Nigel Tranter - The Price of the King's Peace

“He says that is not true. William de Soulis says,” the Countess

declared, impatient of any diversion of interest from herself.

“He says that is but the invention of others. He says that once Your Grace is dead, men will be glad to have him as King, rather than any pulling infant.”

“Then he little knows his fellows!” Bruce commented grimly.

“What support does he expect to gain? Who will rally to such a

cause?”

“Already many do. He has much support.”

“I’ll not believe it! Name me names, woman!”

“For one, your nephew, Sir David de Brechin.”

“Dear God-no! Not he. He would never so betray me. My own kin. He is headstrong, but loyal…”

“Then why, Sire, has he been accepting a pension from King Edward these last years? If he is so loyal!” Her face contorted.

“As has the precious Sir William!”

Bruce stared.

“Not that! I cannot accept that…”

“I have seen it. How, think you, can your Butler, Governor of Berwick, pay 360 esquires, in his own livery, to ride in his train? As he does today. Not on the rents of Liddesdale, I vow!”

Shaken, the King looked at his wife.

“De Soulis -of him I could believe it. But not my own nephew…”

“And why not?” Shrilly the Countess spilled out her hate.

“Many another is in the plot. Why not he? You have, it seems, offended many. By your assize of lands. There is Sir Gilbert de Malherbe. Sir John de Logic, Sir Eustace de Maxwell, Sir Walter de Barclay, as well. Aye, and Sir Patrick Graham likewise …”

“Sweet Jesu! That these, my own lieges, men I myself have knighted, every one, should turn against me! For the sake of a few miserable acres of land.”

“Sir William has promised them great things. In his kingdom.

Great estates and high office. As he promised me …” The Countess caught her breath, and her words, blinking rapidly, as though that had slipped out unawares.

“Ah, yes, Lady Joanna? And what did Sir William promise you?”

The woman looked from one to the other, uncertainly.

“Marriage, Sire,” she said, at length, almost defiantly.

“Marriage, heh? So-you were to be the Queen!”

“I, I never approved this plotting, Your Grace. I swear it.”

“Of course you did not! Yet you would have married the Lord of

Liddesdale, in despite of it?”

“We … we have been close. In … in an association. For many

months. Since he returned from Ireland.”

“And you are no longer?”

“He is a deceiver, I tell you! A miscreant! He has become embroiled with a chit of a girl. Daughter of some mere Northumberland squire! All paps and calves eyes! But she has him cozened and bewitched, the fool. Naught will do but that he weds her. A man old enough to be her grandsire …”

“So this squire’s daughter is to be Queen in Scotland!”

“Not if I may prevent it, by the saints!” That was almost a whisper.

“Do not distress yourself, lady! I think the chances are but small.

Sir William will have to dispose of Robert Bruce first!”

“But you are to be slain, Sire. It is all plotted. He says that the Pope has accepted your letter. The great letter of Arbroath. And has agreed to recall his excommunication and to urge a peace upon the English. He is sending a messenger, an envoy-I mind not what they call them-to Berwick. To have a truce signed, preparatory to peace.

Before yourself and the King of England…” “I faith-de Soulis is

well informed! I myself but learned of this a week past. The coming of this nuncio.”

“He learned it from the King of England, Sire. I told you, he serves England. On your way to Berwick, for this, you will be attacked and slain. In the Pease Dean, where the hills come down to the sea. It is all arranged for. Men chosen …”

“Robert-the shame of it! The foul and filthy shame!”

Elizabeth exclaimed, coming to grasp his arm.

“Oh, my dear -that men, your own men like these, should be so vile!”

“Aye. Shame, indeed. De Soulis never loved me. He was ever my brother’s man, not mine. But these others-David Brechin, Logic, Maxwell, Barclay, Graham-Graham whose father died gallantly fighting the English at Dunbar!” The King shook his head.

“What is this evil of treachery, this canker that ever and anon grows in the heart of this people?” He drew himself up and pointed at the Countess.

“And you, madam! You say this was all plotted. For long. You must have known of it, in part. The grasp for the throne.

To be so advanced, it must have been plotted for long. Yet only now do you come to me! Because because you are no longer to be the Queen! This is the worth of your loyalty?”

Joanna of Strathearn shook her head, wordless.

“Very well. Is there aught else that I should know, woman? No?

Then you have my permission to retire. Go. I shall not thank you for what you have done, I think! Remain meantime in this house.

But-keep out of my sight! Now-I want Walter Stewart…”

When the Steward came pounding down the stairs, Bruce was calm, specific, but harsh.

“Walter-there is a plot against my life and crown. William de Soulis. At Berwick. I want him. I want him taken, forthwith and brought in custody. For trial. This parliament called for Scone, on the 4th of August. Twelve days hence. I want him there, to stand trial, before all. And not only he. I want David Brechin, John Logic, Walter Barclay, Eustace Maxwell, Patrick Graham, and so many others as are in their fell company. A large party. Therefore you will need many men. Go to Douglas, Warden of the Marches.

At Roxburgh. Berwick is his responsibility, de Soulis governor under him. He will aid you. It is understood?”

“By the Massa plot! Against Your Grace? I will not believe it, cannot conceive it…”

“You are not asked to believe it, man! But do as I command.

Forthwith. You have the names? Soulis, Brechin, Logic, Barclay, Maxwell, Graham. And all such others as may be implicated. I want all such before parliament at Scone, twelve days hence. But be discreet about it, Walter. I do not want any to get word that their schemes are known, and escape over the Border into England.

See to it…”

And so there was another great assembly in the refectory of another great abbey, in slightly smaller hall if more ancient, Scone of the Moot-hill and the Stone of Destiny, dynastic heart of Scotland, on the 4th of August 1320. Again it was hugely attended, since this parliament was to hear, consider and pronounce upon the holdings and titles of lands in dispute. But before this judging, another was thrust unexpectedly upon the delegates.

Trial before parliament was quite a normal procedure, for treason, where the accused could be assured of a fair hearing and not be at the mercy of the Crown-although sentence on any condemned was usually left to the Crown. The King presided, but he seldom took any active part in the proceedings, content to leave all to his officers. The accused spoke for themselves and could attempt to sway the assembly as best they might.

On this occasion those in charge were distinctly surprised that there was little or no attempt by the prisoners to excuse themselves, or even to seek support and sympathy. All the principals to the plot had been captured and were present, save for one who had been implicated later, and then had been found to be seriously ill at his own house of Methven, not far away-the same Sir Roger Moubray who had betrayed Bruce at the Battle of Methven soon after his coronation. Also the Countess of Stratheam was not present; her attendance would have been off-putting and unsuitable; and fortunately, her evidence was not necessary.

The fact was, William de Soulis had confessed readily enough to the entire indictment. He was ever a fiercely proud man, and found it beneath his dignity, once things had gone unredeemably wrong, to deny, argue or plead. Throughout the hearing at Scone he kept a lordly silence. The others in some measure took their cue from him, as leader-although Sir Gilbert de Malherbe, Lord of Dunipace, always a shifty character, broke down after a bit and disgraced the knightly code, shouting and beseeching wildly, to the distaste and embarrassment of all present, his co-defendants in particular.