Nigel Tranter - The Price of the King's Peace

“No. It must be greater than that. Councils are of picked men.

Our enemies would say that such men are creatures of Your Grace.

To be of value, this must stand for all your realm. Not just Your

Grace’s friends. A Convention? Would not that serve? Not a

parliament, but a Convention of the Estates. A meeting. Call such forthwith, Sire. And if we do not have sufficient attending, we can have others to sign elsewhere. In their homes, if need be.”

“Aye, a Convention. You have it. And for another matter also. I need something of the sort. Too many lords and chiefs are coming to blows over who has what lands in this realm. During the years of war, many have won or taken themselves lands. Many of one faction or the other. Those who held them formerly dispute. There is much bad blood. Even here, this morning in Glen Dochart, Sir Alexander Menzies and the MacGregor, both my friends, all but had their swords drawn. Over a mere parcel of land in Glen Falloch. A Convention called to settle such matters. An assize of lands, before judges. All holders of disputed land to show by what title they hold them. Then, when they are assembled-this letter.

They will come-for lands! There is nothing like a little soil and rock to bring men out of their chimney-corners! See that this matter is made known, my lord Chancellor.”

“Gladly, Sire. It is well thought on. It is excellent reason for

calling a Convention. So we shall have no lack of signatories.”

“Draw up some such letter for all to sign, then, my friend. Word it so that the Pope learns how well-established and ancient is our kingdom, how long our line of kings. How ever we have been independent.

And how freedom is our very life. That above all. For if freedom fall, all falls. Say that no power on earth shall make us subservient to the English-and the powers of heaven would not try! Say that if I, the King, were to countenance any such subservience, the realm would drive me from its throne. To my proper deserts. Tell the Pope that, Bernard. Write it down. And then bring it all to me, that I may approve it. And to Lamberton also.

His is a wise head.”

“With all my heart, Sire. And this Convention? Where shall it be held? And when?”

“So soon as may be. So soon as messengers can carry the word.

We must not delay-or the country will be in a turmoil. Unless your priests will reject the Pope’s anathema, and dispense Mass as before. Will they?”

Abbot Bernard looked unhappy.

“Not … not on their own authority, Sire. That would be apostasy

indeed. Not to be countenanced But … it is not for me to decide. I

am but an abbot. This is for the Primate.”

“The excommunicated Primate! Yes, it is Lamberton’s business.

I must see him quickly. But the need for haste, in the matter of the Convention, is the more evident. Seven days? Ten? Can it be done?”

“It must, Sire. And where?”

“Not at Dunfermline. Nor yet at St. Andrews. I do not wish to meet this nuncio. Yourself avoid him-since he claims to speak with the Pope’s voice. I have promised to attend young Scrymgeour’s marriage, at Dundee, on St. Ambrose’s Day. That is eight days from now. Make it there, at Dundee.”

“My abbey of Arbroath, Sire, is nearby. Accept the hospitality of my house for this meeting. It is larger than any in Dundee.”

“Ah, yes, my princely abbot! So it is. Next to Dunfermline, the

greatest abbey in the land. So be it. Call the Convention for

Arbroath, the day following St. Ambrose’s Day, the day after the wedding …” The King paused, blinking.

“Dear God!” he said, “Can there be any such wedding? Lamberton was to officiate. But if he is excommunicate? If you all are excommunicate? Must we stop marrying now? And burying? As well as Mass?”

Abbot Bernard wagged his head, lost in consternation.

William Lamberton was made of sterner stuff, ecclesiastic ally than Bernard de Linton. Or perhaps it was but that he had more experience of churchmen’s politics. At any rate, he celebrated young Scrymgeour’s nuptials as planned, before a great and splendid if somewhat uneasy congregation. But he did more. After the bride and groom had passed out of the Church of St. Mary, Nethergate, for the banquet to be held in the Greyfriars Monastery, the Primate, with the royal permission, asked the congregation to remain a little longer. And there, from his throne, in full canonicals, he read out a curious announcement, his harsh voice resonant with great authority.

The pronunciamento of the Papal Nuncio from the Cathedral of St. Andrews no doubt had been heard by all, he said. He himself had listened to it sadly. But as senior bishop and Primate of this realm, it was his simple duty to advise his flock on the situation. He had consulted with other bishops, and now made declaration that, while he, and the whole Scottish Church, was in most filial obedience to the Holy See in all things, there was, at this present time, some dispute as to the position and validity of its present incumbent.

His Eminence the former Monsignor Jacques d’Elise, hitherto Archbishop of Avignon, and these past three years styled Pope John the Twenty-second.

After a sort of corporate gasp, not a sound was heard from that huge company, every eye fixed in an apprehensive fascination on the bent wreck of a man up there beside the High Altar.

The dispute was on two grounds, Lamberton proceeded. One, that being forced by French might to dwell in Avignon, not in Rome, the said John was indeed under the pressure and influence of the King of France, who at this time was in alliance with the King of England. And so unable properly to exercise due rule and justice within Holy Church. And two, that he had himself been declared heretic by certain authorities for maintaining the doctrine that the blessed do not in fact enjoy the vision of God until their resurrection, contrary to the teachings of the fathers. Until these doubts and disputes were resolved therefore, he personally, William, Primate of Scotland, could not accept any sentences of excommunication, or other assaults upon his spiritual authority, not specifically promulgated by the College of Cardinals in full consistory court-which he learned from the Papal Nuncio aforementioned had not been done.

The long sigh of breath exhaled was like a wind over a heather

hillside, as the company perceived relief, remission, at least a

temporary lifting of the dark shadow which had come to loom over their lives.

It was inconceivable, in the circumstances, that church government and

worship of God should be allowed to break down, Lamberton rasped, at

his sternest. In consequence he required all bishops, priests and

deacons, all abbots, priors, friars and monks, all who owed obedience

to himself in this Province of Holy Church in Scotland, to continue

steadfast in their said offices, to perform their full duties, and to

ignore all utterances and commands from other ecclesiastical

authorities than himself. On his head, heart and conscience, rested the full responsibility. And so, let all go forth, in God’s peace, from that place.

They all went forth indeed, but hardly in God’s peace.

That night, after the feasting at Dundee, Bruce, Elizabeth and the

Primate sat together alone in the abbot’s study of the vast Abbey of

Arbroath, over a well-doing fire of logs, grateful for the warmth after

the long ride in the face of a chill wind off the North Sea. They

waited while Abbot Bernard went to fetch the papers of his draft of the

projected letter to the Pope. It was their first opportunity for

private talk that day. “How dear did that announcement in St. Mary’s

cost you this day, old friend?” the King asked.

“It was as brave a deed as any I have known. Braver than any done on a field of battle. To take upon yourself, your own shoulders, the entire burden of this rejection of the Pope’s commands and anathema. To accept the responsibility for a whole nation’s disobedience to the Holy See, to the head of the Church you represent This was truly great, truly noble William. I know of no other who would have dared it.”