“Is there indeed any choice, Sire? Lacking a son from your own loins which pray God, may still be-there is only your grandson, the child Robert Stewart. No other of the royal line survives.

Since the Lord Edward had no lawful issue.”

The old Earl of Ross was not asleep after all. He cleared his throat, and looked at his son, Sir Hugh. Edward Bruce had indeed a son, by their daughter and sister, the Lady Isabella Ross-only he had omitted to wed her. As he had omitted to wed that other, the Lady Isabel de Strathbogie, the forfeited Earl of Atholl’s sister, to the realm’s cost. Neither of the Rosses spoke.

“There is surely more choice than this?” James Douglas pointed out.

“Your Grace has two fine daughters. Although the realm has never had a queen-regnant- save for she who died at Orkney, the little Maid of Norway who never ascended the throne-is there aught to make such Queen impossible? Other realms have had such monarchs. Must Scotland be different?”

There was a muttering round that table, from many. Clearly it was an

unpopular suggestion-although it was like loyal and devoted Jamie Douglas to have made it, for his liege’s sake. And Elizabeth’s.

When none actually raised voice to speak against it, Douglas

reiterated, “I say is there aught against it? In fact? Other than

prejudice? If, as God forbid, we should have a child as monarch, does it matter so greatly if the child is a female? Either would require sound guardians, regents. Does the law of this land say otherwise? I know little of these matters, of rights and laws of succession. My lord Primate-can you tell us?”

Lamberton spread his hands.

“It is scarcely a matter of law or right, Sir James. I see it as a

matter of choice. Two concerns bear on our decision-or, on

parliament’s, for we only do advise parliament on this issue. One concern is what is best for the realm.

The other is His Grace’s own desires. I agree that, as an infant, a princess might serve as well as a prince. But infants grow apace.

And in a nation which must ever fight for its survival, a Queen would serve less well, I fear. And there comes the thorny question of marriage, and a new male strain to the dynasty. Too many would seek to supply it! A realm with a young Queen to marry, could be endangered, a bone of contention for dogs to fight over.”

“There are dogs a-plenty to fight for this bone, it seems-Queen or none!”

“My lords,” Bruce intervened.

“I have thought much on this matter, in the past. I believe there is a side to it which we must needs consider. It may be as my lord Bishop says, that the succession is not a matter of right, of law. But I think that there is guidance, at least. Consider. My style and title is not as that of the King of England. Or the King of France. Or of Norway. I am, for better or worse, the King of Scots. Not the King of Scotland. Here is more than the mere form of words. It is so because of our ancient Celtic polity. From which this crown descends. Never forget it, when you think of Highlands and Lowlands. It was the Celtic support, which saved me, and the realm, at our lowest fortunes.”

And the King glanced over at the Lord of the Isles, Sir Colin Campbell, and other Highland chiefs present.

“In that language,” he went on, “I am Ard Righ. Ard Righ nan Albannach, High King of the Scots. As in the Irish polity-also Celtic. And if High King, or King of Kings, there must be lower kings. In Ireland they so call themselves. Here, this has not been our custom. Save in the Isles. And in Man. The great Earls of Scotland were our lesser kings-the Seven Earls. But now more.

All the land was divided between these. The Ard Righ was appointed by them, his line sustained by them. But, unlike the monarchs of other lands, the land of Scotland was not the High King’s.

It was, and is, that of the lesser kings, or earls, who support him. As an Earl himself, he has his own lands-but as King, no. So he is not King of Scotland, but of Scots. The people of the land, not the land itself.”

Men nodded.

“It is both the strength and the weakness of your throne, Sire,” Bishop Moray said.

“Perhaps. But all this you know. It bears, however, on this of the succession. Our kingship is different-as you say, in some matters weaker than others. The Ard Righ, if he rests on the support of his earls, and other lords, must be their choice, their representative.

Hence this Council; hence parliament’s decision. And if this is our ancient custom, then it follows that the succession is one of choice, within the royal line. And where there is doubt, as here, the choice should be such as the lesser kings would select to be their strong right arm. Therefore, I say, it should be of a man, a male, a prince, where possible. As it ever has been hitherto.”

There was a murmur of agreement.

“Spoken like a Bruce, Sire!” Malcolm, Earl of Lennox declared -as one of the original Seven Earls.

“Your grandsire said the same. When Alexander, of blessed memory, lost his son and there was no heir. Save the princess in Norway. Your grandsire claimed to be named heir. Until a prince might be born. King Alexander acceding.”

“So be it. We nominate to parliament, to be held so soon as may be, the child Robert Stewart, son to the High Steward, as first heir to the throne.”

“Lacking a son to Your Grace,” David of Moray put in.

“But with regents. Good regents. Governors. Two. Other, my lord Steward, than yourself. I mean no disrespect. But this is necessary.”

“I say the same, my lord Bishop,” Walter Stewart agreed readily.

“What two better than my nephew, Thomas of Moray? And the good Sir James Douglas?” the King said.

“In their strong hands Scotland would be safe.”

Approval for that was fairly general-although inevitably some frowned or looked blank.

De Soulis spoke again.

“And, Sire-what if the child Robert Stewart dies? Bairns are fragile stuff on which to build a kingdom!

What then?”

Men, who had sat back, thankful for the business to be over, turned

frowning faces on the Butler, annoyed that the thing should be further dragged out.

“The boy is lusty. That can wait,” Angus Og jerked.

“Have you other suggestion, my lord of Liddesdale?” Bruce asked level-voiced.

“I would but remind this Council, Sire, that there are more strings to the royal lute, in Scotland, than that of Bruce. If male heir is to be found.”

There were not a few indrawn breaths, at that.

“So Edward Longshanks took pains to show, at the Competition.

In 1292,” the King acknowledged grimly.

“Do you wish another such contest for the throne?”

“By God-no!”

“A mercy-not that!”

“Better a Queen than that!”

“Are you crazy-mad, man …?”

When de Soulis could make himself heard above the outcry, florid features em purpled he said, “I made no such suggestion. I but reminded the Council of a fact. If a man to rule Scotland is vital, there are men to consider. With the blood-royal in their veins.”

“Comyns …?”

“Traitors!”

“Who, man-who?”

Bruce raised his hand.

“We shall not forget it, Sir William,” he assured, carefully.

Others were less calm, restive, scowling, eyeing each other.

“I move that we proceed to the next business, Sire,” Lamberton said.

“Is there more business, my lord Primate?”

“It may scarcely be Council business. But it is of interest to all here, and should be made known throughout the realm. The two Cardinals, before they left England, I am informed, made pronouncement of excommunication against Your Grace, and against all who supported you. This latter, I say, was not within their power to do, without my knowledge and agreement. I represent Holy Church in this realm. And I support Your Grace to the full.